rms, standing far out from the shore, and affords a
very imperfect shelter for vessels if they are so fortunate as to get
safely in. The Coast Survey Report mentions it as "the most dangerous of
the roadsteads usually resorted to, filled with sunken rocks and reefs."
It further says, that "no vessel should think of gaining an anchorage
there, without a pilot, or perfect knowledge of the hidden dangers. The
rocks are of peculiar character, standing isolated like bayonets, with
their points just below the surface, ready to pierce any unlucky craft
that may encounter them." The "Dragon Rocks" lie in the near vicinity,
at the end of a long reef that makes out from Crescent City. All the
steamers that enter or depart from there must pass near them.

It is very remarkable, that, while the Atlantic coast abounds in
excellent harbors, on the Pacific side of the continent there is no good
harbor where a vessel can find refuge in any kind of weather between San
Francisco Bay and San Diego to the south, and Port Angeles, on the
Straits of Fuca, to the north. It is fitly characterized by Wilkes as an
"iron-bound coast."

We reached here Saturday night. Sunday morning, hearing a silver
triangle played in the streets, we looked out for tambourines and
dancing-girls, but saw none, and were presently told it was the call to
church. We were quite tempted to go and hear what the service would be,
but the sound of the breakers on the bar enchained us to stop and listen
to them.

PORTLAND, ORE., October 20, 1868.

In coming up the river from Astoria, we had always in view the
snow-white cone of St. Helen's, one of the principal peaks of the
Cascade Range. Nothing can be conceived more virginal than this form of
exquisite purity rising from the dark fir forests to the serene sky.
Mount Baker's symmetry is much marred by the sunken crater at the
summit; Mount Rainier's outline is more complicated: this is a pure,
beautiful cone. It is so perfect a picture of heavenly calm, that it is
as hard to realize its being volcanic as it would be to imagine an
outburst of passion in a seraph. Fremont reports having seen columns of
smoke ascending from it, and showers of ashes are known to have fallen
over the Dalles.

As we approached Portland, the sharp-pointed form of Mount Hood came
prominently into view. Portland would be only a commonplace city, the
Willamette River being quite tame here, and the shores low and
unattractive; but this gra