Part Two Chapter 8 Trail's End

Down the stormy rapids they plunged exulting. Mount Hood, St. Helen's, Rainier, Adams--all the lofty peaks of the great Cascades, so named at a later date, appeared before them, around them, behind them, as they swung into the last lap of their wild journey and headed down toward the sea. Cruzatte, Labiche, Drouillard--all you others--time now, indeed, for you to raise the song of the old voyageurs! None have come so far as you--your paddles are wrinkling new waters. You are brave men, every one, and yours is the reward of the brave!

Soon, so said the Indians, they would come to ships--canoes with trees standing in them, on which teepees were hung.

"Me," said Cruzatte, "I never in my whole life was seen a sheep! I will be glad for see wan now."

But they found no ship anywhere in the lower Columbia. All the shores were silent, deserted; no vessel lay at anchor. Before them lay the empty river, wide as a sea, and told no tales of what had been. They were alone, in the third year out from home. Thousands of leagues they had traveled, and must travel back again.

Here they saw many gulls. As to Columbus these birds had meant land, to our discoverers they meant the sea. Forty miles below the last village they saw it--rolling in solemn, white-topped waves beyond the bar.

Every paddle ceased at its work, and the boats lay tossing on the incoming waves. There was the end of the great trail. Yonder lay the Pacific!