Death on the Bar
Alexander Ross's Journal of the Voyage for the Founding of Astoria, Oregon
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Alexander Ross was a part of the expedition which founded Astoria:
At half past one o’clock in the afternoon, Mr. Fox left the ship having
with him one sailor, a very oId Frenchman, and three Canadian lads, unacquainted
with sea service-.two of them being carters from La Chine, and. the other a
Montreal barber. Mr. Fox objected to such hands; but the captain refused to
change them, adding, that he had none else to spare. Mr. Fox then represented
the impossibility of performing the business in such weather, and on such a
rough sea, even with the best seamen, adding, that the waves were too ‘high
for any boat to live in. The captain, turning sharply round, said—” Mr.
Fox, if you are afraid of water, you should have remained at Boston.” On this
Mr. Fox immediately ordered the boat to be lowered, and the men to embark. If
the crew wag bad, the boat was still worse—being scarcely seaworthy, and
very small While this was going on, the partners, who were all partial to Mr.
Fox, began to sympathize with him, and to intercede with the captain to defer
examining the bar till a favourable change took place in the weather. But he was
deaf to entreaties, stamped, and swore that a combination was formed to
frustrate all his designs. The partners’ interference, therefore, only riveted
him the more in his determination, and Mr. Fox was peremptorily ordered to
proceed. He, seeing that the captain was immoveable, turned to the partners with
tears in his eyes, and said—” My uncle was drowned here not many years ago,
and now I am going to lay my bones with his.” He then shook hands, with all
around him, and bade them adieu. Stepping into the boat— ~‘Farewell~.my
friends!” said he; “we will perhaps meet again in the next world.” And
the words were prophetic.
The
moment the boat pushed off, all hands crowded in silence to take a last farewell
of her. The weather was boisterous, and the sea rough so that we often lost
sight of the boat before she got 100 yards from
the
ship; nor had she gone that far before she became utterly unmanageable,
sometimes broaching broadside to the foaming surges, and at other times almost
whirling round like a top, then tossing on the crest of a huge wave would sink
again for a time and disappear altogether4 At last she hoisted the
flag; the meaning could not be mistaken; we knew it was a signal of distress. At
this instant all the people crowded round the captain, and implored him to try
and save the boat; but in an angry tone he ordered about ship, and we saw the
ill-fated boat no more.
Mr.
Fox was not only an able officer, but an experienced seaman, and a great
favourite among all classes on board; and this circumstance, I fear, proved his
ruin, for his uniform kindness and affability to the passengers had from the
commencement of the voyage drawn down upon his head the ill-will of his
captain; and his being sent off on the present perilous and forlorn undertaking,
with such awkward and inexperienced hands, whose language’ he did not
understand, is a proof of that ill-will.
The
mouth of Columbia River is remarkable for its sand-bars and high surf at all
seasons, but more particularly in the spring and fall, during the equinoctial
gales: these sand-bars frequently shift, the channel of course shifting along
with them, which renders the passage at all times extremely dangerous. The
bar, or rather the chain of sand-bash, over which the huge waves and foaming
breakers roll so awfully, is a league broad, and extends in a white foaming
sheet for many miles, both south and north of the mouth of the river, forming as
it were an impracticable barrier to the entrance, and threatening with instant
destruction everything that comes near it.
The
river at its mouth is 4 miles broad, confined by Cape Disappointment on the
north, and Point Adams on the south; the former is a rocky cliff or promontory,
rising about 500 feet above the level of the water, and covered on the top with
a few scattered trees of stinted growth; the latter a low sandy point, jutting
out about 300 yards into the river, directly opposite to Cape Disappointment:
the deepest water is near the Cape, but the channel is both narrow and
intricate. The country is low, and the impervious forests give to the
surrounding coast a wild and gloomy aspect.
After
the captain ordered about ship, as already stated, some angry words passed
between himself and Mr. Mumford, the second officer, which ended in the latter
being ordered below. After passing an anxious night, the return of day only
increased the anxiety, and every mind was filled with gloomy apprehensions. In
the course of this day, Mr. Mum-ford resumed his duties, and the ship kept
beating off and on till noon, when ahe cast anchor in fourteen fathoms, about a
mile from the breakers; and the
weather becoming calm, Mr. M’Kay, Mr. David Stuart, myself, and several
others, embarking in the long boat, which was well manned and armed, stood in for the shore, in
hope of being able to effect a landing. On approaching the bar, the terrific
chain
of
breakers, which keep rolling one after another in awful succession, completely
overpowered us with dread; and the fearful suction or current became so
irresistibly great, that, before we were aware of
it,
the boat was drawn into them, and became unmanageable. Mr. Mumford, who was at
the helm, called out, “Let us turn about and pull for your lives -pull hard,
or you are all
dead men.” ‘In turning round, the boat broached broadside to
the surf, and was for some time in imminent danger of being engulfed or dashed
to pieces; and, although every effort was made, we were for twelve minutes
struggling h~ this perilous situation, between hope and despair, before we got
clear, or the boat obeyed the oars, and yet we were still two miles from the
shore; and had it not been for the prompt and determined step taken by Mr.
Mumford, the boat and every soul on board of it must have inevitably perished.
Notwithstanding our narrow escape, we made a second and third attempt, but
without success, and then returned to the ship. The same afternoon, Mr. Mumford
was sent more to the mouth to seek for a channel, but to no purpose. The charts
were again examined, and every preparation made for next morning.
On
the 25th, early in the morning, Mr. Mumford
was
again ordered in another direction to go and dis
cover if possible the proper channel, and uncertain
the
depth of water. After several trials, in one or two of which the boat got again
entangled in the breakers, and had a very narrow escape, the boat at length came
into 2 fathoms of water, and then returned; but the’ captain seemed to hint
that Mr. Mumford had not done so much as he might have done, or in’ other
words, -he was dissatisfied; indeed, his mind was not in a state to be satisfied
with anything,. not even with himself; but his officers, what-ever they did,
were sure to displease.
The
captain now called on Mr. Aikens, the third mate, and ordered him to go and
sound in a more northerly direction, and if he, found 3 fathoms water to hoist a
flag as a signal. At three o’clock in the afternoon, Mr. Aikens, together with
the sailmaker, armourer, and two Sandwich Islanders, embarked in the.pinnace,
and proceeded to the bar.. As soon as the pinnace hoisted the flag agreed upon,
the slip weighed anchor and .stood in for the channel; at the: same time tile
boat; pulling back from the
Bar, met the ship about half a mile
from the breakers, _
in
eight fathoms, going’ in with a gentle sea-breeze, at the rate of three knots
an hour.~
As
the ship and boat drew near to each other the latter steered a little aside to
be out of the ship’s way,. then Iay upon her oars in smooth water, waiting to
be taken on board, while the ship passed on within twenty yards of them in
silence; nor did the people in the boat speak a single word. As soon as the
ship had passed, and no motion made to take the boat on board,
every one appeared thunderstruck, and Mr. M’Kay was the first that
spoke,—” Who,” ~ said he, “is going to throw a rope to the boat?’~ No
one answered; but by this time she had fallen astern, and began to pull after
the ship. Every one now called out, “The boat, the boat!” The partners, in
astonishment, entreated the captain to take the boat on board, but he coolly
replied, “I can give them no assistance.” Mr. Mumford said it would not be
the work of a minute. “Back a sail, ~ throw a rope overboard,” cried the
partners; the answer was, “No, I will not endanger the ship.”
We
now felt convinced that the boat and crew were devoted to destruction—no
advice was given them, no assistance offered, no reasons assigned for risking so
cruel a sacrifice of human life—for the place 1 where the boat met us was
entirely free from the 1 influence of the breakers, and a long way from the bar.
It is impossible, therefore, to account for the cool indifference manifested
towards the fated boat and her crew, unless we suppose that the mind of the
captain was so absorbed in apprehension, and perplexed with anxiety at the
danger which stared himin the face, and which he was about to encounter in a few
minutes, that he could not be brought to give a thought to anything else but the
safety of the ship~
During
this time the ship was drawing nearer and nearer to the breakers, which called
our attention
from the boat to look out for our own safety; but she was seen
for some time struggling hard to follow
the
ship as we entered the breakers, the sight of which was appalling. On the ship
making the first plunge, every countenance looked dismay; and the sun, at the
time just sinking below the horizon, seemed to say, “Prepare for your last”
Mr. Mumford was now ordered to the mast-head, to point out the channel. The
water decreasing from 8 to 2* fathoms, she struck tremendously on the second
reef or shoal; and the surges breaking over her stern overwhelmed everything on
deck. Every one who could, sprang aloft, and clung for life to the rigging.
The
waves at times broke ten feet high over her, and at other times she was in
danger of foundering: she struck again and again, and, regardless of her helm,
was tossed and whirled in every direction, and became completely unmanageable.
Night now began to spread an impenetrable gloom over the turbulent deep. Dark,
indeed, was that dreadful night We bad got about a mile into the breakers, and
not far from the rocks at the foot of the Cape, against which the foaming surges
wreaked their fury unceasingly. Our anxiety was still further increased by the
wild dying sway, and the tide still ebbing. At this instant, some one called
out, “We are all lost, the ship is among the rocks.” A desperate eftort was
then made to let go the anchors—two were thrown overboard; the sails kept
flapping fur some time:
Nor
was the danger diminished by learning the fact
that the surf dragged ship, anchors, and all, along with it. But there is a
limit it to all things: hour
after
hour had passed, and terrific was the sight; yet
our faithful bark still defied the
elements, until the
tide
providentially beginning to flow—just at a time
when it appeared as if no earthly
power could save
us
from a watery grave—brought about our deliverance by cartying the ship along
with it into Baker’s Bay, snug within the Cape, where we lay in safety.
Here
are two points for consideration; first, the time of sounding: and, secondly,
the time chosen for entering the breakers. In respect to both, there was an
unwarrantable precipitation—a manifest want of sound judgment We made the land
in the middle of a storm, the channel and coast both unknown to
us,
and without either pilot or guide: under such circumstances, it was evident to
all that no boat could live on the water at the time, far less reach the shore;
and our entering the breakers at so late an hour, the sun at the time not being
fifty minutes above the horizon, the channel also being unexplored -was
certainly a premature and forlorn undertaking:
but
there existed such disunion—such a spirit of contradiction on board—that the
only wonder is how we ever got so far. But I must now inform the reader what
became of the boat
In the morning of the 26th, Captain Thorn, Mr. Kay, myself, and a few men, left the ship, to take a view of the coast from the top of Cape Disappointment~ to try if we could learn any tidings of the boats. We had not proceeded fifty yards, when we saw Steven Weeks, the armourer, standing under the shelter of a rock, shivering and half-dead with cold. Joy for a moment filled our hearts, and running up to the poor fellow, we inquired for his corn-mades, but could get no satisfactory reply; we then brought him to the ship, and, after giving him some food, resumed our inquiries; but he appeared so overpowered with grief and vexation, that we could scarcely get a word from him; in short, he seemed to reproach us bitterly. “You did it purposely,” said he, in great agitation; but after some time, and when we had first told him what we had suffered, he seemed to come round, as if his feelings were soothed by the recital of our dangers; and then he related his melancholy tale, in the following words:— “After the ship passed us we pulled hard to follow her, thinking every moment you would take us on board; but when we saw her enter the breakers we considered ourselves as lost. We tried to pull back again, but in vain; for we were drawn into the breakers in spite of all we could do. We saw the ship make two or three heavy plunges; but just at this time we ourselves were struck with the boiling surf, and the boat went reeling in every direction; in an instant a heavy sea swamped her—poor Mr. Aikens and John Cole were never seen after. As soon as I got above the surface of the water, I kept tossing about at the mercy of the waves. While in this state I saw the two Sandwich Islanders struggling through the surf to get hold of the boat, and being expert swimmers they succeeded. After long struggles they got her turned upon her keel, bailed out some of the water, and recovered one of the oars. I made several attempts to get near them, but the weight of my clothes and the rough sea bad almost exhausted me. I could scarcely keep myself above water, and the Owhyhees were so much occupied about the boat, that they seemed to take no notice of anything else. In vain I tried to make signs, and to call out; every effort ~only sank me more and more. The tide bad drawn the boat by this time out to sea, and almost free of the breakers, when the two islanders saw me, now supporting myself by a floating oar, and made for me. The poor fellows tried to haul me into the boat, but their strength failed them. At last, taking hold of my clothes in their teeth, they fortunately succeeded. We then stood out to sea as night set in, and a darker one I never saw. The Owhyhees, overcome with wet and cold, began to lose hope, and their fortitude forsook them, so that they lay down despairingly in the boat, nor could I arouse them from their drowsy stupor. When I saw that I had nothing to expect from them, I set to sculling the boat myself; and yet it was with much ado l could stand on my legs. During the night one of the Indians died in despair, and the other seemed to court death, for he lost all heart, and would not utter a single word. When the tide began to flow I was roused by the sense of my danger, for the sound of the breakers grew louder and louder, and I knew if I got entangled in them in my exhausted state all was lost; I, therefore, set too with might and main, as a last effort, to keep the boat out to sea, and at daylight I was within a quarter of a mile of the breakers, and about double that distance short of the Cape. I paused for a. moment, ‘What is to be done?’ I said to myself; ‘death itself is preferable to this protracted struggle.’ So, turning the head of my boat for shore, I determined to reach the land or die in the attempt. Providence favoured my resolution, the breakers seemed to aid in hurrying me out of the watery element; and the sun had scarcely risen when the boat was thrown up high and dry on the beach. I had much ado to extricate myself from her, and to drag my benumbed limbs along. On seeing my. self once more on .dry land, I sat down and felt a momentary relief; but this was followed by gloomy reflections. I then got into thy boat again, and seeing the poor islander still alive, but insensible, I hauled him out of the boat, and with much ado carried him to the border of the wood, when covering him with leaves I left him to die. While gathering the leaves I happened to come upon a beaten path, which brought me here.” Such was Weeks’s melancholy story; himself and the Indian, being the only survivors of the last boat, it follows that eight men in all lost their lives in entering this fatal river.
Note: All of Astor's managers had the viciousness of Captain Thorn and the employees, at the first appearance of Englishmen in the War of 1812, sold the entire business, kit and Kaboodle, to them. Astor later laid a claim on the U.S. government, declaring the loss of Astoria as an outcome of the War. In reality, it was his own poor management skills that brought about the rapid surrender.