The church is larger than before,
You reach it by a carriage-entry;
It holds three hundred people more,
And pews are fitted up for gentry.

Where is the old man laid? Look down
And construe on the slab before you-
'Here lieth Dr William Brown,

Vir nullâ non donandus lauro.'

BARS AND BREAKERS.

THE EARLIEST SETTLING OF BRITISH COLUMBIA.

And on the twenty-second of March, the Tonquin arrived at the mouth of the Oregon, or Columbia river.

The aspect of the river and the adjacent coasts was wild and dangerous. The mouth of the Columbia is upwards of four miles wide, with a peninsula and promontory on one side, and a long low spit of land on the other; between which a sand bar and chain of breakers almost block. The interior of the country rises into successive ranges of mountains, which, at the time of the arrival of the Tonquin, were covered with

snow.

A fresh wind from the north-west sent a rough tumbling sea upon the coast, which broke upon the bar in furious surges, and extended a sheet of foam almost across the mouth of the river. Under these circum

stances, the captain did not think it prudent to approach within three leagues, until the bar should be sounded, and the channel ascertained. Mr Fox, the chief mate, was ordered to this service in the whale-boat, accompanied by John Martin, an old seaman, who had formerly visited the river, and by three Canadians. Fox requested to have regular sailors to man the boat, but the captain would not spare them from the service of the ship, and supposed the Canadians, being expert boatmen on lakes and rivers, were competent to the service. With a misgiving heart, he came to the partners for sympathy, knowing their differences with the captain, and the tears were in his eyes as he represented the case. 'I am sent off,' said he, without seamén to man my boat, in boisterous weather, and on the most dangerous part of the north-west coast. My uncle was lost a few years ago on this same bar, and I am now going to lay my bones alongside of his.' The partners sympathised in his apprehensions, and remonstrated with the captain. The latter, however, was not to be moved. He had been displeased with Mr Fox in the earlier part of the voyage, considering him indolent and inactive, and probably thought his present repugnance arose from a want of true nautical spirit. The interference of the partners in the business of the ship, also, was not calculated to have a favourable effect on a stickler for authority like himself, especially in his actual state of feeling towards them.

At one o'clock P.M., therefore, Fox and his comrades set off in the whale-boat, which is represented as small in size, and crazy in condition. All eyes were strained after the little bark as it was pulled for shore, rising and sinking with the huge rolling waves, until it entered,

a mere speck among the foaming breakers, and became lost to view.

Evening set in, night succeeded and passed away, and morning returned, but without the return of the boat. As the wind had moderated, the ship stood near to the land, so as to command a view of the river's mouth. Nothing was to be seen but a wild chaos of tumbling waves, breaking upon the bar, and apparently forming a foaming barrier from shore to shore. Towards night, the ship again stood out to gain sea-room, and a gloom was visible in every countenance. The captain himself shared in the general anxiety, and probably repented his peremptory orders. Another weary and watchful night succeeded, during which the wind subsided, and the weather became serene.

On the following day the ship, having drifted near the land, anchored in fourteen fathoms' water to the northward of the long peninsula or promontory which forms the north side of the entrance, and is called Cape Disappointment. The pinnace was then manned, and two of the partners, Mr David Stuart and Mr M'Kay, set off in hope of learning something of the fate of the whale-boat. The surf, however, broke with such violence along the shore that they could find no landingplace. Several of the natives appeared on the beach, and made signs to them to row round the cape, but they thought it most prudent to return to the ship.

The wind now sprung up, the Tonquin got underway, and stood in to seek the channel, but was again deterred, by the frightful aspect of the breakers, from venturing within a league.

Here she hove to, and Mr Mumford, the second-mate, was despatched with four hands, in the pinnace, to sound

across the channel until he should find four fathoms' depth.

The pinnace entered among the breakers, but was near being lost, and with difficulty got back to the ship. The captain insisted that Mr Mumford had steered too much to the southward. He now turned to Mr Aiken, an able mariner, destined to command the schooner intended for the coasting-trade, and ordered him, together with John Coles, sail-maker, Stephen Weeks, armourer, and two Sandwich Islanders, to proceed ahead and take soundings, while the ship should follow under easy sail. In this way they proceeded, until Aiken had ascertained the channel, when signal was given from the ship for him to return on board. He was then within pistol-shot, but so furious was the current, and tumultuous the breakers, that the boat became unmanageable, and was hurried away, the crew crying out piteously for assistance. In a few moments, she could not be seen from the ship's deck. Some of the passengers climbed to the mizen-top, and beheld her still struggling to reach the ship; but shortly after she broached broadside to the waves, and her case seemed too desperate. The attention of those on board of the ship was now called to their own safety. They were in shallow water. The vessel struck repeatedly, the waves broke over her, and there was danger of her foundering. At length she got into seven fathoms, and the wind lulling, and the night coming on, she cast anchor. With the darkness, their anxieties increased; the wind whistled, the sea roared, the gloom was only broken by the ghastly glare of the foaming breakers; the minds of the seamen were full of dreary apprehensions, and some of them fancied they heard the cries of their lost

comrades mingling with the uproar of the elements. For a time, too, the rapidly ebbing tide threatened to sweep them from their precarious anchorage. At length the reflux of the tide, and the springing up of the wind, enabled them to quit their dangerous situation, and take shelter in a small bay within Cape Disappointment, where they rode in safety during the residue of a stormy night, and enjoyed a brief interval of refreshing sleep. With the light of day returned their cares and anxieties. They looked out from the mast-head over a wild coast and wilder sea, but could discover no trace of the two boats and their crews that were missing. Several of the natives came on board with peltries, but there was no disposition to trade. They were interrogated by signs after the lost boats, but could not understand the inquiries. Parties now went on shore, and scoured the neighbourhood. One of these was headed by the captain. They had not proceeded far, when they beheld a person at a distance in civilised garb. As he drew near, he proved to be Weeks the armourer, There was a burst of joy, for it was hoped his comrades were near at hand. His story, however, was one of disaster. He and his companions had found it impossible to govern their boat, having no rudder, and being beset by rapid and whirling currents and boisterous surges.

After long struggling, they had let her go at the mercy of the waves, tossing about, sometimes with her bow, sometimes with her broadside to the surges, threatened each instant with destruction, yet repeatedly escaping, until a huge sea broke over, and swamped her. Weeks was overwhelmed by the boiling waves, but emerging above the surface, looked round for his companions.