Rapid, the head of navigation up to the present time, is a broad and deep-flowing river. At intervals it is interrupted by reefs of rocks, which confine the waters to narrow bounds, through which they flow with tremendous force, the damming up also producing considerable fall. These rapids, as they are called, are numerous, but in ordinary stages of water, only two are considered especially difficult the "John Day" and the "Umatilla "Rapids, both named after streams entering into the Columbia in the vicinity of the rapids. In very low stages of water in winter there are a dozen other equally dangerous places, but these two maintain their questionable dignity of danger at any and all times of the year. In extremely low water, a reef, not known in ordinary stages, completely shuts off navigation above Wallula.
For forty miles above Des Chutes the river scenery is bold and startling. The mountains come abruptly to the water's edge, and in many instances, the banks are perpendicular walls of columnar basaltic rock, many hundred feet high. The puff puff of the steamer between these high walls created an echo, which intensified and reverberated in every direction. Farther on the banks became flattened, the scenery changing to pastoral; peacefully stretching to the far distance, it seemed to lack only the element of human occupation to become a land of promise. Had the hills been dotted with herds of cattle or chequered with fields of grain, as is now the case, the view would have been entrancing. But then, all was lifeless. An occasional Indian hut, near the rapids, on the bank of the river, with, perhaps, a slouching Indian lounging about a fishing trap, or herding a few ponies among the rocks, was the only sign of life from one end of the trip to the other. Not a settlement of any kind, nor the house or home of a white man, was visible from the river, until we reached the terminus at Wallula, where stands an old adobe fort, erected years ago by the Hudson Bay Company. This was now occupied by Higgins, the agent for the Army Quartermaster, who occupied the building as a warehouse and depot. Higgins reigned here, solitary and alone, and like Robinson Crusoe, monarch of all he surveyed.
On our trip, the first obstacle was met at John Day's Rapids, a narrow, rocky passage with an island in the center of the river dividing it in two. Either side was passable for the small sail boat but for the larger steamer was yet to be tested. The Captain chose the right hand but it was a failure. The way was too narrow, the turns too short, and the current frightful. We bumped severely against the rocky bank; but fortunately, the point of contact was above the water line. Finally, he dropped the boat back and below, to try again, or, as he said, to find a "softer spot."
This time—taking the left hand channel and advantage of all the eddies—we succeeded in surmounting first one and then another of the short, sharp pitches in the stream, until finally, the last was conquered and the victory celebrated by a prolonged toot of the steam whistle, which would have produced a sensation among the warlike tribes who here, formerly, opposed the passage of the fur trader and explorer of early days.
Just at the head of the rapids the John Day River, named in honor of one of the renowned hunters and scouts attached to the expedition of Lewis and Clarke in 1804, debouches into the Columbia. Indian and Rock Creek Rapids, Squally Brook and other strong points were vanquished in succession as we came to them; and now a long stretch of placid river intervened, comparatively clear of obstructions—or, as the Captain remarked, of a "civilized" character. Our speed was fair and the weather charming. A good breeze kept the sail distended, and the ever-varying panorama was delightfully interesting. The Captain kept the lead line going almost constantly—an operation which compels the close attention of even the most indolent and unobservant passenger, there being a hint of danger, or risk, or want of knowledge suggested thereby; and a sort of summing up in thought what we shall do if an accident should happen, seems to follow instinctively. You may be sure, every passenger knew where the life preserv-
