Fort Vancouver was at this time under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Bonneville, whose "Adventures" for three years in the adjoining Indian country will always live and be read in the fascinating pages of Irving. Two companies of the 4th Infantry and one of the 3d Artillery were stationed there. Altogether, it is probably the most pleasant of our posts on the Pacific coast. The place is healthy, the scenery around beautiful, furnishing opportunities of fishing, hunting and riding, while its nearness to Portland and Oregon City, prevents the young officers from being, as at many other Western posts, deprived of the refining influence of female society. Many are the occasions on which they find it necessary to drop down to these places. Deserters are supposed to be lurking there, garrison stores are to be provided, or some other of Uncle Sam's interests are to be looked after. Then, these visits must be returned, for the inhabitants of these places have an equal care for the welfare of their neighbors at the fort. Numerous, therefore, are the parties of pleasure which come from these towns to enliven the solitude of the garrison. On these occasions they are welcomed by balls, and night after night the fine music of the Regimental Band is heard floating over the waters of the Columbia river and the brilliant glare of lights from the Fort shows that _tattoo_ is not the signal for all within its walls to retire. Here, a few days passed pleasantly, in the way garrison life always does. In such places there is but little change. "One day telleth another." Guard mounting—the morning ride—the drill—the long talk over the dinner table—the evening parade—the still longer talk at night, with reminiscences of West Point days—and then to bed. At this time, Lieutenant Hodges (4th Infantry) was ordered to the post at the Dalles, about ninety miles distant, to conduct thither a company of recruits, and I, having no very definite object in view, except to see as much of the country as possible, determined to accompany him. We left Vancouver about six A.M. in a little steamer, the _Belle_, which runs up Columbia river about fifty miles, as far as the Cascades. The scenery of the river is in all parts beautiful, but very varied in its character. The pine forests stretch down to the banks, enlivened here and there by the cultivated spot which some settler has cleared, whose axe awakened new and strange echoes as it rang through the primeval woods. On the margin of the shore, and particularly on one of the islands, we noticed the dead-houses of the Indians, rudely constructed of logs. Within, the bodies of the deceased are placed for a time, attired in their best array, until the building becomes filled. Then, the oldest occupants are removed and placed on the shore, till the tide launches them off on their last voyage and they are swept down to the ocean, which to the "untutored savage," as to his more cultivated brethren, symbolizes Eternity.