and his chief aide Douglas, afterward knighted Sir James, first governor of British Columbia, dispensed hospitality after the fashion of Saxon thanes or lairds of a Highland castle.
One autumn evening in 1832 a salute was fired at the gates of Fort Vancouver. "Some belated trapper," said the traders in the hall. Guests were luxuries too rare to be anticipated in the far-away Oregon wild. At a word from Governor McLoughlin the porter unlocked the gate and eleven strangers entered, clad all in leather, dripping with rain, and garnished with as many weapons as Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest. Dr. McLoughlin fixed a keen eye upon the wayfarers as Bruce ushered them into the hall.
"Wyeth is my name," said the tall, wiry leader. "Nathaniel J. Wyeth, from Boston: on a trading trip to the Columbia."
"Bless me!" cried the amazed McLoughlin, extending his hand. "Bless me, 't is a marvellous journey. Few could survive it. Welcome to Fort Vancouver."
Not since Astor's defeat in 1812 had any American tried to trap or trade in Oregon. Unmolested for twenty years, the British fur-traders had reared their palisades and filled their forts with furs. That the young republic on the Atlantic shore might stretch her fingers westward, that a highway might be found across the mountains these were vague contingencies!
Despite his travel-worn garb, Dr. McLoughlin recognized an honest man in the tall, blond trader from Yankee-land. He and his followers were assigned to quarters among the fur-trading knights at Fort Vancouver. All winter Captain Wyeth lived at the fort, studying methods and evolving plans for future action. All winter Captain Wyeth watched for a ship that never
