most violent, and we crossed the river right on the crest of its turmoil. In being carried over, however, we were swallowed up completely from the sight of some Indians in a canoe, who hugged the south shore, and who believed they saw us sink, and so reported to our friends at Linnton.
A Mrs. James McAlister, with her four children, was among those in the bateau. (Her husband was engaged with the care of their property; the family had given Clark a temporary home, and to assist whom was his chief object in being there.) She sat mute under the onset of the storm, with her little ones close to her; she was the first to get out onto the bank, and her children were passed to her. After receiving the hand of the last and youngest she turned her face to Clark and said, "Dan Clark, I have been your good friend; but you have just put my children in great danger, without reason, and I never wish to speak to you again." Her face was bloodless with the intensity of her emotions, and Clark, naturally ruddy, was also as white as he could be.
It is but just to give his reason for his decision to reach the north shore: From this side a trail led to Vancouver, and had we been stormbound long, as a party of 1843 had been on the south shore, some of us could have gone to the fort for relief and not be compelled to boil buffalo hide for soup as they had done. The wind fell and the rain came down, but we succeeded, by breaking up a wood rat's nest of huge size, in starting a good fire. During the night the weather turned colder and a few inches of soft snow covered us at daylight. We rekindled our fire, however, and got a good breakfast. Against the chinook wind we made the Hudson's Bay Company's sawmill. There a "canny Scot" gave us the shelter of roofage and the warmth of his ingle side. He was alone, and so near yuletide he must have been reminded
