# All Over Oregon and Washington/Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV.
ASTORIA AND ITS SURROUNDINGS.
The situation of Astoria, in point of beauty, is certainly a very fine one. The neck of land occupied by the town, is made a peninsula by Young's Bay on one side and the Columbia River on the other, and points to the north-west. A small cove makes in at the east side of the neck, just back of which the ground rises much more gently and smoothly than it does a little farther toward the sea. The whole point was originally covered with heavy timber, which came quite down to high-water mark; and whatever there is unlovely in the present aspect of Astoria, arises from the roughness always attendant upon the clearing up of timbered lands.
Standing, facing the sea or the river, with your back to half-cleared lots, made unsightly by the blackened stumps of trees, the view is one of unsurpassed beauty. Toward the sea, the low, green point on which Fort Stevens stands—the Capo Frondosa (leafy cape) of the Spanish navigators—and the high one of Cape Hancock, topped by the light-house tower, mark the entrance to the river. Above them is a blue sky; between them, a blue river, celebrating eternally its union with the sea by the roar of its breakers, whose white crests are often distinctly visible. There is a sail or two in the offing, and a pilot-boat going out to bring them over the bar.
​Opposite us, and distant between three and four miles, is the northern shore—a line of rounded highlands, covered with trees, with a narrow, low, and level strip of land between them and the beach. The village of Chinook is a little to the north-west; another village, Knappton, a little to the north-east. Following the opposite shore-line with the eye, as far to the east as the view extends, a considerable indentation in the shore marks Gray's Bay, where the discoverer of the river went ashore with his mate, to "view the country."
On the Astoria side the shore curves beautifully, in a north-east direction, quite to Tongue Point, four miles up the river. This point is one of the handsomest projections on the river. Connected with the main-land by a low, narrow isthmus, it rises gradually to the height of fifty or sixty feet, and is crowned with a splendid growth of trees. In the little bay formed by Tongue Point, lies the hulk of a vessel—a memento of the exciting times of 1849, when lumber was worth, in San Francisco, six hundred dollars a thousand feet.
The ship Silvie de Grace had come to Oregon for a cargo of the precious material, and proceeded as far as this on her return-voyage, when, through ignorance or mismanagement, she was allowed to strike on a rock, with such force that she was actually spitted, and never could be got off, even to sink. So she lies a dismantled hulk in this pretty cove, not unpicturesque, with her handsomely modeled deck half-overgrown with grass and shrubs, and the headless figure of a woman "to the fore."
Between Tongue Point and the present town is a cluster of rather dilapidated buildings, known as Up​per Astoria. They were erected by the first Receiver of Customs for Oregon; but the old custom-house and wharf are rapidly going to decay. Directly back of this place, begins a "military road" to the State Capital, on which was supposed to be expended, in the years 1855–6, an appropriation of $80,000. It was never fit for use, and is now quite choked up with fallen timber and a now growth of trees.
Following the curving and beautifully wooded shore back to the Astoria of to-day, we naturally inquire for the site of the Astor establishment of 1811. This is it, just back of the little bay before mentioned, where you see a long, one-storied house in a state of decay. There was built the fort of Mr. Aster's company. It consisted of a square, inclosing ninety by a hundred feet of ground, with palisades in front and rear, one of the sides protected by the warehouse fronting on a ravine, and the other by the dwelling-house and shops, with a bastion at each corner, north and south, on which were mounted four small cannon. As all the buildings were constructed of hewn logs, roofed with cedar-bark, they constituted a very good defense against the Indian arrows, especially as they were made formidable by the four small cannon.
On the 2Gth of September, 1811, the buildings inside the fort were completed. The dwelling-house contained a sitting-room and dining-room, with sleeping apartments for the officers and men. The warehouse and smiths' shops were also there ready for occupation. In the following year a hospital was erected; and these constituted the improvements of the Pacific Fur Company, if we except their garden, where nothing came to maturity the first year, except the radishes, turnips, and potatoes.
​In the cove, in front of the fort, was built the first vessel ever launched on Oregon waters—the little schooner Dolly, whose frame was brought out from New York in the Tonquin. She proved too small for the coasting service, for which she was intended, and, like every thing else connected with this ill-starred enterprise, a failure.
In 1813 the Astoria of the Pacific Fur Company passed into the hands of the North-west Fur Company, by whom it was re-named Fort George. Afterward it passed to the Hudson's Bay Company, and was known as Fort George, until it was abandoned by them, and came once more into American possession, when it resumed its original name. Such are the changes of sixty years. Nothing now remains to remind us of these events in history, except some slight indentations in the ground where were once the cellars of the now vanished fort, and a few graves. Perhaps the only enduring memorial is the smooth turf and fine grass of civilization, which Time does not eradicate, and which grows here in strong contrast to the rank, wild grasses of the uncultivated country.
If we turn to the modern town, we find it neatly built, and containing four or five hundred inhabitants. The chief improvement going on at present, is the new custom-house—a costly, but ill-looking structure, built of sandstone from the opposite side of the river. The present custom-house is a wooden building near the river, occupying the ground chosen by the officers and men of the United States schooner Shark, to erect their temporary shelter upon, after the wreck on the bar, in 1846. From drift-wood and cedar planks they constructed a substantial house, which, afterwards, was turned to account by others in ​almost equal straits. One of its last and best uses was as a ball-room, where, on the Fourth of July, 1849, the gold-seekers on their way to California, and a company of United States artillery-men, celebrated the day with patriotic enthusiasm.
Even as late as that year, the canoes of eight hundred native warriors of the Chinooks covered the water in Astor Bay, curious, as savages always are, to watch the acts, and note the customs, of civilized men. Not a canoe is now in sight. The white race are to the red as sun to snow: as silently and surely the red men disappear, dissipated by the beams of civilization. Among those who came to gaze at the overpowering white race on that occasion, was an old Chinook chief, the number of whose years was one hundred. His picture, which some one gave to us, shows a shrewd character. So, no doubt, looked Com-com-ly, the chief whom Washington Irving describes in his "Astoria," and whose contemporary this venerable savage must have been. His sightless eyes, in his early manhood, beheld the entrance into the river of that vessel whose name it bears. Between that time and the day of his death, he saw the Columbia Biver tribes, which once numbered thirty thousand, decimated again and again, until they scarcely counted up one-tenth of that number.
If you ask an Astorian, what constitutes the wealth and commercial importance of his town, present and future, he will tell you, that it has a commodious harbor, with depth of water enough to accommodate vessels of the deepest draft, with good anchorage, and shelter from south-west (winter) storms. He will point to the forts at the mouth of the river, and say that they make business; to the custom-house, and ​that it makes business. He will remind you of the pilotage of all the incoming and outgoing vessels, and that it brings in a great deal of money. He will point to the villages growing up on the north side of the river, and tell you they bring trade; that the men employed at Knappton, in making cement, lumber, etc., spend their wages in Astoria.
If you inquire what back country it has to support it, he will point to Clatsop, and the valley of the Nehalem, south of it; and tell you, that it is but seventy miles into the great valley of Western Oregon—the Wallamet; and that a railroad is to be built into it from Astoria, through the coast mountains. He mentions, besides, that there are numerous small valleys of streams running into the Columbia within twenty miles, which are of the best of rich bottom-lands, and only need opening up. This is the Astorian's view of his town, and we know nothing to the contrary. Indeed, from inquiry we are convinced that there are in the neighborhood of Astoria many elements of wealth, both mineral and agricultural, which only require time and capital to develop.
Having satisfied ourselves of the material prospects of the town, let us take a friendly guide, and go upon an exploring expedition on our own account. We want to go on foot around the point, by the trail through the woods: but, no; our guide says we must not attempt it, tho trail is in such a condition! "It is low tide, and we will go by the beach."
By the beach we go, then, stopping now and then to fillip a jelly-fish back into the water on the end of our alpenstock. A beach, indeed! we had always thought that sand, or fine gravel, at least, was essential to that delightful thing in Nature—a beach. But here are ​bowlders, growing larger and larger as we near Young's Bay, until just at the extremity of the point they require much exertion to scramble over. But our guide is entertaining, which compensates for great exertion.
In stories of "peril by land and water," of ship-wrecks, and legends of treasure-trove—that should be—he drowns all thoughts of mutiny, and we toil ahead. "To be sure there have been wrecks at the mouth of the Columbia—a century—two centuries ago." Then he takes from his pocket, where he must have placed it for this purpose, and shows to us a thin cake of beeswax, well sanded over, which he avers was portion of the cargo of a Japanese junk, cast ashore near the Columbia in some time out of mind. When we have wondered over this, to us, singular evidence of wrecking, he produces another, in the form of a waxen tube. At this we are more stultified than before, and then are told that this was a large wax candle, such as the Japanese priest, as well as the Roman, uses to burn before altars. The wick is entirely rotted out, leaving the candle a hollow cylinder of wax.
By this self-evident explanation, we are convinced. Certain it is that for years, whenever there has been an unusually violent storm, portions of this waxen cargo are washed ashore, ground full of sand. As bees-wax is a common commodity in Japan, we see no reason to doubt that this, which the sea gives up from time to time, originally came from there. The supposition is the more natural, as the mouth of the Columbia is exactly opposite the northern extremity of that Island Empire; and a junk, once disabled, would naturally drift this way. The thing has been known to occur in later years; and that other wrecks, probably Spanish, have happened on this coast, is evidenced by ​the light-haired and freckle-faced natives of some portions of it farther north, discovered by the earliest traders.
Our hour of toil, at length, brings us to a pretty piece of level, grassy land away from the beach, where are lofty trees, and lower thickets of wild roses, white spiræa, woodbine, and mock-orange. Here, in this charming solitude, is an Indian lodge, the residence of the native Clatsop; and we have a strong desire to see its interior. Exteriorly, the Clatsop residence can not be praised for its beauty, being made of cedar planks, set upright and fastened to a square or oblong frame of poles, and roofed with cedar bark. Outside are numberless dogs, and two pretty girls, of ten and twelve years of age, with glorious great, black, smiling eyes.
Peeping inside, we see three squaws of various ages, braiding baskets and tending a baby of tender age, with two "warriors" sitting on their haunches and doing nothing; and salmon everywhere—on the fire, on the walls, overhead, dripping grease and smelling villainously, are salmon—nothing but salmon. Our guide holds a conversation with the mother of the little stranger, in jargon, which he informs us relates to the fair complexion of the tillicum. One of the warriors, presumed to be its papa, laughs, and declares it is all as it should be. Such are the benefits of civilization to the savage!
A little further on, we fall in with a different sort of savage—an Irishman, on a little patch of ground which he cultivates after a fashion of his own, at the same time doing his housekeeping in preference to being "bothered with a woman." He is cooking his afternoon meal, which consists of a soup made from ​boiling a ham-bone, with thistles for greens, and a cup of spruce tea. Think of this, unlucky men, bothered with women, who, but for them, might be subsisting yourselves on thistles and spruce tea!
Our guide points out to us the peculiar features of Young's Bay, and the adjoining country. While we admire again the peaks of Castle (Saddle) Mountain, we listen to a legend, or tradition, which the Nehalem Indians relate of a vessel once cast ashore near the mouth of their river, the crew of which were saved, together with their private property, and a box which they carried ashore, and buried on Mount Neah-car-ny, with much care, leaving two swords placed on it in the form of a cross.
Another version is, that one of their own number was slain, and his bones laid on top of the box when it was buried. This, were it true, would more effectually keep away the Indians than all the swords in Spain.
The story sounds very well, and is firmly believed by the Indians, who can not be induced to go near the spot, because their ancestors were told by those who buried the box, that, should they ever go near it, they would provoke the wrath of the Great Spirit. The tale corresponds with that told by the Indians of the upper Columbia, who say that some shipwrecked men, one of whom was called Soto, lived two or three years with their tribe, and then left them to try to reach the Spanish countries overland. It is probable enough that a Spanish galleon may have gone ashore near the mouth of the Columbia, and it agrees with the character of the early explorers of that nation, that they should undertake to reach Mexico by land. That they never did, we feel sure, and give a sigh to their memory.
​Some treasure-seekers have endeavored to find the hidden box, but without result. One enthusiast expressed it as his opinion, that he could go right to the spot where it is hidden; but why he did not do so, he failed to explain. Like the treasure of Captain Kidd, it would probably cost as much as it is worth to find it. Casting backward glances at the beautiful mountains, with their romantic foreground of forest and river, we turn toward Astoria. All along the edge of the wood which covers the point are hazel, wild cherry, alder, vine-maple, spiræa, mock-orange, and elder, besides several varieties of ferns, some of a great height.
Of the elder there are three varieties, all beautiful. The trees grow to a considerable size, and to a height of thirty feet. The colors of the berries are lavender, scarlet, and orange. We find also some other orange-colored berries, resembling immense raspberries, which our guide tells us arc "salmon-berries." They are so juicy they will hardly bear handling, and literally melt in your mouth. Of the trees in sight, the most are fir, hemlock, cedar, and yew. But of whatever species are the trees, their unusual size and beauty make them interesting.
When we reach the point of the peninsula again—Point of Bowlders, we should call it—we are just in time to witness the golden changes of the sunset over Cape Hancock, and to see an ocean steamer coming in. She has passed Fort Stevens, and, by the time we have clambered over rocks and drift-wood to a smoother portion of the beach, is abreast of us, and almost within a stone's throw. We wave our handkerchiefs wildly, knowing, by experience, how pleasant is any signal from the land when our ship is coming in. Then, as if to answer us, she fires a gun, which stuns us with ​the report. We hasten to the wharf and scrutinize her passengers, while her captain exchanges courtesies with custom-house officers. In half an hour she is off again, leaving us to wonder how long it will be before Astoria gets her railroad, and ocean steamers discharge their cargoes within a dozen miles of the sea.
The situation of Astoria as a commercial entrepot, although, in some respects, a fine one, has its drawbacks, being cut off from the interior by the rugged and densely timbered mountains of the Coast Range; and, while it is true that the engineering science of the present day discovers obstacles only to overcome them, a good practical reason must be given capitalists for incurring enormous expenses. What course the railroad companies, now operating in Oregon, will pursue with regard to this point, can, at present, hardly be conjectured. The country now tributary to Astoria is a narrow strip of coast, which produces, like the Clatsop Plains, excellent vegetables, fruits, and dairy products, but is not usually well adapted to grain-raising. These products are continually increasing, as the numerous small valleys, in the radius of fifty miles, are being settled and improved; yet, it is our impression that the proper exports of this portion of the Columbia Valley are lumber, fish, and minerals, among the principal of which are coal and cement. The stone of which the new custom-house is built is taken from a quarry on the Washington side of the river, but is, by no means, handsome in color, or regular in stratification, being, apparently, formed from a deposit of sand around other bowlders, which are as hard as flint, and, occurring frequently, seriously interfere with the quarrying of regular blocks.
The Columbia, opposite Astoria, is six miles in width, ​being one mile less than between the capes. The stage of water on the bar, is, mean low water, twenty-four feet; high water, thirty-two: from which it will be seen that there is abundance of deep water, and room for shipping, about Astoria. About mid-river we had, from the pilot-house of the Grant, one of the grandest views to be obtained anywhere, of a magnificent body of water, in conjunction with fine, bold scenery in immediate connection, and distant visions of dazzling snow-peaks. Looking seaward, we beheld the dark headland of Cape Disappointment, and the low neck which constitutes Point Adams, with the broad opening of Young's Bay defining it more sharply; toward the south, highlands, with Astoria at their foot, and the "castled crags" of Saddle Mountain towering over them; and toward the east, Mount Adams and Mount St. Helen, each more than a hundred miles away, but seeming to rise up in their pure whiteness out of the everlasting green of the intermediate forests.
On the north side of the river, opposite Astoria, we found the little fishing village of Chinook, where salmon are yearly caught, and put up for export; and the new settlement of Knappton, where is a fine lumber-mill, cutting about twenty-five thousand feet per day, and where are also the cement-works, belonging to the enterprising owners of the mill. In a little valley, just over the ridge back of this place, a colony have lately settled, who pronounce the soil to be excellent, and themselves delighted with their situation, especially as they are each entitled to a homestead of one hundred and sixty acres of the choicest land they can find. But for lack of time we should have availed ourself of the offer of our captain, and paid a visit to the settlers of Deep River.