“’Tis a surprise, for certain,” McDougall said. “We haven’t been told the North West Company was planning to buy a partnership in our company. Does this mean then you’ll be expecting to use our trade room and the like?”
Thompson chuckled. “Not at all, my friend. And it’s my understanding our company didn’t wish to purchase a full partnership. Only a share.”
Both of Astor’s men were visibly relieved, and Peter knew why. As a full partner in the North West Company, David Thompson would have reduced the presence here of McDougall and Stuart back to the status of clerks. In addition the four small cabins were undoubtedly already crowded.
“Come then,” Stuart said, beckoning to the rest of Thompson’s men. “It’s near time for supper. Let us share some of our bounty from the ocean with you. I guarantee you’ll enjoy it.”
This friendly atmosphere lasted for the few days the Canadian voyageurs rested at Fort Astoria, though the conversation became guarded when the subject turned to building forts and trading with the Indians. Peter was grateful that McDougall and Stuart made certain the Native woman who cooked for them served plenty of food — the best they had to offer. There was fresh salmon, deer, and things in shells from the sea. He decided he liked the last.
After they felt rested, Thompson gathered his men and announced they were going seven miles west to Cape Disappointment — the very end of the river. It was there that the men first accepted the immensity of the ocean as they watched each wave begin far out on the horizon and grow higher and higher as it rushed onward to hurl itself far up onto the shore.
Contemplating the wild collision between the river and the ocean, Thompson said, “I was told that only a few months earlier a ship called the Tonquin lost eight of its crew when they tried to row over that.”
Peter noticed Côté cross himself and was certain the man was praying they wouldn’t be expected to row in that place.
While they stared at the sea, Thompson said to no one in particular, “We’ve wet our feet in the great Pacific, but we must find our way back up this river to finish the task we set out to do.”
CHAPTER 17
Thompson wanted to leave immediately after he saw the Pacific, for one of the men at Fort Astoria had reported they had been plagued with ague and fevers since they had arrived there. The mapmaker didn’t want any of his own men to become afflicted. Still, he was curious about the three loaded dugouts tied at the fort and decided to wait another day or two to see what was to be done with them.
“I was told the dugouts were to meet Monsieur Astor’s overland traders who are to arrive very soon,” Boulard said.
Thompson’s smile was grim. “I was told the same, but I think it’s more likely they plan to build a post inland and wish to keep it secret from us. If we travel upriver together, we may discover where it will be.”
Boulard shrugged. “Perhaps that is not so much a concern. Even Monsieur McDougall agrees that much of his goods are of little use and are poorly made. They are not what the Indians wish to receive in trade for their furs.”
Glumly, Peter took his place in the canoe beside Dog for the return trip up the river. There was barely more than one week left in July and still the mountains to cross after they reached the headwaters of the river — if this was the Columbia. Thompson wasn’t absolutely certain he was right. To make matters worse, the explorer had given the Astor men the impression that many of the Indians along the river were hostile, and it would be best for all the boats to travel together.
Even Boulard grumbled about that. “When we must portage, it is enough to carry that which we must have for ourselves, but now we must add the strange dugouts of this place?”
Charles agreed. “Dugout — she is nothing for men of the river. It is useless to put sail to her when wind good.”
When the muttering reached Thompson’s ears, he called the men together. “In exchange for travelling with them, Astor’s men have promised us a few goods to trade for food as we proceed up the river. It will save us time we would otherwise need for hunting. As for carrying their goods, they have trade goods to pay those in the villages for carrying their dugouts.”
After three days of hard paddling and sometimes pulling the boats from the shore, a party of Indians was seen seining for salmon, and, as one, the steersmen directed their vessels to the bank. The brigade was out of meat and nightfall was fast closing in on them.
When Thompson and Stuart got out of their boats and called out greetings, they were surprised and discomfited to find themselves ignored. Stuart beckoned to one of his men who knew the language of the fishermen. Although the man tried for several minutes to interest the Indians in trading goods for salmon, he received only surly glances in return. Thompson reached into his canoe and brought out a double handful of blue beads that he knew were favourites among the Columbian Natives. When he offered them to the two men, they stared back at him for a moment, hatred in their eyes, then pulled in their nets and stalked away.
As he waited in the canoe, Peter saw Côté swiftly make the sign of the cross and heard him murmur, “I think I do not care for this.”
Anxiously wishing Thompson and Stuart would get back into their boats before the Indians returned with more men, Peter paid little attention to their discussion.
“Nevertheless I fail to understand this,” Thompson said. “These people were friendly enough when we passed by them a few days earlier.”
Stuart regarded the mapmaker with suspicion. “And I again ask if you’re certain you know nothing you or your men did to persuade them to be hostile?”
Thompson drew himself up, suddenly every inch the man in charge of the Columbia District for the North West Company, and scowled at the Fort Astoria trader. “Sir,” he said sternly, “I believe I, too, could ask that question. As for myself, I can truthfully state nothing untoward happened when we met with these people.”
Stuart’s face turned almost as red as his hair, and he shook his head. “Those two Indians haven’t been seen at our post, thus I know of no reason for their hostility.”
“There it is then,” the mapmaker said. “It may be best we take our leave.”
A half-mile up the river the water rushed around a series of huge rocks poking out of the riverbed, but the men insisted it would be easy to weave through them. As they laboured, a canoe carrying six Indians caught up with them. The one in the bow signalled for them to pull ashore. Peter was glad they did, for the Natives were offering four large salmon. Whatever they were given in return, they seemed very happy. A fire was built on the spot, and the salmon was cooked on the rocks in the centre of it.
When the meal was finished, one of the Indians stood and spoke while the Fort Astoria man translated. “When you came down this river, we found life good. But now we learn white men will bring sickness to us and giants to overturn our villages. We have given you food. Are we all to die?”
Thompson told the interpreter to say, “I speak the truth. No one has brought a sickness, and there are no giants to overturn your villages. And I remind you that only the Great Spirit has that power.” When he finished, the Indians appeared satisfied.
The portage around the huge slabs of basalt that had narrowed the river on the way down wasn’t so difficult this time. The bluff on this side of the river was only half as high, and the path was much wider. The canoe could be carried, but the dugouts could only be dragged with the help of the men of the North West Company.
As they proceeded in the following days, the rapids they had shot so gleefully on the journey down to the ocean were more and more difficult as they paddled and poled against the current, frequently making it necessary to carry the canoe. The Fort Astoria dugouts, however, sometimes proved to be impossible to hoist up the banks and over the rocks, forcing Stuart to hire Indians who seemed to appear from nowhere. For the most