either of trees or soil in which they grew. The entire raging river was covered with uprooted trees, barns, fences, cabins, bridges, the annihilated toil of pioneers. Above the falls Canemah was laid waste; and below, Abernethy's peach orchard and acres of river front were dumped into the torrent. In view of this pioneer catastrophe, it is comforting to know that the flood of 1890, ten inches higher, carried no such destruction in its wake. The country was better prepared to meet it.
When the flood of 1861 was at its highest the falls of the Willamette were the scene of an exciting feat in steamboating when Captain George W. Taylor resolved to take his boat, the St. Clair, to the lower river. A sale was to be made on condition that the St. Clair could be landed below in safety. The short December day passed in hesitation, the Canemah women made fires on the hills to see the St. Clair go over the falls, friends bade the daring captain adieu, when with all in readiness he launched upon the toboggan slide of waters. A breathless suspense was relieved when cheerful toots of the St. Clair's whistle proved she had made the leap in safety. The ease with which the St. Qair made the plunge proved the passage could be made, but no one has ever tried it again. But this baptism did not wash away political animosity. In 1862 democrats and republicans refused to celebrate the 4th of July together, the democrats going to Holmes park on the hill, and the republicans celebrating where the C. C. store now is, where they had erected bowers and tables. Both parties quarreled for the only cannon in town, but the democrats carried it off.
After the receding flood of 1861, bare rock from landing to landing suggested a deeper basin where Dr. McLoughlin had made his pioneer attempt a quarter of a century before. The valley demanded an outlet, and sixty-five stockholders from Eugene to Portland organized the People's Transportation Company, constructed a basin and canal at Oregon City, built boats at the Canemah dry dock, drove all rivals from the river, and held the monopoly for ten years in which time they spent over a million dollars in steamboats, docks and improvements to handle freight expeditiously. They held the key to the upper Willamette.
Then, just as had happened before, a rival company, the Willamette Transportation and Locks Company, started in on the other side. The People's Transportation Company paid no attention, but went on and built two more steamers at Canemah, the Albany, and then the Dayton, the first commander of which was Captain J. T. Apperson. When in 1870 the state legislature granted a bonus of $200,000 to the Willamette Transportation and Locks Company, the doom of the old, uncertain portage was sealed, and the next year, 1871, all the People's Transportation Company's interests went into the hands of Ben Holladay, who now had all the steamships, boats and railroads of Oregon in his hands. The little fleet of home built boats, the Enterprise, Fanny Patton, Albany, E. N. Cook, Alice, Active, Alert, Echo, Success and Onward, all went to Ben Holladay for $200,000. The business was of great magnitude at this time, five thousand tons of freight being brought to Oregon City in the one month of January, 1871. The Alice, one of the last boats built at Canemah, ran on the upper river until she was burned in the basin at Oregon City.
The locks were completed in 1872, and when, on New Year's day, 1873, the first steamer, Maria Wilkins, puffed down through the water gates, she had on board Jacob Kamm, Governor Grover, Ex-Governor Whitaker, Harvey W. Scott, and other guests of distinction. On March 16, the Governor Grover, a Portland steamer, went up, the first large steamer to go so far up on the river.
Today the General Electric Company lights Portland from Willamette Falls, and claims the locks, with toll from every boat that passes through, and statesmen are studying how to secure to the people free navigation of the Willamette. Government engineers are surveying the falls, to ascertain whether it will be best to buy the locks, or build new ones.
Fifty years have worn away fifteen feet of the falls, but this has been stopped by a big rock wall, a concrete dam, half a mile around and five feet thick.
