day; the fog closed in again, and the rain. They did not reach it the next day, although the waves were so high in this, the mouth of the Columbia, that half the party were seasick; and the water was salty. They did not reach it the next day, nor the next. Wind and rain kept beating them back. Sa-ca-ja-we-a was frightened.
"The spirits are angry. They do not want us here," she whimpered, crouching over little Toussaint, under a grass mat raised on a pole.
"The only way we'll reach the sea is to be washed into it," groaned Pat. "Sure, don't the very stones an' logs come a-rollin' down the hills? Now for the first time I wish I hadn't started, an' here I am at the ind!"
Yes, miserable were they all. There was no chance to dry clothing and food, and scarcely an opportunity to stir. The mouth of the river formed a wind-swept bay miles wide. The captains thought that if camp might only be moved around a point ahead, and to a high sand beach, it would be more comfortable. A deserted Indian village stood there, with no inhabitants "except fleas"; and, as Pat said: "We'll be all the warmer for the exercise they give us."
Not until the afternoon of November 15 did the opportunity to move come. The sky cleared, the wind suddenly dropped; the canoes were reloaded in a hurry, and the point was rounded.
Now the ocean was in full sight, outside the bay; from the boards of the Indian houses rude cabins were erected; hunters and explorers were sent out.
