At The Lower End Of The Rapids (Our Indians Refusing To Go
Further), We Had To Debark.
A settler here was putting up a
zinc house for a store.
Two others, with an officer of the
Mounted Rifles - the regiment we had left at the Dalles -
were staying with him. They welcomed our arrival, and
insisted on our drinking half a dozen of poisonous stuff they
called champagne. There were no chairs or table in the
'house,' nor as yet any floor; and only the beginning of a
roof. We sat on the ground, so that I was able
surreptitiously to make libations with my share, to the
earth.
According to my journal: 'In a short time the party began to
be a noisy one. Healths were drunk, toasts proposed,
compliments to our respective nationalities paid in the most
flattering terms. The Anglo-Saxon race were destined to
conquer the globe. The English were the greatest nation
under the sun - that is to say, they had been. America, of
course, would take the lead in time to come. We disputed
this. The Americans were certain of it, in fact this was
already an accomplished fact. The big officer - a genuine
"heavy" - wanted to know where the man was that would give
him the lie! Wasn't the Mounted Rifles the crack regiment of
the United States army? And wasn't the United States army
the finest army in the universe? Who that knew anything of
history would compare the Peninsular Campaign to the war in
Mexico?
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