to sound the channel and report themselves on board as soon as possible.
The boat was not even supplied with a good sail, or a mast, but one of
the partners gave Mr. Fox a pair of bed sheets to serve for the former.
Messrs M'Kay and M'Dougall could not help remonstrating with the
captain on the imprudence of sending the boat ashore in such weather;
but they could not move his obstinacy. The boat's crew pulled away from
the ship; alas! we were never to see her again; and we already had a
foreboding of her fate. The next day the wind seemed to moderate, and we
approached very near the coast. The entrance of the river, which we
plainly distinguished with the naked eye, appeared but a confused and
agitated sea: the waves, impelled by a wind from the offing, broke upon
the bar, and left no perceptible passage. We got no sign of the boat;
and toward evening, for our own safety, we hauled off to sea, with all
countenances extremely sad, not excepting the captain's, who appeared to
me as much afflicted as the rest, and who had reason to be so. During
the night, the wind fell, the clouds dispersed, and the sky became
serene. On the morning of the 24th, we found that the current had
carried us near the coast again, and we dropped anchor in fourteen
fathoms water, north of Cape Disappointment. The _coup d'oeil_ is not
so smiling by a great deal at this anchorage, as at the Sandwich
islands, the coast offering little to the eye but a continuous range of
high mountains covered with snow.

[Illustration: ENTRANCE OF THE COLUMBIA RIVER.
_Ship Tonquin, crossing the bar, 25th March 1811._]

Although it was calm, the sea continued to break over the reef with
violence, between Cape Disappointment and Point Adams. We sent Mr.
Mumford (the second mate) to sound a passage; but having found the
breakers too heavy, he returned on board about mid-day. Messrs. M'Kay