ow
left to talk over the old days; when any of them do meet, the greeting
is one of brotherhood indeed.

We camped but two days on the bank of the Columbia River. When I say
"we," let it be understood that I mean myself, my young wife, and the
baby boy who was but seven weeks old when the start was made from
Eddyville.

[Illustration: _Kiser Bros._

St. Peter's Dome--one of the sentinels of the Columbia.]

I do not remember the embarking on the great scow for our trip down
the Columbia to the Cascades. But incidents of the voyage come to me as
vividly as if they had happened but yesterday.

Those who took passage felt that the journey was ended. The cattle had
been unyoked for the last time; the wagons had been rolled to the last
bivouac; the embers of the last camp fire had died out. We were entering
now upon a new field with new present experiences, and with new
expectancy for the morrow.

The scow, or lighter, upon which we took passage was decked over, but
without railing, offering a smooth surface upon which to pile our
belongings. These, in the majority of cases, made but a very small
showing. The whole deck surface of the scow was covered with the
remnants of the homeseekers' outfits, which in turn were covered by the
owners, either sitting or reclining upon their possessions, with but
scant room to change position or move about in any way. There must have
been a dozen families or more on the boat, or about sixty persons. These
were principally women and children; the young men and some of the older
ones were still struggling on the mountain trail to get the teams
through to the west side of the Cascade Mountains.

As we went floating down that wonderful old river, the deep depression
of spirits that, for lack of a better name, we call "the blues," seized
upon us. Do you wonder why? We were like an army that had burned the
bridges behind it. We had scant knowledge of what lay in the track
before us. Here we were, more than two thousand miles from
home,--separated from it by a trackless, uninhabited waste of country.
It was impossible for us to retrace our steps. Go ahead we must, no
matter what we were to encounter.

Then, too, we had for months borne the burden of duties that could not
be avoided or delayed, until many were on the verge of collapse from
strain and overwork. Some were sick, and all were reduced in flesh from
the urgent toil at camp duty and from lack of variety of food. Such was
the co