ers were to be found, and I fancy knew well how to use them.
Darkness found us within sound, if not within sight, of the famous Umatilla Rapid, the last and most formidable obstruction on the river. Hunting for a smooth and quiet place, we came to anchor for the night, as it was impossible to ascend the rapids except by daylight. The continuous roar of the cataract just above us was a lullaby which ushered in a slumber as sound as it was refreshing. At daylight the next morning, we were awakened by the noise of preparation, the escape of steam, the "Cheerily, heave O! "of the sailors getting the anchor home, and, finally, the clear sound of the engineer's gong, to go ahead. Every body was up and dressing, for the chief interest was centered in the struggle to be undertaken. If the Umatilla Rapids can be passed, success for the enterprise and for the country is assured—otherwise failure.
The rapids are formed by reefs extending completely across the river. There are three separate reefs each about half a mile apart from the other. These reefs rise as they approach the shore, consequently, the water is more shallow there. The passage through the reefs must be made through narrow openings or breaks, which are near the middle of the stream. The volume of water passing these breaks is enormous, and it shoots through with fearful velocity. The openings are not in line with each other, so a boat is compelled to pursue a zigzag course in ascending or descending. It was ascertained subsequently that in consequence of the irregular openings, it was safer to ascend with a steamboat than to descend. Of late years, the United States has spent much money and labor in removing rock and improving the channel here—all of which has been of decided benefit at certain stages of the river. But a difficult and dangerous place it will always be.
The fierce running waves swept up and against our boat's bow, as if protesting against any intrusion. As fast as they were swept aside, others took their place. Still we advanced, until we got up to and under the lee of the lower reef. Here the Captain decided upon an opening which he thought large enough for our boat, and accessible.
Jamming her nose with all speed into the fall, she nobly breasted the waters, which thundered around and poured over the bow upon the deck in profusion. Trembling and creaking in every part, she rapidly shoved herself bodily over the fall—but the rise of the boat on top of the fall lifted the stern wheel out of the water, and she hesitated—then lost headway—then went astern. "More steam," cried the Captain, but we still went back—until striking slacker water, we regained steerage-way.
"By mighty," says the Captain, "she must go through."
Again she rushes, and again she is baptized; but the Captain, having found a "little softer" place, holds her firm—until the wheel as well as the boat surmounts the fall—then, all at once, she hoots ahead over and away from the rapids, into broad water, with a dignified air of superiority, which is wholly excusable under the circumstances.
In the comparatively quiet, yet still strong, water between the reefs, we now seek a passage through the middle reef, and, as if the boat had gained strength and courage, the attack on the next strong water was successful at the first attempt.
These two victories had a corresponding effect on the passengers and crew, who loudly cheered the second passing; and as we headed for the third and last reef, seemed to think, as the party said to Noah in the ark, "Well, it's not going to be much of a shower anyhow." And so it proved. The experience at the upper reef was similar to that at the middle, and we glided into the clear, open river again, just as the welcome breakfast bell recalled us to more material things than the wars of giants, of which we had just been deeply interested spectators.
General congratulation followed around the breakfast table. The owners looked pleased and happy. The passengers who were to go on, expected to be on the outside of a mule or a pony in a couple of hours,
