came. In March he started back on the long journey overland to Boston. The ship had been lost at sea. A second was despatched and the Yankee captain reappeared on the Columbia.
Within sound of the morning guns of Fort Vancouver Captain Wyeth set up a log fort, palisaded like that of his rival, on the beautiful island of Wapato, at the mouth of the Willamette River. Out of that ship, the "May Dacre," he brought goats, sheep, pigs, chickens, Hawaiians. The flitting forms of "the Bostons," as the Indians called them, in their leather pantaloons and white wool hats, was a constant menace to the occupants of the British fur fort. It brought a breath of that old battle when Hudson's Bay and Northwesters fought in the North. While they treated the frank and manly Bostonian with politeness, with kindness, and even generosity, they watched him like eagles and shadowed him like spirits. He built Fort Hall on the Snake; they set up Fort Boisé to draw away his trade. Did he send his men to trap or buy beaver? The Hudson's Bay men were there before him, behind him, around him. They put up the value of furs to a ruinous figure. They sold Indian goods at fifty per cent less than he could afford. Out of an annual fund put by for the purpose they harassed him on every hand. "Competition is war, war to the knife, fierce and deadly," but in this case as usual, it was "concealed under gentlemanly foils and masks and padded gloves."
Neighborly offices passed between the forts. Governor McLoughlin sent over presents of fresh vegetables. Wyeth paddled over on rainy nights to join the jolly boys in Bachelors' Hall. Many and many an hour he discussed history and government with Dr. McLoughlin. But underlying all their intercourse was the discovery
