Page:The Overland Monthly, Jan-June 1894.djvu/203

1894.] place. It is, on the contrary, ten or twelve miles inside the bar of the Columbia, and fronts the Washington shore of the river, which is here half a dozen miles in breadth, with a volume that makes it resemble an inland sea. The town is built upon the side of a steep point formed by a deep inlet where the waters of Young’s River unite with the Columbia, except that part of it which is supported upon piles, and consists of wharves and fishing establishments, a by no means small portion of this municipality. The residences fringe streets that pursue wavering lines over greater and lesser hills to the summit of the point, or which run parallel with the river. But while the unpracticed pedestrian is compelled to stop to get his wind quite often in exploring Astoria, he is rewarded for his exhausted oxygen by the grandeur of the view he takes in while he recovers his breath. It is not my intention to attempt a description of the scenery about the mouth of the Columbia, the object of this article being to suggest to the readers of the the pleasures awaiting them when they come to spy out this part of the Pacific frontage for themselves.

As I have said, Astoria is not strictly a seaside resort, yet it has some of the features of one. It is a sort of capital for all the several resorts in the vicinity; and many persons prefer the partly inland climate to that of the coast. Perched on the covered balcony of a west-end house, one may pass the whole day in idle enjoyment of the scene before him, which, as a river view, is unsurpassed anywhere in the world. To be at its best, however, the day should be in July, after the rainy season is past, and when the summer flood of the Columbia has gone out over the bar, leaving the blue beauty of this majestic stream unclouded by dissolving mud-banks, and undisfigured by drift. On such a day you may swing in your hammock, or recline at ease in your extension chair, and mock at weariness, while your eyes wander dreamily from Tongue Point to the Capes, finding ever something new and ideally charming in the panorama. Perhaps the prettiest scene of the day is when the fishing boats start down the river, a hundred or more at one time, their white sails flashing like birds' wings against the blue of the river, or momentarily catching a ruddy tint as the sunset light flares up behind Cape Disappointment, tinging the ripples that dance about their bows. Into the midst of this white-winged fleet every now and then forges the long black steamship just in over the bar from coastwise or foreign ports, trailing after it its longer black streamer of coal-smoke, and saluting the custom-house with a harmless shot as it passes our balcony. Our dreaminess turns to curiosity then, and our handkerchiefs flutter as the passengers, glad to be in from the sea, regard us with friendly gaze. Perhaps we take a stroll down along the wharves and search among the arrivals for a familiar face.

As everyone has read Irving's Astoria, it is quite the thing to seek to know the location of Astor’s old fort; but it is now built over, and the little cove where the Dolly was put together and launched, in front of it, is also so disguised by piling and plank roadways as to be unrecognizable. For reference you turn to your latest edition, and smile as you read of Duncan McDougal's espousal of the daughter of King Comcomly of the Clatsops, trying to fancy the scenes enacted here over eighty years ago.

One feature of the great river is that it seldom releases him who falls into its embrace; and so it happened that one of the partners of the Northwestern Company, to which Astor's interests were sold out, was drowned in crossing it not long after the transfer. A visit to the cemetery on the hill above the town will reward us with a look at the oldest tomb of civilized man in all this Northwest.