The Hudson’s Bay Company are in possession, and call the post Fort George. They have erected three log buildings, and occupy them with a clerk,[86] who acts as a telegraph keeper of events at the mouth of the river. If a vessel arrives, or is seen laying off and on, information of the fact is sent to Vancouver, with all the rapidity which can be extracted from arms and paddles. This individual also carries on a limited trade with the Chinook and Clatsop Indians; such is his influence over them, that he bears among the Company’s gentlemen the very distinguished title of “King of the Chinooks.” He is a fine, lusty, companionable fellow, and I am disposed to believe, wears the crown with quite as little injury to his subjects as to himself. In the afternoon we bade adieu to Astoria, and dropped down toward Cape Disappointment.—The channel of the river runs from the fort in a north-western direction to the point of the Cape, and thence close under it in a south-westerly course the distance of four miles, where it crosses the bar. The wind was quite baffling while we {274} were crossing to the northern side; and we consequently began to anticipate a long residence in Baker’s Bay.[87] But as we neared the Cape, a delightful breeze sprang up in the east, filled every sail, and drove the stately ship through the heavy seas and swells most merrily. The lead is dipping, and the sailors are chanting each measure as they take it; we approach the bar; the soundings decrease; every shout grows more and more awful! the keel of the Vancouver is within fifteen inches of the bar! Every breath is suspended, and every eye fixed on the leads, as they are quickly thrown again! They sink; and the chant for five fathoms enables us to breathe freely. We have passed the bar; Captain Duncan grasps his passengers by the hand warmly, and congratulates them at having escaped being lost in those wild waters, where many a noble ship and brave heart have sunk together and for ever. Off the mouth of the Columbia—on the deep, long swells of the Pacific seas. The rolling surges boom along the mountainous shores. Up the vale one hundred miles the white pyramid of Mount Washington towers above the clouds, and the green {275} forest of Lower Oregon. That scene I shall never forget. It was too wild, too unearthly to be described. It was seen at sunset; and a night of horrid tempest shut in upon this, the author’s last view of Oregon.