doctor and Douglas visited the American commodore on shipboard. The yards were manned, salutes were fired, the flags of both nations flew at the international banquet where the two governments met on the disputed Columbia.
"Come right over to the fort," was the doctor's cordial invitation. "Rooms, boats, guides, whatever you need is at your service."
Commodore Wilkes set up his tents outside the British stronghold, but like all others who passed that way, he, too, was enchanted with this old feudal host and hospitality. Like Whitman, he viewed the fields and farms, like Sutter he tasted the wine and heard the song, like Lee he ascended the charming Willamette. Under the roof of the new mission house George Abernethy, the mission steward, entertained the commodore.
"Do you advise us to establish a government? "he asked.
"Not yet," said the commodore; "wait. The British interest already feels itself threatened by the presence of this exploring squadron. Any action on your part may precipitate trouble, in which case you are too few and too far away to be properly supported. Wait till your numbers augment."
"Dr. McLoughlin's wine has affected his judgment," said the men of the mission.
In the purple twilight, Commodore Wilkes walked in the fields of wheat. The crescent moon hung over Mt. Hood. "A lovely land," he murmured; "charming by day, enchanting by night. Tell me, what do you Americans think of the Hudson's Bay Company?"
"The Hudson's Bay Company is Great Britain's instrumentality for securing Oregon," was the answer.
