erefore, by this time, become a firm friend of the
Astorians, and formed a kind of barrier between them and the hostile
intruders from the north.

The summer of 1812 passed away without any of the hostilities that had
been apprehended; the Neweetees, and other dangerous visitors to the
neighborhood, finished their fishing and returned home, and the inmates
of the factory once more felt secure from attack.

It now became necessary to guard against other evils. The season of
scarcity arrived, which commences in October, and lasts until the end
of January. To provide for the support of the garrison, the shallop was
employed to forage about the shores of the river. A number of the men,
also, under the command of some of the clerks, were sent to quarter
themselves on the banks of the Wollamut (the Multnomah of Lewis and
Clarke), a fine river which disembogues itself into the Columbia, about
sixty miles above Astoria. The country bordering on the river is finely
diversified with prairies and hills, and forests of oak, ash, maple,
and cedar. It abounded, at that time, with elk and deer, and the streams
were well stocked with beaver. Here the party, after supplying their own
wants, were enabled to pack up quantities of dried meat, and send it by
canoes to Astoria.

The month of October elapsed without the return of the Beaver. November,
December, January, passed away, and still nothing was seen or heard of
her. Gloomy apprehensions now began to be entertained: she might have
been wrecked in the course of her coasting voyage, or surprised, like
the Tonquin, by some of the treacherous tribes of the north.

No one indulged more in these apprehensions than M'Dougal, who had
now the charge of the establishment. He no longer evinced the bustling
confidence and buoyancy which once characterized him. Command seemed to
have lost its charms for him, or rather, he gave way to the most abject
despondency, decrying the whole enterprise, magnifying every untoward
circumstance, and foreboding nothing but evil.

While in this moody state, he was surprised, on the 16th of January, by
the sudden appearance of M'Kenzie, wayworn and weather-beaten by a long
wintry journey from his post on the Shahaptan, and with a face the very
frontispiece for a volume of misfortune. M'Kenzie had been heartily
disgusted and disappointed at his post. It was in the midst of the
Tushepaws, a powerful and warlike nation, divided into many tribes,
under different