The Hood River Glacier, Hood River, OR., December 17, 1903, page 4
FIRST MENTION OF HOOD RIVER
"Ten Years in Oregon" is an interesting serial in the
Sunday Oregonian made up from a history of the state published in 1844 by
Daniel Lee and J.H. Frost, first missionaries to Oregon. The account of the
establishment of the mission at The Dalles is of particular local interest,
as an account is given of an overland trip from the mission to the Willamette
valley. Hood River is spoken of as "White river," because of the milky appearance
of the water at the time. Following is a part of the story:
The members of the Oregon mission considering The Dalles
on the Columbia river as a promising field for missionary effort, it was
determined to begin a new station at that place, which is about 80 miles
above Fort Vancouver, and accordingly, in 1838, Mr. Perkins and the writer
appointed to proceed to the Dalls for that purpose.
Leaving the Walamet station on the 14th of March, they
embarked in two canoes with a small cargo of supplies, passed down the Walamet
river, and then ascended the Columbia to the place of destination, where
they arrived on Wednesday the 22d.
About three miles below the Dalls, and a half mile from
the shore on the south side, was found a valuable spring of water, some rich
land, and a good supply of timber, oak and pine, and an elevated and pleasant
location for a house, almost in their shade; with a fine extended view of
the Columbia river, three miles on either hand. The back ground was broken
and hilly, and thinly wooded. Here, about the 1st of April, a house was begun.
The Indians assisted in cutting the timber, and bringing it upon the spot.
Meantime, Mr. Jason Lee arrived on his way to the United States, accompanied
by Mr. Edwards, and another gentleman, Mr. Ewing, of Missouri, and two Indian
boys of the Chenook tribe, W.M. Brooks and Thomas Adams, who had been some
time in the mission school at the Walamet station. The object of his visit
was to obtain additional facilities to carry on, more efficiently and
extensively, the missionary work in Oregon territory. April 9th, having hired
horses of the Indians to convey himself to Wallah-wallah, where he was to
purchase the horses needed to make the tour of the mountains, that being
the usual place of outfit for parties going by land into the interior, he
took an affectionate leave of his friends, Mr. Perkins and the writer, and
set off on his arduous journey, accompanied by the aforenamed gentleman and
the native boys. The same day Mr. Perkins embarked in a canoe for the Walamet
station in order to bring his wife to the Dalls, and returned in safety on
the 5th of May. The building of the house went on amidst many interruptions,
and it was finished before winter. Mr. Perkins' family occupied it long before
it was roofed; but as the climate was dry, and rain seldom fell in summer,
it was quite safe. Several trips were made to Walamet and Vancouver by water
during the year for supplies. One journey was made to Fort Wallah-wallah
to get horses and another overland to the Walamet station, to obtain cattle.
These various journeys and voyages took us away from the station about five
months each during the year. Immediately on our arrival at the station we
began holding meetings with the Indians on the Sabbath; speaking to them
in the "jargon," through an interpreter. This imperfect medium of communication
sprang from the traffic of the whites with the Indians, and it embraces some
English, some French, and many Indian words, some Chenook, some Wallah-wallah,
and some of the other tribes, and it is understood more or less by individuals
in almost all tribes beyond the mountains. Their behavior at worship was
very serious, and most of them would kneel in time of prayer. Our meetings
were held without, among the oaks, or under a pine, whose cooling shade screened
us from the burning sun. A few scattering stones afforded seats for some,
and others sat quietly on the ground; a manner of sitting to which they were
well used, and which they prefer to any other.
September 3. The writer left the Dalls to go to the Walamet
overland after cattle, a journey of 125 miles, taking 10 horses, owned by
the Oregon mission, and 10 others, some belonging to the Indians who were
going to assist him, four in number, and day supply of provisions for six
days. One of my Indians, the oldest, probably from 40 to 50, was blind of
an eye, which had been destroyed by a violent inflammation, that nearly caused
his death. But in his extremity he received some kind of visitor from the
invisible world, who was assured him that he would recover; upon which he
soon revived, greatly to the surprise of his friends around him, who viewed
his restoration as mysterious, since they had looked upon him as one dead,
and on this account he received the name of Uk-woui-a-neete, that is, "heart,"
or "life." He was of Chenook descent, and a resident of the Dalls.
Another was a Wallah-wallah, a stout young man of 25
years, good stature, with a fine forehead, and, what is rare, a Roman nose.
His name, which signifies to become dry, empty or destitute, was,
Tah-lac-e-ou-it, and was given him because once he had considerable prosperity
which he had lost by gambling, to which he was much addicted. One of the
remaining two was a Chenook with the usual features, a flattened forehead
and a wide mouth, about 20 years old. Proud of his skill in directing a canoe,
and of his supposed horsemanship, he felt and boasted himself a man. My other,
a Wallah-wallah, was a shrewd young rogue, a gamester, dishonest to the core;
and besides these, a poor cripple, with a short, shriveled, crooked, cumbersome
leg. To help his well one, he carried a long cane or crutch, six or seven
feet long, on which he poised himself as he sprang from one place to another,
two yards or more at a leap. Thus he was active on a single leg, even to
admiration. Our horses are now saddled; we mount and away. Trotting is an
fashionable gait in Oregon. A cloud of dust marks our course westward. In
sight of the mission we cross a beautiful plain of grass, half a mile wide
and a mile and a half long, spotted here and there with small basaltic islands.
On of our right flows the Columbia; on our left are hills 200 and 300 feet
in height, fringed at their base with a narrow, lengthened strip of oak and
pine. Leaving this plain, we began to ascend among hills, diverging
south-westward from the river in our course. The country for 20 miles is
broken, sparsely wooded with yellow pine and stinted oak. Some of the former
are large, and may well be called the monarchs of the hills. A long kind
of moss grows on them, which the natives use as an article of food. The grass
is as dry as if David's imprecation on the mountains of Gilboa had fallen
upon the thirsty hills. Having passed this region, we reached the valley
on the White creek, about noon, where we halted to bait our horses and take
dinner; water front a cooling rill relieving our thirst. Having mounted fresh
horses, we pursued our way along the elevated base of the high hills on the
left, and in about two hours came to the creek, which, for many miles, lay
far beneath on the right. It was three rods wide and about three feet deep,
of a milky whiteness, filled with large, smooth stones. However, we crossed
it without disaster. Here we entered the forest, at the base of that part
of the President's range of mountains lying south of the Columbia, on whose
summits stand four ancient volcanoes covered with perpetual snow. On one
we went, in a narrow, crowded path, among windfalls and underbrush, dodging
right and left to avoid contact with the limbs stretched across our way.
At dusk we came to a spot where the hazel and brake bore rule, permitting
only a little grass to grow up in their shade. Here we dismounted, hobbled
our horses and encamped for the night. A fire was struck, some dried salmon
and lamprey eels roasted; and we sat down and made a good, hardy Indian supper.
After a hymn and prayer, we wrapped ourselves in our blankets, laid down
under the bushes to avoid the dampness of the night, and rested sweetly till
the dawn of another morning. A long day's march was before us, and we made
an early start. My one-eyed man led the way followed by the horses in two
bands, three or four to a man, one bringing up the rear. Going west a few
miles we came to a branch of White creek, which empties into it below the
ford described. Up this, on the south side we traveled several miles, and
came to a rugged mountain barrier, where the water was confined in a deep
ravine amid high, precipitous banks. Here the trail crossed to the other
side. Our route now lay several miles over a high hill, and then it fell
again upon the stream we had left, and descended along its tortuous course,
one side and the other, and along its bed. Leaving this rugged path without
regret, we rose gradually to the height of land lying south of the Cascades
of the Columbia 15 to 20 miles. The horses had become hungry, and the declining
sun already chided our tardy progress. A long way to grass -- stopping at
such a time, turning out of the path to browse on the leaves - 'tis too much!
"Go along Gray!" "Hup, hup!" The woods ring with continual shouts to our
rebel quadrupeds. A long hard drive brought us to the top of the hill, and
we began to descend, with new courage and quickened pace, toward the valley
or Sandy creek, where a good encampment awaited our arrival. We passed on
through a miry tract, darkened by majestic evergreens. We were in the midst
of these when night came on and compelled us to encamp. Some of the horses
were tied to trees and the rest were guarded during the night. Next morning
we decamped early, and soon came to the Sandy. This rapid stream rises at
the base of Mount Hood, whose silver summit appears to rest on the sky about
15 miles off. The fires that once raged within its bowels, and blazed at
its top, seem to have been long extinguished. Native tradition says that
fire was anciently seen upon it, and that sounds were heard by the hunters
who approached it, like the report of muskets, and that it is inhabited by
a peculiar race of men who are destitute of the power of vision.
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© Jeffrey L. Elmer