The Adventures of Captain Bonneville, U. S. A., in the Rocky Mountains and the Far West

THE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN BONNEVILLE

Digested from his journal

by Washington Irving

Originally published in 1837

Introductory Notice

WHILE ENGAGED in writing an account of the grand enterprise of Astoria,

it was my practice to seek all kinds of oral information connected with

the subject. Nowhere did I pick up more interesting particulars than at

the table of Mr. John Jacob Astor; who, being the patriarch of the fur

trade in the United States, was accustomed to have at his board various

persons of adventurous turn, some of whom had been engaged in his own

great undertaking; others, on their own account, had made expeditions to

the Rocky Mountains and the waters of the Columbia.

Among these personages, one who peculiarly took my fancy was Captain

Bonneville, of the United States army; who, in a rambling kind of

enterprise, had strangely ingrafted the trapper and hunter upon the

soldier. As his expeditions and adventures will form the leading theme

of the following pages, a few biographical particulars concerning him

may not be unacceptable.

Captain Bonneville is of French parentage. His father was a worthy old

emigrant, who came to this country many years since, and took up his

abode in New York. He is represented as a man not much calculated for

the sordid struggle of a money-making world, but possessed of a happy

temperament, a festivity of imagination, and a simplicity of heart, that

made him proof against its rubs and trials. He was an excellent scholar;

well acquainted with Latin and Greek, and fond of the modern classics.

His book was his elysium; once immersed in the pages of Voltaire,

Corneille, or Racine, or of his favorite English author, Shakespeare, he

forgot the world and all its concerns. Often would he be seen in summer

weather, seated under one of the trees on the Battery, or the portico of

St. Paul’s church in Broadway, his bald head uncovered, his hat lying by

his side, his eyes riveted to the page of his book, and his whole soul

so engaged, as to lose all consciousness of the passing throng or the

passing hour.

Captain Bonneville, it will be found, inherited something of his

father’s bonhommie, and his excitable imagination; though the latter

was somewhat disciplined in early years, by mathematical studies. He

was educated at our national Military Academy at West Point, where he

acquitted himself very creditably; thence, he entered the army, in which

he has ever since continued.

The nature of our military service took him to the frontier, where, for

a number of years, he was stationed at various posts in the Far West.

Here he was brought into frequent intercourse with Indian traders,

mountain trappers, and other pioneers of the wilderness; and became so

excited by their tales of wild scenes and wild adventures, and their

accounts of vast and magnificent regions as yet unexplored, that an

expedition to the Rocky Mountains became the ardent desire of his heart,

and an enterprise to explore untrodden tracts, the leading object of his

ambition.

By degrees he shaped his vague day-dream into a practical reality.

Having made himself acquainted with all the requisites for a trading

enterprise beyond the mountains, he determined to undertake it. A leave

of absence, and a sanction of his expedition, was obtained from the

major general in chief, on his offering to combine public utility with

his private projects, and to collect statistical information for the War

Department concerning the wild countries and wild tribes he might visit

in the course of his journeyings.

Nothing now was wanting to the darling project of the captain, but the

ways and means. The expedition would require an outfit of many thousand

dollars; a staggering obstacle to a soldier, whose capital is seldom

any thing more than his sword. Full of that buoyant hope, however, which

belongs to the sanguine temperament, he repaired to New-York, the great

focus of American enterprise, where there are always funds ready for any

scheme, however chimerical or romantic. Here he had the good fortune to

meet with a gentleman of high respectability and influence, who had been

his associate in boyhood, and who cherished a schoolfellow friendship

for him. He took a general interest in the scheme of the captain;

introduced him to commercial men of his acquaintance, and in a little

while an association was formed, and the necessary funds were raised

to carry the proposed measure into effect. One of the most efficient

persons in this association was Mr. Alfred Seton, who, when quite a

youth, had accompanied one of the expeditions sent out by Mr. Astor to

his commercial establishments on the Columbia, and had distinguished

himself by his activity and courage at one of the interior posts. Mr.

Seton was one of the American youths who were at Astoria at the time

of its surrender to the British, and who manifested such grief and

indignation at seeing the flag of their country hauled down. The hope

of seeing that flag once more planted on the shores of the Columbia, may

have entered into his motives for engaging in the present enterprise.

Thus backed and provided, Captain Bonneville undertook his expedition

into the Far West, and was soon beyond the Rocky Mountains. Year after

year elapsed without his return. The term of his leave of absence

expired, yet no report was made of him at head quarters at Washington.

He was considered virtually dead or lost and his name was stricken from

the army list.

It was in the autumn of 1835 at the country seat of Mr. John Jacob

Astor, at Hellgate, that I first met with Captain Bonneville He was

then just returned from a residence of upwards of three years among the

mountains, and was on his way to report himself at head quarters, in the

hopes of being reinstated in the service. From all that I could learn,

his wanderings in the wilderness though they had gratified his curiosity

and his love of adventure had not much benefited his fortunes. Like

Corporal Trim in his campaigns, he had “satisfied the sentiment,”

and that was all. In fact, he was too much of the frank, freehearted

soldier, and had inherited too much of his father’s temperament, to make

a scheming trapper, or a thrifty bargainer.

There was something in the whole appearance of the captain that

prepossessed me in his favor. He was of the middle size, well made and

well set; and a military frock of foreign cut, that had seen service,

gave him a look of compactness. His countenance was frank, open,

and engaging; well browned by the sun, and had something of a French

expression. He had a pleasant black eye, a high forehead, and, while he

kept his hat on, the look of a man in the jocund prime of his days; but

the moment his head was uncovered, a bald crown gained him credit for a

few more years than he was really entitled to.

Being extremely curious, at the time, about every thing connected with

the Far West, I addressed numerous questions to him. They drew from him

a number of extremely striking details, which were given with mingled

modesty and frankness; and in a gentleness of manner, and a soft tone of

voice, contrasting singularly with the wild and often startling nature

of his themes. It was difficult to conceive the mild, quiet-looking

personage before you, the actual hero of the stirring scenes related.

In the course of three or four months, happening to be at the city of

Washington, I again came upon the captain, who was attending the slow

adjustment of his affairs with the War Department. I found him quartered

with a worthy brother in arms, a major in the army. Here he was writing

at a table, covered with maps and papers, in the centre of a large

barrack room, fancifully decorated with Indian arms, and trophies, and

war dresses, and the skins of various wild animals, and hung round with

pictures of Indian games and ceremonies, and scenes of war and hunting.

In a word, the captain was beguiling the tediousness of attendance at

court, by an attempt at authorship; and was rewriting and extending his

travelling notes, and making maps of the regions he had explored. As he

sat at the table, in this curious apartment, with his high bald head of

somewhat foreign cast, he reminded me of some of those antique pictures

of authors that I have seen in old Spanish volumes.

The result of his labors was a mass of manuscript, which he subsequently

put at my disposal, to fit it for publication and bring it before

the world. I found it full of interesting details of life among the

mountains, and of the singular castes and races, both white men and red

men, among whom he had sojourned. It bore, too, throughout, the impress

of his character, his bonhommie, his kindliness of spirit, and his

susceptibility to the grand and beautiful.

That manuscript has formed the staple of the following work. I have

occasionally interwoven facts and details, gathered from various

sources, especially from the conversations and journals of some of the

captain’s contemporaries, who were actors in the scenes he describes.

I have also given it a tone and coloring drawn from my own observation,

during an excursion into the Indian country beyond the bounds of

civilization; as I before observed, however, the work is substantially

the narrative of the worthy captain, and many of its most graphic

passages are but little varied from his own language.

I shall conclude this notice by a dedication which he had made of his

manuscript to his hospitable brother in arms, in whose quarters I

found him occupied in his literary labors; it is a dedication which,

I believe, possesses the qualities, not always found in complimentary

documents of the kind, of being sincere, and being merited.

To JAMES HARVEY HOOK, Major, U. S. A., whose jealousy of its honor,

whose anxiety for its interests, and whose sensibility for its wants,

have endeared him to the service as The Soldier’s Friend; and whose

general amenity, constant cheerfulness, disinterested hospitality, and

unwearied benevolence, entitle him to the still loftier title of The

Friend of Man, this work is inscribed, etc.

WASHINGTON IRVING

1.

State of the fur trade of the--Rocky Mountains--American

enterprises--General--Ashley and his associates--Sublette, a

famous leader--Yearly rendezvous among the mountains--

Stratagems and dangers of the trade--Bands of trappers--

Indian banditti--Crows and Blackfeet Mountaineers--Traders

of the--Far West--Character and habits of the trapper

IN A RECENT WORK we have given an account of the grand enterprise of Mr.

John Jacob Astor to establish an American emporium for the fur trade

at the mouth of the Columbia, or Oregon River; of the failure of that

enterprise through the capture of Astoria by the British, in 1814; and

of the way in which the control of the trade of the Columbia and its

dependencies fell into the hands of the Northwest Company. We have

stated, likewise, the unfortunate supineness of the American government

in neglecting the application of Mr. Astor for the protection of the

American flag, and a small military force, to enable him to reinstate

himself in the possession of Astoria at the return of peace; when the

post was formally given up by the British government, though still

occupied by the Northwest Company. By that supineness the sovereignty

in the country has been virtually lost to the United States; and it will

cost both governments much trouble and difficulty to settle matters on

that just and rightful footing on which they would readily have been

placed had the proposition of Mr. Astor been attended to. We shall now

state a few particulars of subsequent events, so as to lead the reader

up to the period of which we are about to treat, and to prepare him for

the circumstances of our narrative.

In consequence of the apathy and neglect of the American government, Mr.

Astor abandoned all thoughts of regaining Astoria, and made no further

attempt to extend his enterprises beyond the Rocky Mountains; and the

Northwest Company considered themselves the lords of the country.

They did not long enjoy unmolested the sway which they had somewhat

surreptitiously attained. A fierce competition ensued between them and

their old rivals, the Hudson’s Bay Company; which was carried on at

great cost and sacrifice, and occasionally with the loss of life. It

ended in the ruin of most of the partners of the Northwest Company; and

the merging of the relics of that establishment, in 1821, in the rival

association. From that time, the Hudson’s Bay Company enjoyed a

monopoly of the Indian trade from the coast of the Pacific to the Rocky

Mountains, and for a considerable extent north and south. They removed

their emporium from Astoria to Fort Vancouver, a strong post on the left

bank of the Columbia River, about sixty miles from its mouth; whence

they furnished their interior posts, and sent forth their brigades of

trappers.

The Rocky Mountains formed a vast barrier between them and the United

States, and their stern and awful defiles, their rugged valleys, and the

great western plains watered by their rivers, remained almost a terra

incognita to the American trapper. The difficulties experienced in 1808,

by Mr. Henry of the Missouri Company, the first American who trapped

upon the head-waters of the Columbia; and the frightful hardships

sustained by Wilson P. Hunt, Ramsay Crooks, Robert Stuart, and other

intrepid Astorians, in their ill-fated expeditions across the mountains,

appeared for a time to check all further enterprise in that direction.

The American traders contented themselves with following up the head

branches of the Missouri, the Yellowstone, and other rivers and streams

on the Atlantic side of the mountains, but forbore to attempt those

great snow-crowned sierras.

One of the first to revive these tramontane expeditions was General

Ashley, of Missouri, a man whose courage and achievements in the

prosecution of his enterprises have rendered him famous in the Far West.

In conjunction with Mr. Henry, already mentioned, he established a post

on the banks of the Yellowstone River in 1822, and in the following year

pushed a resolute band of trappers across the mountains to the banks of

the Green River or Colorado of the West, often known by the Indian name

of the Seeds-ke-dee Agie. This attempt was followed up and sustained by

others, until in 1825 a footing was secured, and a complete system of

trapping organized beyond the mountains.

It is difficult to do justice to the courage, fortitude, and

perseverance of the pioneers of the fur trade, who conducted these

early expeditions, and first broke their way through a wilderness where

everything was calculated to deter and dismay them. They had to traverse

the most dreary and desolate mountains, and barren and trackless wastes,

uninhabited by man, or occasionally infested by predatory and cruel

savages. They knew nothing of the country beyond the verge of their

horizon, and had to gather information as they wandered. They beheld

volcanic plains stretching around them, and ranges of mountains piled

up to the clouds, and glistening with eternal frost: but knew nothing

of their defiles, nor how they were to be penetrated or traversed. They

launched themselves in frail canoes on rivers, without knowing whither

their swift currents would carry them, or what rocks and shoals and

rapids they might encounter in their course. They had to be continually

on the alert, too, against the mountain tribes, who beset every

defile, laid ambuscades in their path, or attacked them in their night

encampments; so that, of the hardy bands of trappers that first entered

into these regions, three-fifths are said to have fallen by the hands of

savage foes.

In this wild and warlike school a number of leaders have sprung up,

originally in the employ, subsequently partners of Ashley; among these

we may mention Smith, Fitzpatrick, Bridger, Robert Campbell, and William

Sublette; whose adventures and exploits partake of the wildest spirit of

romance. The association commenced by General Ashley underwent various

modifications. That gentleman having acquired sufficient fortune, sold

out his interest and retired; and the leading spirit that succeeded

him was Captain William Sublette; a man worthy of note, as his name has

become renowned in frontier story. He is a native of Kentucky, and of

game descent; his maternal grandfather, Colonel Wheatley, a companion of

Boon, having been one of the pioneers of the West, celebrated in Indian

warfare, and killed in one of the contests of the “Bloody Ground.” We

shall frequently have occasion to speak of this Sublette, and always to

the credit of his game qualities. In 1830, the association took the name

of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, of which Captain Sublette and Robert

Campbell were prominent members.

In the meantime, the success of this company attracted the attention and

excited the emulation of the American Fur Company, and brought them once

more into the field of their ancient enterprise. Mr. Astor, the founder

of the association, had retired from busy life, and the concerns of the

company were ably managed by Mr. Ramsay Crooks, of Snake River renown,

who still officiates as its president. A competition immediately ensued

between the two companies for the trade with the mountain tribes and

the trapping of the head-waters of the Columbia and the other great

tributaries of the Pacific. Beside the regular operations of these

formidable rivals, there have been from time to time desultory

enterprises, or rather experiments, of minor associations, or of

adventurous individuals beside roving bands of independent trappers,

who either hunt for themselves, or engage for a single season, in the

service of one or other of the main companies.

The consequence is that the Rocky Mountains and the ulterior regions,

from the Russian possessions in the north down to the Spanish

settlements of California, have been traversed and ransacked in every

direction by bands of hunters and Indian traders; so that there is

scarcely a mountain pass, or defile, that is not known and threaded in

their restless migrations, nor a nameless stream that is not haunted by

the lonely trapper.

The American fur companies keep no established posts beyond the

mountains. Everything there is regulated by resident partners; that

is to say, partners who reside in the tramontane country, but who move

about from place to place, either with Indian tribes, whose traffic

they wish to monopolize, or with main bodies of their own men, whom they

employ in trading and trapping. In the meantime, they detach bands,

or “brigades” as they are termed, of trappers in various directions,

assigning to each a portion of country as a hunting or trapping ground.

In the months of June and July, when there is an interval between the

hunting seasons, a general rendezvous is held, at some designated place

in the mountains, where the affairs of the past year are settled by the

resident partners, and the plans for the following year arranged.

To this rendezvous repair the various brigades of trappers from their

widely separated hunting grounds, bringing in the products of their

year’s campaign. Hither also repair the Indian tribes accustomed to

traffic their peltries with the company. Bands of free trappers resort

hither also, to sell the furs they have collected; or to engage their

services for the next hunting season.

To this rendezvous the company sends annually a convoy of supplies from

its establishment on the Atlantic frontier, under the guidance of some

experienced partner or officer. On the arrival of this convoy, the

resident partner at the rendezvous depends to set all his next year’s

machinery in motion.

Now as the rival companies keep a vigilant eye upon each other, and are

anxious to discover each other’s plans and movements, they generally

contrive to hold their annual assemblages at no great distance apart.

An eager competition exists also between their respective convoys of

supplies, which shall first reach its place of rendezvous. For this

purpose, they set off with the first appearance of grass on the Atlantic

frontier and push with all diligence for the mountains. The company that

can first open its tempting supplies of coffee, tobacco, ammunition,

scarlet cloth, blankets, bright shawls, and glittering trinkets has the

greatest chance to get all the peltries and furs of the Indians and free

trappers, and to engage their services for the next season. It is able,

also, to fit out and dispatch its own trappers the soonest, so as to

get the start of its competitors, and to have the first dash into the

hunting and trapping grounds.

A new species of strategy has sprung out of this hunting and trapping

competition. The constant study of the rival bands is to forestall and

outwit each other; to supplant each other in the good will and custom of

the Indian tribes; to cross each other’s plans; to mislead each other as

to routes; in a word, next to his own advantage, the study of the Indian

trader is the disadvantage of his competitor.

The influx of this wandering trade has had its effects on the habits of

the mountain tribes. They have found the trapping of the beaver their

most profitable species of hunting; and the traffic with the white man

has opened to them sources of luxury of which they previously had no

idea. The introduction of firearms has rendered them more successful

hunters, but at the same time, more formidable foes; some of them,

incorrigibly savage and warlike in their nature, have found the

expeditions of the fur traders grand objects of profitable adventure.

To waylay and harass a band of trappers with their pack-horses, when

embarrassed in the rugged defiles of the mountains, has become as

favorite an exploit with these Indians as the plunder of a caravan to

the Arab of the desert. The Crows and Blackfeet, who were such terrors

in the path of the early adventurers to Astoria, still continue their

predatory habits, but seem to have brought them to greater system. They

know the routes and resorts of the trappers; where to waylay them on

their journeys; where to find them in the hunting seasons, and where to

hover about them in winter quarters. The life of a trapper, therefore,

is a perpetual state militant, and he must sleep with his weapons in his

hands.

A new order of trappers and traders, also, has grown out of this system

of things. In the old times of the great Northwest Company, when the

trade in furs was pursued chiefly about the lakes and rivers, the

expeditions were carried on in batteaux and canoes. The voyageurs or

boatmen were the rank and file in the service of the trader, and even

the hardy “men of the north,” those great rufflers and game birds, were

fain to be paddled from point to point of their migrations.

A totally different class has now sprung up:--“the Mountaineers,” the

traders and trappers that scale the vast mountain chains, and pursue

their hazardous vocations amidst their wild recesses. They move from

place to place on horseback. The equestrian exercises, therefore, in

which they are engaged, the nature of the countries they traverse, vast

plains and mountains, pure and exhilarating in atmospheric qualities,

seem to make them physically and mentally a more lively and mercurial

race than the fur traders and trappers of former days, the self-vaunting

“men of the north.” A man who bestrides a horse must be essentially

different from a man who cowers in a canoe. We find them, accordingly,

hardy, lithe, vigorous, and active; extravagant in word, and thought,

and deed; heedless of hardship; daring of danger; prodigal of the

present, and thoughtless of the future.

A difference is to be perceived even between these mountain hunters and

those of the lower regions along the waters of the Missouri. The latter,

generally French creoles, live comfortably in cabins and log-huts, well

sheltered from the inclemencies of the seasons. They are within

the reach of frequent supplies from the settlements; their life is

comparatively free from danger, and from most of the vicissitudes of

the upper wilderness. The consequence is that they are less hardy,

self-dependent and game-spirited than the mountaineer. If the latter by

chance comes among them on his way to and from the settlements, he

is like a game-cock among the common roosters of the poultry-yard.

Accustomed to live in tents, or to bivouac in the open air, he despises

the comforts and is impatient of the confinement of the log-house. If

his meal is not ready in season, he takes his rifle, hies to the forest

or prairie, shoots his own game, lights his fire, and cooks his repast.

With his horse and his rifle, he is independent of the world, and spurns

at all its restraints. The very superintendents at the lower posts

will not put him to mess with the common men, the hirelings of the

establishment, but treat him as something superior.

There is, perhaps, no class of men on the face of the earth, says

Captain Bonneville, who lead a life of more continued exertion, peril,

and excitement, and who are more enamored of their occupations, than the

free trappers of the West. No toil, no danger, no privation can turn the

trapper from his pursuit. His passionate excitement at times resembles

a mania. In vain may the most vigilant and cruel savages beset his

path; in vain may rocks and precipices and wintry torrents oppose

his progress; let but a single track of a beaver meet his eye, and he

forgets all dangers and defies all difficulties. At times, he may be

seen with his traps on his shoulder, buffeting his way across rapid

streams, amidst floating blocks of ice: at other times, he is to be

found with his traps swung on his back clambering the most rugged

mountains, scaling or descending the most frightful precipices,

searching, by routes inaccessible to the horse, and never before trodden

by white man, for springs and lakes unknown to his comrades, and where

he may meet with his favorite game. Such is the mountaineer, the hardy

trapper of the West; and such, as we have slightly sketched it, is the

wild, Robin Hood kind of life, with all its strange and motley populace,

now existing in full vigor among the Rocky Mountains.

Having thus given the reader some idea of the actual state of the fur

trade in the interior of our vast continent, and made him acquainted

with the wild chivalry of the mountains, we will no longer delay the

introduction of Captain Bonneville and his band into this field of their

enterprise, but launch them at once upon the perilous plains of the Far

West.

2.

Departure from--Fort Osage--Modes of transportation--Pack-

horses--Wagons--Walker and Cerre; their characters--Buoyant

feelings on launching upon the prairies--Wild equipments of

the trappers--Their gambols and antics--Difference of

character between the American and French trappers--Agency

of the Kansas--General--Clarke--White Plume, the Kansas

chief--Night scene in a trader’s camp--Colloquy between--

White Plume and the captain--Bee-hunters--Their

expeditions--Their feuds with the Indians--Bargaining talent

of White Plume

IT WAS ON THE FIRST of May, 1832, that Captain Bonneville took his

departure from the frontier post of Fort Osage, on the Missouri. He had

enlisted a party of one hundred and ten men, most of whom had been

in the Indian country, and some of whom were experienced hunters and

trappers. Fort Osage, and other places on the borders of the western

wilderness, abound with characters of the kind, ready for any

expedition.

The ordinary mode of transportation in these great inland expeditions

of the fur traders is on mules and pack-horses; but Captain Bonneville

substituted wagons. Though he was to travel through a trackless

wilderness, yet the greater part of his route would lie across open

plains, destitute of forests, and where wheel carriages can pass in

every direction. The chief difficulty occurs in passing the deep ravines

cut through the prairies by streams and winter torrents. Here it is

often necessary to dig a road down the banks, and to make bridges for

the wagons.

In transporting his baggage in vehicles of this kind, Captain Bonneville

thought he would save the great delay caused every morning by packing

the horses, and the labor of unpacking in the evening. Fewer horses also

would be required, and less risk incurred of their wandering away, or

being frightened or carried off by the Indians. The wagons, also, would

be more easily defended, and might form a kind of fortification in case

of attack in the open prairies. A train of twenty wagons, drawn by oxen,

or by four mules or horses each, and laden with merchandise, ammunition,

and provisions, were disposed in two columns in the center of the party,

which was equally divided into a van and a rear-guard. As sub-leaders or

lieutenants in his expedition, Captain Bonneville had made choice of Mr.

J. R. Walker and Mr. M. S. Cerre. The former was a native of Tennessee,

about six feet high, strong built, dark complexioned, brave in spirit,

though mild in manners. He had resided for many years in Missouri, on

the frontier; had been among the earliest adventurers to Santa Fe, where

he went to trap beaver, and was taken by the Spaniards. Being liberated,

he engaged with the Spaniards and Sioux Indians in a war against the

Pawnees; then returned to Missouri, and had acted by turns as

sheriff, trader, trapper, until he was enlisted as a leader by Captain

Bonneville.

Cerre, his other leader, had likewise been in expeditions to Santa Fe,

in which he had endured much hardship. He was of the middle size,

light complexioned, and though but about twenty-five years of age, was

considered an experienced Indian trader. It was a great object with

Captain Bonneville to get to the mountains before the summer heats

and summer flies should render the travelling across the prairies

distressing; and before the annual assemblages of people connected

with the fur trade should have broken up, and dispersed to the hunting

grounds.

The two rival associations already mentioned, the American Fur Company

and the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, had their several places of

rendezvous for the present year at no great distance apart, in Pierre’s

Hole, a deep valley in the heart of the mountains, and thither Captain

Bonneville intended to shape his course.

It is not easy to do justice to the exulting feelings of the worthy

captain at finding himself at the head of a stout band of hunters,

trappers, and woodmen; fairly launched on the broad prairies, with his

face to the boundless West. The tamest inhabitant of cities, the veriest

spoiled child of civilization, feels his heart dilate and his pulse beat

high on finding himself on horseback in the glorious wilderness; what

then must be the excitement of one whose imagination had been stimulated

by a residence on the frontier, and to whom the wilderness was a region

of romance!

His hardy followers partook of his excitement. Most of them had already

experienced the wild freedom of savage life, and looked forward to a

renewal of past scenes of adventure and exploit. Their very appearance

and equipment exhibited a piebald mixture, half civilized and half

savage. Many of them looked more like Indians than white men in their

garbs and accoutrements, and their very horses were caparisoned in

barbaric style, with fantastic trappings. The outset of a band of

adventurers on one of these expeditions is always animated and joyous.

The welkin rang with their shouts and yelps, after the manner of the

savages; and with boisterous jokes and light-hearted laughter. As they

passed the straggling hamlets and solitary cabins that fringe the skirts

of the frontier, they would startle their inmates by Indian yells and

war-whoops, or regale them with grotesque feats of horsemanship,

well suited to their half-savage appearance. Most of these abodes were

inhabited by men who had themselves been in similar expeditions; they

welcomed the travellers, therefore, as brother trappers, treated them

with a hunter’s hospitality, and cheered them with an honest God speed

at parting.

And here we would remark a great difference, in point of character

and quality, between the two classes of trappers, the “American” and

“French,” as they are called in contradistinction. The latter is meant

to designate the French creole of Canada or Louisiana; the former, the

trapper of the old American stock, from Kentucky, Tennessee, and others

of the western States. The French trapper is represented as a lighter,

softer, more self-indulgent kind of man. He must have his Indian wife,

his lodge, and his petty conveniences. He is gay and thoughtless, takes

little heed of landmarks, depends upon his leaders and companions to

think for the common weal, and, if left to himself, is easily perplexed

and lost.

The American trapper stands by himself, and is peerless for the service

of the wilderness. Drop him in the midst of a prairie, or in the heart

of the mountains, and he is never at a loss. He notices every landmark;

can retrace his route through the most monotonous plains, or the most

perplexed labyrinths of the mountains; no danger nor difficulty can

appal him, and he scorns to complain under any privation. In equipping

the two kinds of trappers, the Creole and Canadian are apt to prefer the

light fusee; the American always grasps his rifle; he despises what

he calls the “shot-gun.” We give these estimates on the authority of

a trader of long experience, and a foreigner by birth. “I consider one

American,” said he, “equal to three Canadians in point of sagacity,

aptness at resources, self-dependence, and fearlessness of spirit. In

fact, no one can cope with him as a stark tramper of the wilderness.”

Beside the two classes of trappers just mentioned, Captain Bonneville

had enlisted several Delaware Indians in his employ, on whose hunting

qualifications he placed great reliance.

On the 6th of May the travellers passed the last border habitation,

and bade a long farewell to the ease and security of civilization. The

buoyant and clamorous spirits with which they had commenced their march

gradually subsided as they entered upon its difficulties. They found

the prairies saturated with the heavy cold rains, prevalent in certain

seasons of the year in this part of the country, the wagon wheels sank

deep in the mire, the horses were often to the fetlock, and both steed

and rider were completely jaded by the evening of the 12th, when they

reached the Kansas River; a fine stream about three hundred yards wide,

entering the Missouri from the south. Though fordable in almost every

part at the end of summer and during the autumn, yet it was necessary to

construct a raft for the transportation of the wagons and effects. All

this was done in the course of the following day, and by evening, the

whole party arrived at the agency of the Kansas tribe. This was under

the superintendence of General Clarke, brother of the celebrated

traveller of the same name, who, with Lewis, made the first expedition

down the waters of the Columbia. He was living like a patriarch,

surrounded by laborers and interpreters, all snugly housed, and provided

with excellent farms. The functionary next in consequence to the

agent was the blacksmith, a most important, and, indeed, indispensable

personage in a frontier community. The Kansas resemble the Osages in

features, dress, and language; they raise corn and hunt the buffalo,

ranging the Kansas River, and its tributary streams; at the time of the

captain’s visit, they were at war with the Pawnees of the Nebraska, or

Platte River.

The unusual sight of a train of wagons caused quite a sensation among

these savages; who thronged about the caravan, examining everything

minutely, and asking a thousand questions: exhibiting a degree of

excitability, and a lively curiosity totally opposite to that apathy

with which their race is so often reproached.

The personage who most attracted the captain’s attention at this place

was “White Plume,” the Kansas chief, and they soon became good friends.

White Plume (we are pleased with his chivalrous soubriquet) inhabited

a large stone house, built for him by order of the American government:

but the establishment had not been carried out in corresponding style.

It might be palace without, but it was wigwam within; so that, between

the stateliness of his mansion and the squalidness of his furniture, the

gallant White Plume presented some such whimsical incongruity as we see

in the gala equipments of an Indian chief on a treaty-making embassy

at Washington, who has been generously decked out in cocked hat and

military coat, in contrast to his breech-clout and leathern legging;

being grand officer at top, and ragged Indian at bottom.

White Plume was so taken with the courtesy of the captain, and pleased

with one or two presents received from him, that he accompanied him

a day’s journey on his march, and passed a night in his camp, on the

margin of a small stream. The method of encamping generally observed by

the captain was as follows: The twenty wagons were disposed in a square,

at the distance of thirty-three feet from each other. In every interval

there was a mess stationed; and each mess had its fire, where the men

cooked, ate, gossiped, and slept. The horses were placed in the centre

of the square, with a guard stationed over them at night.

The horses were “side lined,” as it is termed: that is to say, the fore

and hind foot on the same side of the animal were tied together, so as

to be within eighteen inches of each other. A horse thus fettered is for

a time sadly embarrassed, but soon becomes sufficiently accustomed to

the restraint to move about slowly. It prevents his wandering; and his

being easily carried off at night by lurking Indians. When a horse that

is “foot free” is tied to one thus secured, the latter forms, as it

were, a pivot, round which the other runs and curvets, in case of alarm.

The encampment of which we are speaking presented a striking scene.

The various mess-fires were surrounded by picturesque groups, standing,

sitting, and reclining; some busied in cooking, others in cleaning their

weapons: while the frequent laugh told that the rough joke or merry

story was going on. In the middle of the camp, before the principal

lodge, sat the two chieftains, Captain Bonneville and White Plume, in

soldier-like communion, the captain delighted with the opportunity of

meeting on social terms with one of the red warriors of the wilderness,

the unsophisticated children of nature. The latter was squatted on his

buffalo robe, his strong features and red skin glaring in the broad

light of a blazing fire, while he recounted astounding tales of the

bloody exploits of his tribe and himself in their wars with the Pawnees;

for there are no old soldiers more given to long campaigning stories

than Indian “braves.”

The feuds of White Plume, however, had not been confined to the red men;

he had much to say of brushes with bee hunters, a class of offenders

for whom he seemed to cherish a particular abhorrence. As the species

of hunting prosecuted by these worthies is not laid down in any of

the ancient books of venerie, and is, in fact, peculiar to our western

frontier, a word or two on the subject may not be unacceptable to the

reader.

The bee hunter is generally some settler on the verge of the prairies; a

long, lank fellow, of fever and ague complexion, acquired from living

on new soil, and in a hut built of green logs. In the autumn, when the

harvest is over, these; frontier settlers form parties of two or three,

and prepare for a bee hunt. Having provided themselves with a wagon, and

a number of empty casks, they sally off, armed with their rifles, into

the wilderness, directing their course east, west, north, or south,

without any regard to the ordinance of the American government, which

strictly forbids all trespass upon the lands belonging to the Indian

tribes.

The belts of woodland that traverse the lower prairies and border the

rivers are peopled by innumerable swarms of wild bees, which make their

hives in hollow trees and fill them with honey tolled from the rich

flowers of the prairies. The bees, according to popular assertion,

are migrating like the settlers, to the west. An Indian trader, well

experienced in the country, informs us that within ten years that he has

passed in the Far West, the bee has advanced westward above a hundred

miles. It is said on the Missouri, that the wild turkey and the wild bee

go up the river together: neither is found in the upper regions. It is

but recently that the wild turkey has been killed on the Nebraska, or

Platte; and his travelling competitor, the wild bee, appeared there

about the same time.

Be all this as it may: the course of our party of bee hunters is to

make a wide circuit through the woody river bottoms, and the patches

of forest on the prairies, marking, as they go out, every tree in which

they have detected a hive. These marks are generally respected by any

other bee hunter that should come upon their track. When they have

marked sufficient to fill all their casks, they turn their faces

homeward, cut down the trees as they proceed, and having loaded their

wagon with honey and wax, return well pleased to the settlements.

Now it so happens that the Indians relish wild honey as highly as do the

white men, and are the more delighted with this natural luxury from its

having, in many instances, but recently made its appearance in their

lands. The consequence is numberless disputes and conflicts between them

and the bee hunters: and often a party of the latter, returning, laden

with rich spoil, from one of their forays, are apt to be waylaid by the

native lords of the soil; their honey to be seized, their harness cut

to pieces, and themselves left to find their way home the best way

they can, happy to escape with no greater personal harm than a sound

rib-roasting.

Such were the marauders of whose offences the gallant White Plume made

the most bitter complaint. They were chiefly the settlers of the western

part of Missouri, who are the most famous bee hunters on the frontier,

and whose favorite hunting ground lies within the lands of the Kansas

tribe. According to the account of White Plume, however, matters were

pretty fairly balanced between him and the offenders; he having as often

treated them to a taste of the bitter, as they had robbed him of the

sweets.

It is but justice to this gallant chief to say that he gave proofs of

having acquired some of the lights of civilization from his proximity

to the whites, as was evinced in his knowledge of driving a bargain. He

required hard cash in return for some corn with which he supplied the

worthy captain, and left the latter at a loss which most to admire, his

native chivalry as a brave, or his acquired adroitness as a trader.

3.

Wide prairies Vegetable productions Tabular hills--Slabs of

sandstone Nebraska or Platte River--Scanty fare--Buffalo

skulls--Wagons turned into boats--Herds of buffalo--Cliffs

resembling castles--The chimney--Scott’s Bluffs Story

connected with them--The bighorn or ahsahta--Its nature and

habits--Difference between that and the “woolly sheep,” or

goat of the mountains

FROM THE MIDDLE to the end of May, Captain Bonneville pursued a western

course over vast undulating plains, destitute of tree or shrub, rendered

miry by occasional rain, and cut up by deep water-courses where they had

to dig roads for their wagons down the soft crumbling banks and to throw

bridges across the streams. The weather had attained the summer heat;

the thermometer standing about fifty-seven degrees in the morning,

early, but rising to about ninety degrees at noon. The incessant

breezes, however, which sweep these vast plains render the heats

endurable. Game was scanty, and they had to eke out their scanty fare

with wild roots and vegetables, such as the Indian potato, the wild

onion, and the prairie tomato, and they met with quantities of “red

root,” from which the hunters make a very palatable beverage. The only

human being that crossed their path was a Kansas warrior, returning from

some solitary expedition of bravado or revenge, bearing a Pawnee scalp

as a trophy.

The country gradually rose as they proceeded westward, and their route

took them over high ridges, commanding wide and beautiful prospects.

The vast plain was studded on the west with innumerable hills of conical

shape, such as are seen north of the Arkansas River. These hills have

their summits apparently cut off about the same elevation, so as to

leave flat surfaces at top. It is conjectured by some that the whole

country may originally have been of the altitude of these tabular hills;

but through some process of nature may have sunk to its present level;

these insulated eminences being protected by broad foundations of solid

rock.

Captain Bonneville mentions another geological phenomenon north of

Red River, where the surface of the earth, in considerable tracts of

country, is covered with broad slabs of sandstone, having the form and

position of grave-stones, and looking as if they had been forced up by

some subterranean agitation. “The resemblance,” says he, “which these

very remarkable spots have in many places to old church-yards is curious

in the extreme. One might almost fancy himself among the tombs of the

pre-Adamites.”

On the 2d of June, they arrived on the main stream of the Nebraska or

Platte River; twenty-five miles below the head of the Great Island. The

low banks of this river give it an appearance of great width. Captain

Bonneville measured it in one place, and found it twenty-two hundred

yards from bank to bank. Its depth was from three to six feet, the

bottom full of quicksands. The Nebraska is studded with islands covered

with that species of poplar called the cotton-wood tree. Keeping up

along the course of this river for several days, they were obliged,

from the scarcity of game, to put themselves upon short allowance,

and, occasionally, to kill a steer. They bore their daily labors and

privations, however, with great good humor, taking their tone, in all

probability, from the buoyant spirit of their leader. “If the weather

was inclement,” said the captain, “we watched the clouds, and hoped

for a sight of the blue sky and the merry sun. If food was scanty,

we regaled ourselves with the hope of soon falling in with herds of

buffalo, and having nothing to do but slay and eat.” We doubt whether

the genial captain is not describing the cheeriness of his own breast,

which gave a cheery aspect to everything around him.

There certainly were evidences, however, that the country was not always

equally destitute of game. At one place, they observed a field decorated

with buffalo skulls, arranged in circles, curves, and other mathematical

figures, as if for some mystic rite or ceremony. They were almost

innumerable, and seemed to have been a vast hecatomb offered up in

thanksgiving to the Great Spirit for some signal success in the chase.

On the 11th of June, they came to the fork of the Nebraska, where

it divides itself into two equal and beautiful streams. One of these

branches rises in the west-southwest, near the headwaters of the

Arkansas. Up the course of this branch, as Captain Bonneville was well

aware, lay the route to the Camanche and Kioway Indians, and to the

northern Mexican settlements; of the other branch he knew nothing. Its

sources might lie among wild and inaccessible cliffs, and tumble and

foam down rugged defiles and over craggy precipices; but its direction

was in the true course, and up this stream he determined to prosecute

his route to the Rocky Mountains. Finding it impossible, from

quicksands and other dangerous impediments, to cross the river in this

neighborhood, he kept up along the south fork for two days, merely

seeking a safe fording place. At length he encamped, caused the bodies

of the wagons to be dislodged from the wheels, covered with buffalo

hide, and besmeared with a compound of tallow and ashes; thus forming

rude boats. In these, they ferried their effects across the stream,

which was six hundred yards wide, with a swift and strong current. Three

men were in each boat, to manage it; others waded across pushing the

barks before them. Thus all crossed in safety. A march of nine miles

took them over high rolling prairies to the north fork; their eyes being

regaled with the welcome sight of herds of buffalo at a distance, some

careering the plain, others grazing and reposing in the natural meadows.

Skirting along the north fork for a day or two, excessively annoyed by

musquitoes and buffalo gnats, they reached, in the evening of the 17th,

a small but beautiful grove, from which issued the confused notes of

singing birds, the first they had heard since crossing the boundary

of Missouri. After so many days of weary travelling through a naked,

monotonous and silent country, it was delightful once more to hear

the song of the bird, and to behold the verdure of the grove. It was

a beautiful sunset, and a sight of the glowing rays, mantling the

tree-tops and rustling branches, gladdened every heart. They pitched

their camp in the grove, kindled their fires, partook merrily of their

rude fare, and resigned themselves to the sweetest sleep they had

enjoyed since their outset upon the prairies.

The country now became rugged and broken. High bluffs advanced upon the

river, and forced the travellers occasionally to leave its banks and

wind their course into the interior. In one of the wild and solitary

passes they were startled by the trail of four or five pedestrians, whom

they supposed to be spies from some predatory camp of either Arickara

or Crow Indians. This obliged them to redouble their vigilance at

night, and to keep especial watch upon their horses. In these rugged

and elevated regions they began to see the black-tailed deer, a

species larger than the ordinary kind, and chiefly found in rocky and

mountainous countries. They had reached also a great buffalo range;

Captain Bonneville ascended a high bluff, commanding an extensive view

of the surrounding plains. As far as his eye could reach, the country

seemed absolutely blackened by innumerable herds. No language, he says,

could convey an adequate idea of the vast living mass thus presented to

his eye. He remarked that the bulls and cows generally congregated in

separate herds.

Opposite to the camp at this place was a singular phenomenon, which

is among the curiosities of the country. It is called the chimney. The

lower part is a conical mound, rising out of the naked plain; from the

summit shoots up a shaft or column, about one hundred and twenty feet

in height, from which it derives its name. The height of the whole,

according to Captain Bonneville, is a hundred and seventy-five yards.

It is composed of indurated clay, with alternate layers of red and white

sandstone, and may be seen at the distance of upward of thirty miles.

On the 21st, they encamped amidst high and beetling cliffs of indurated

clay and sandstone, bearing the semblance of towers, castles, churches,

and fortified cities. At a distance, it was scarcely possible to

persuade one’s self that the works of art were not mingled with these

fantastic freaks of nature. They have received the name of Scott’s

Bluffs, from a melancholy circumstance. A number of years since, a party

were descending the upper part of the river in canoes, when their frail

barks were overturned and all their powder spoiled. Their rifles being

thus rendered useless, they were unable to procure food by hunting

and had to depend upon roots and wild fruits for subsistence. After

suffering extremely from hunger, they arrived at Laramie’s Fork, a small

tributary of the north branch of the Nebraska, about sixty miles above

the cliffs just mentioned. Here one of the party, by the name of Scott,

was taken ill; and his companions came to a halt, until he should

recover health and strength sufficient to proceed. While they were

searching round in quest of edible roots, they discovered a fresh trail

of white men, who had evidently but recently preceded them. What was to

be done? By a forced march they might overtake this party, and thus be

able to reach the settlements in safety. Should they linger, they might

all perish of famine and exhaustion. Scott, however, was incapable of

moving; they were too feeble to aid him forward, and dreaded that such

a clog would prevent their coming up with the advance party. They

determined, therefore, to abandon him to his fate. Accordingly, under

presence of seeking food, and such simples as might be efficacious in

his malady, they deserted him and hastened forward upon the trail.

They succeeded in overtaking the party of which they were in quest, but

concealed their faithless desertion of Scott; alleging that he had died

of disease.

On the ensuing summer, these very individuals visiting these parts in

company with others, came suddenly upon the bleached bones and grinning

skull of a human skeleton, which, by certain signs they recognized for

the remains of Scott. This was sixty long miles from the place where

they had abandoned him; and it appeared that the wretched man had

crawled that immense distance before death put an end to his miseries.

The wild and picturesque bluffs in the neighborhood of his lonely grave

have ever since borne his name.

Amidst this wild and striking scenery, Captain Bonneville, for the first

time, beheld flocks of the ahsahta or bighorn, an animal which frequents

these cliffs in great numbers. They accord with the nature of such

scenery, and add much to its romantic effect; bounding like goats from

crag to crag, often trooping along the lofty shelves of the mountains,

under the guidance of some venerable patriarch with horns twisted lower

than his muzzle, and sometimes peering over the edge of a precipice,

so high that they appear scarce bigger than crows; indeed, it seems

a pleasure to them to seek the most rugged and frightful situations,

doubtless from a feeling of security.

This animal is commonly called the mountain sheep, and is often

confounded with another animal, the “woolly sheep,” found more to the

northward, about the country of the Flatheads. The latter likewise

inhabits cliffs in summer, but descends into the valleys in the winter.

It has white wool, like a sheep, mingled with a thin growth of long

hair; but it has short legs, a deep belly, and a beard like a goat. Its

horns are about five inches long, slightly curved backwards, black as

jet, and beautifully polished. Its hoofs are of the same color. This

animal is by no means so active as the bighorn; it does not bound much,

but sits a good deal upon its haunches. It is not so plentiful either;

rarely more than two or three are seen at a time. Its wool alone gives

a resemblance to the sheep; it is more properly of the flesh is said to

have a musty flavor; some have thought the fleece might be valuable, as

it is said to be as fine as that of the goat Cashmere, but it is not to

be procured in sufficient quantities.

The ahsahta, argali, or bighorn, on the contrary, has short hair like a

deer, and resembles it in shape, but has the head and horns of a sheep,

and its flesh is said to be delicious mutton. The Indians consider it

more sweet and delicate than any other kind of venison. It abounds in

the Rocky Mountains, from the fiftieth degree of north latitude,

quite down to California; generally in the highest regions capable of

vegetation; sometimes it ventures into the valleys, but on the least

alarm, regains its favorite cliffs and precipices, where it is perilous,

if not impossible for the hunter to follow.

4.

An alarm--Crow--Indians--Their appearance--Mode of approach

--Their vengeful errand--Their curiosity--Hostility between

the Crows and Blackfeet--Loving conduct of the Crows--

Laramie’s Fork--First navigation of the--Nebraska--Great

elevation of the country--Rarity of the atmosphere--Its

effect on the wood-work of wagons--Black Hills--Their wild

and broken scenery--Indian dogs--Crow trophies--Sterile and

dreary country--Banks of the Sweet Water--Buffalo hunting--

Adventure of Tom Cain the Irish cook

WHEN ON THE MARCH, Captain Bonneville always sent some of his best

hunters in the advance to reconnoitre the country, as well as to look

out for game. On the 24th of May, as the caravan was slowly journeying

up the banks of the Nebraska, the hunters came galloping back, waving

their caps, and giving the alarm cry, Indians! Indians!

The captain immediately ordered a halt: the hunters now came up and

announced that a large war-party of Crow Indians were just above, on the

river. The captain knew the character of these savages; one of the

most roving, warlike, crafty, and predatory tribes of the mountains;

horse-stealers of the first order, and easily provoked to acts of

sanguinary violence. Orders were accordingly given to prepare for

action, and every one promptly took the post that had been assigned him

in the general order of the march, in all cases of warlike emergency.

Everything being put in battle array, the captain took the lead of his

little band, and moved on slowly and warily. In a little while he beheld

the Crow warriors emerging from among the bluffs. There were about sixty

of them; fine martial-looking fellows, painted and arrayed for war, and

mounted on horses decked out with all kinds of wild trappings. They

came prancing along in gallant style, with many wild and dexterous

evolutions, for none can surpass them in horsemanship; and their

bright colors, and flaunting and fantastic embellishments, glaring

and sparkling in the morning sunshine, gave them really a striking

appearance.

Their mode of approach, to one not acquainted with the tactics and

ceremonies of this rude chivalry of the wilderness, had an air of direct

hostility. They came galloping forward in a body, as if about to make a

furious charge, but, when close at hand, opened to the right and left,

and wheeled in wide circles round the travellers, whooping and yelling

like maniacs.

This done, their mock fury sank into a calm, and the chief, approaching

the captain, who had remained warily drawn up, though informed of the

pacific nature of the maneuver, extended to him the hand of friendship.

The pipe of peace was smoked, and now all was good fellowship.

The Crows were in pursuit of a band of Cheyennes, who had attacked their

village in the night and killed one of their people. They had already

been five and twenty days on the track of the marauders, and were

determined not to return home until they had sated their revenge.

A few days previously, some of their scouts, who were ranging the

country at a distance from the main body, had discovered the party of

Captain Bonneville. They had dogged it for a time in secret, astonished

at the long train of wagons and oxen, and especially struck with the

sight of a cow and calf, quietly following the caravan; supposing them

to be some kind of tame buffalo. Having satisfied their curiosity, they

carried back to their chief intelligence of all that they had seen. He

had, in consequence, diverged from his pursuit of vengeance to behold

the wonders described to him. “Now that we have met you,” said he to

Captain Bonneville, “and have seen these marvels with our own eyes, our

hearts are glad.” In fact, nothing could exceed the curiosity evinced by

these people as to the objects before them. Wagons had never been seen

by them before, and they examined them with the greatest minuteness; but

the calf was the peculiar object of their admiration. They watched it

with intense interest as it licked the hands accustomed to feed it, and

were struck with the mild expression of its countenance, and its perfect

docility.

After much sage consultation, they at length determined that it must

be the “great medicine” of the white party; an appellation given by the

Indians to anything of supernatural and mysterious power that is guarded

as a talisman. They were completely thrown out in their conjecture,

however, by an offer of the white men to exchange the calf for a horse;

their estimation of the great medicine sank in an instant, and they

declined the bargain.

At the request of the Crow chieftain the two parties encamped together,

and passed the residue of the day in company. The captain was

well pleased with every opportunity to gain a knowledge of the

“unsophisticated sons of nature,” who had so long been objects of his

poetic speculations; and indeed this wild, horse-stealing tribe is one

of the most notorious of the mountains. The chief, of course, had

his scalps to show and his battles to recount. The Blackfoot is the

hereditary enemy of the Crow, toward whom hostility is like a cherished

principle of religion; for every tribe, besides its casual

antagonists, has some enduring foe with whom there can be no permanent

reconciliation. The Crows and Blackfeet, upon the whole, are enemies

worthy of each other, being rogues and ruffians of the first water. As

their predatory excursions extend over the same regions, they often come

in contact with each other, and these casual conflicts serve to keep

their wits awake and their passions alive.

The present party of Crows, however, evinced nothing of the invidious

character for which they are renowned. During the day and night that

they were encamped in company with the travellers, their conduct was

friendly in the extreme. They were, in fact, quite irksome in their

attentions, and had a caressing manner at times quite importunate. It

was not until after separation on the following morning that the captain

and his men ascertained the secret of all this loving-kindness. In the

course of their fraternal caresses, the Crows had contrived to empty the

pockets of their white brothers; to abstract the very buttons from their

coats, and, above all, to make free with their hunting knives.

By equal altitudes of the sun, taken at this last encampment, Captain

Bonneville ascertained his latitude to be 41 47’ north. The thermometer,

at six o’clock in the morning, stood at fifty-nine degrees; at two

o’clock, P. M., at ninety-two degrees; and at six o’clock in the

evening, at seventy degrees.

The Black Hills, or Mountains, now began to be seen at a distance,

printing the horizon with their rugged and broken outlines; and

threatening to oppose a difficult barrier in the way of the travellers.

On the 26th of May, the travellers encamped at Laramie’s Fork, a clear

and beautiful stream, rising in the west-southwest, maintaining an

average width of twenty yards, and winding through broad meadows

abounding in currants and gooseberries, and adorned with groves and

clumps of trees.

By an observation of Jupiter’s satellites, with a Dolland reflecting

telescope, Captain Bonneville ascertained the longitude to be 102 57’

west of Greenwich.

We will here step ahead of our narrative to observe that about three

years after the time of which we are treating, Mr. Robert Campbell,

formerly of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, descended the Platte

from this fork, in skin canoes, thus proving, what had always been

discredited, that the river was navigable. About the same time, he built

a fort or trading post at Laramie’s Fork, which he named Fort William,

after his friend and partner, Mr. William Sublette. Since that time, the

Platte has become a highway for the fur traders.

For some days past, Captain Bonneville had been made sensible of the

great elevation of country into which he was gradually ascending by the

effect of the dryness and rarefaction of the atmosphere upon his wagons.

The wood-work shrunk; the paint boxes of the wheels were continually

working out, and it was necessary to support the spokes by stout props

to prevent their falling asunder. The travellers were now entering one

of those great steppes of the Far West, where the prevalent aridity

of the atmosphere renders the country unfit for cultivation. In these

regions there is a fresh sweet growth of grass in the spring, but it is

scanty and short, and parches up in the course of the summer, so that

there is none for the hunters to set fire to in the autumn. It is a

common observation that “above the forks of the Platte the grass does

not burn.” All attempts at agriculture and gardening in the neighborhood

of Fort William have been attended with very little success. The grain

and vegetables raised there have been scanty in quantity and poor in

quality. The great elevation of these plains, and the dryness of the

atmosphere, will tend to retain these immense regions in a state of

pristine wildness.

In the course of a day or two more, the travellers entered that wild and

broken tract of the Crow country called the Black Hills, and here their

journey became toilsome in the extreme. Rugged steeps and deep ravines

incessantly obstructed their progress, so that a great part of the

day was spent in the painful toil of digging through banks, filling up

ravines, forcing the wagons up the most forbidding ascents, or swinging

them with ropes down the face of dangerous precipices. The shoes of

their horses were worn out, and their feet injured by the rugged and

stony roads. The travellers were annoyed also by frequent but brief

storms, which would come hurrying over the hills, or through the

mountain defiles, rage with great fury for a short time, and then pass

off, leaving everything calm and serene again.

For several nights the camp had been infested by vagabond Indian dogs,

prowling about in quest of food. They were about the size of a large

pointer; with ears short and erect, and a long bushy tail--altogether,

they bore a striking resemblance to a wolf. These skulking visitors

would keep about the purlieus of the camp until daylight; when, on the

first stir of life among the sleepers, they would scamper off until they

reached some rising ground, where they would take their seats, and keep

a sharp and hungry watch upon every movement. The moment the travellers

were fairly on the march, and the camp was abandoned, these starving

hangers-on would hasten to the deserted fires, to seize upon the

half-picked bones, the offal and garbage that lay about; and, having

made a hasty meal, with many a snap and snarl and growl, would follow

leisurely on the trail of the caravan. Many attempts were made to coax

or catch them, but in vain. Their quick and suspicious eyes caught

the slightest sinister movement, and they turned and scampered off. At

length one was taken. He was terribly alarmed, and crouched and trembled

as if expecting instant death. Soothed, however, by caresses, he began

after a time to gather confidence and wag his tail, and at length was

brought to follow close at the heels of his captors, still, however,

darting around furtive and suspicious glances, and evincing a

disposition to scamper off upon the least alarm.

On the first of July the band of Crow warriors again crossed their path.

They came in vaunting and vainglorious style; displaying five Cheyenne

scalps, the trophies of their vengeance. They were now bound homewards,

to appease the manes of their comrade by these proofs that his death had

been revenged, and intended to have scalp-dances and other triumphant

rejoicings. Captain Bonneville and his men, however, were by no means

disposed to renew their confiding intimacy with these crafty savages,

and above all, took care to avoid their pilfering caresses. They

remarked one precaution of the Crows with respect to their horses; to

protect their hoofs from the sharp and jagged rocks among which they had

to pass, they had covered them with shoes of buffalo hide.

The route of the travellers lay generally along the course of the

Nebraska or Platte, but occasionally, where steep promontories advanced

to the margin of the stream, they were obliged to make inland circuits.

One of these took them through a bold and stern country, bordered by a

range of low mountains, running east and west. Everything around bore

traces of some fearful convulsion of nature in times long past. Hitherto

the various strata of rock had exhibited a gentle elevation toward the

southwest, but here everything appeared to have been subverted, and

thrown out of place. In many places there were heavy beds of white

sandstone resting upon red. Immense strata of rocks jutted up into crags

and cliffs; and sometimes formed perpendicular walls and overhanging

precipices. An air of sterility prevailed over these savage wastes. The

valleys were destitute of herbage, and scantily clothed with a stunted

species of wormwood, generally known among traders and trappers by the

name of sage. From an elevated point of their march through this region,

the travellers caught a beautiful view of the Powder River Mountains

away to the north, stretching along the very verge of the horizon, and

seeming, from the snow with which they were mantled, to be a chain of

small white clouds, connecting sky and earth.

Though the thermometer at mid-day ranged from eighty to ninety, and even

sometimes rose to ninety-three degrees, yet occasional spots of snow

were to be seen on the tops of the low mountains, among which the

travellers were journeying; proofs of the great elevation of the whole

region.

The Nebraska, in its passage through the Black Hills, is confined to

a much narrower channel than that through which it flows in the plains

below; but it is deeper and clearer, and rushes with a stronger current.

The scenery, also, is more varied and beautiful. Sometimes it glides

rapidly but smoothly through a picturesque valley, between wooded banks;

then, forcing its way into the bosom of rugged mountains, it rushes

impetuously through narrow defiles, roaring and foaming down rocks and

rapids, until it is again soothed to rest in some peaceful valley.

On the 12th of July, Captain Bonneville abandoned the main stream of the

Nebraska, which was continually shouldered by rugged promontories, and

making a bend to the southwest, for a couple of days, part of the time

over plains of loose sand, encamped on the 14th on the banks of the

Sweet Water, a stream about twenty yards in breadth, and four or five

feet deep, flowing between low banks over a sandy soil, and forming one

of the forks or upper branches of the Nebraska. Up this stream they now

shaped their course for several successive days, tending, generally, to

the west. The soil was light and sandy; the country much diversified.

Frequently the plains were studded with isolated blocks of rock,

sometimes in the shape of a half globe, and from three to four hundred

feet high. These singular masses had occasionally a very imposing, and

even sublime appearance, rising from the midst of a savage and lonely

landscape.

As the travellers continued to advance, they became more and more

sensible of the elevation of the country. The hills around were more

generally capped with snow. The men complained of cramps and colics,

sore lips and mouths, and violent headaches. The wood-work of the wagons

also shrank so much that it was with difficulty the wheels were kept

from falling to pieces. The country bordering upon the river was

frequently gashed with deep ravines, or traversed by high bluffs, to

avoid which, the travellers were obliged to make wide circuits through

the plains. In the course of these, they came upon immense herds of

buffalo, which kept scouring off in the van, like a retreating army.

Among the motley retainers of the camp was Tom Cain, a raw Irishman, who

officiated as cook, whose various blunders and expedients in his novel

situation, and in the wild scenes and wild kind of life into which he

had suddenly been thrown, had made him a kind of butt or droll of

the camp. Tom, however, began to discover an ambition superior to his

station; and the conversation of the hunters, and their stories of their

exploits, inspired him with a desire to elevate himself to the dignity

of their order. The buffalo in such immense droves presented a tempting

opportunity for making his first essay. He rode, in the line of march,

all prepared for action: his powder-flask and shot-pouch knowingly slung

at the pommel of his saddle, to be at hand; his rifle balanced on his

shoulder. While in this plight, a troop of Buffalo came trotting by in

great alarm. In an instant, Tom sprang from his horse and gave chase on

foot. Finding they were leaving him behind, he levelled his rifle and

pulled [the] trigger. His shot produced no other effect than to increase

the speed of the buffalo, and to frighten his own horse, who took to his

heels, and scampered off with all the ammunition. Tom scampered after

him, hallooing with might and main, and the wild horse and wild Irishman

soon disappeared among the ravines of the prairie. Captain Bonneville,

who was at the head of the line, and had seen the transaction at a

distance, detached a party in pursuit of Tom. After a long interval they

returned, leading the frightened horse; but though they had scoured the

country, and looked out and shouted from every height, they had seen

nothing of his rider.

As Captain Bonneville knew Tom’s utter awkwardness and inexperience,

and the dangers of a bewildered Irishman in the midst of a prairie, he

halted and encamped at an early hour, that there might be a regular hunt

for him in the morning.

At early dawn on the following day scouts were sent off in every

direction, while the main body, after breakfast, proceeded slowly on its

course. It was not until the middle of the afternoon that the hunters

returned, with honest Tom mounted behind one of them. They had found him

in a complete state of perplexity and amazement. His appearance caused

shouts of merriment in the camp,--but Tom for once could not join in

the mirth raised at his expense: he was completely chapfallen, and

apparently cured of the hunting mania for the rest of his life.

5.

Magnificent scenery--Wind River--Mountains--Treasury of

waters--A stray horse--An Indian trail--Trout streams--The

Great Green River Valley--An alarm--A band of trappers--

Fontenelle, his information--Sufferings of thirst--

Encampment on the Seedskedee--Strategy of rival traders--

Fortification of the camp--The--Blackfeet--Banditti of the

mountains--Their character and habits

IT WAS ON THE 20TH of July that Captain Bonneville first came in sight

of the grand region of his hopes and anticipations, the Rocky Mountains.

He had been making a bend to the south, to avoid some obstacles along

the river, and had attained a high, rocky ridge, when a magnificent

prospect burst upon his sight. To the west rose the Wind River

Mountains, with their bleached and snowy summits towering into the

clouds. These stretched far to the north-northwest, until they melted

away into what appeared to be faint clouds, but which the experienced

eyes of the veteran hunters of the party recognized for the rugged

mountains of the Yellowstone; at the feet of which extended the wild

Crow country: a perilous, though profitable region for the trapper.

To the southwest, the eye ranged over an immense extent of wilderness,

with what appeared to be a snowy vapor resting upon its horizon. This,

however, was pointed out as another branch of the Great Chippewyan, or

Rocky chain; being the Eutaw Mountains, at whose basis the wandering

tribe of hunters of the same name pitch their tents. We can imagine the

enthusiasm of the worthy captain when he beheld the vast and mountainous

scene of his adventurous enterprise thus suddenly unveiled before him.

We can imagine with what feelings of awe and admiration he must have

contemplated the Wind River Sierra, or bed of mountains; that great

fountainhead from whose springs, and lakes, and melted snows some of

those mighty rivers take their rise, which wander over hundreds of miles

of varied country and clime, and find their way to the opposite waves of

the Atlantic and the Pacific.

The Wind River Mountains are, in fact, among the most remarkable of the

whole Rocky chain; and would appear to be among the loftiest. They form,

as it were, a great bed of mountains, about eighty miles in length,

and from twenty to thirty in breadth; with rugged peaks, covered with

eternal snows, and deep, narrow valleys full of springs, and brooks, and

rock-bound lakes. From this great treasury of waters issue forth limpid

streams, which, augmenting as they descend, become main tributaries of

the Missouri on the one side, and the Columbia on the other; and give

rise to the Seeds-ke-dee Agie, or Green River, the great Colorado of the

West, that empties its current into the Gulf of California.

The Wind River Mountains are notorious in hunters’ and trappers’

stories: their rugged defiles, and the rough tracts about their

neighborhood, having been lurking places for the predatory hordes of the

mountains, and scenes of rough encounter with Crows and Blackfeet. It

was to the west of these mountains, in the valley of the Seeds-ke-dee

Agie, or Green River, that Captain Bonneville intended to make a halt

for the purpose of giving repose to his people and his horses after

their weary journeying; and of collecting information as to his future

course. This Green River valley, and its immediate neighborhood, as

we have already observed, formed the main point of rendezvous, for

the present year, of the rival fur companies, and the motley populace,

civilized and savage, connected with them. Several days of rugged

travel, however, yet remained for the captain and his men before they

should encamp in this desired resting-place.

On the 21st of July, as they were pursuing their course through one of

the meadows of the Sweet Water, they beheld a horse grazing at a little

distance. He showed no alarm at their approach, but suffered himself

quietly to be taken, evincing a perfect state of tameness. The scouts of

the party were instantly on the look-out for the owners of this animal;

lest some dangerous band of savages might be lurking in the vicinity.

After a narrow search, they discovered the trail of an Indian party,

which had evidently passed through that neighborhood but recently. The

horse was accordingly taken possession of, as an estray; but a more

vigilant watch than usual was kept round the camp at nights, lest his

former owners should be upon the prowl.

The travellers had now attained so high an elevation that on the 23d of

July, at daybreak, there was considerable ice in the waterbuckets,

and the thermometer stood at twenty-two degrees. The rarefy of the

atmosphere continued to affect the wood-work of the wagons, and the

wheels were incessantly falling to pieces. A remedy was at length

devised. The tire of each wheel was taken off; a band of wood was nailed

round the exterior of the felloes, the tire was then made red hot,

replaced round the wheel, and suddenly cooled with water. By this means,

the whole was bound together with great compactness.

The extreme elevation of these great steppes, which range along the

feet of the Rocky Mountains, takes away from the seeming height of their

peaks, which yield to few in the known world in point of altitude above

the level of the sea.

On the 24th, the travellers took final leave of the Sweet Water, and

keeping westwardly, over a low and very rocky ridge, one of the most

southern spurs of the Wind River Mountains, they encamped, after a march

of seven hours and a half, on the banks of a small clear stream, running

to the south, in which they caught a number of fine trout.

The sight of these fish was hailed with pleasure, as a sign that they

had reached the waters which flow into the Pacific; for it is only on

the western streams of the Rocky Mountains that trout are to be taken.

The stream on which they had thus encamped proved, in effect, to be

tributary to the Seeds-ke-dee Agie, or Green River, into which it flowed

at some distance to the south.

Captain Bonneville now considered himself as having fairly passed the

crest of the Rocky Mountains; and felt some degree of exultation in

being the first individual that had crossed, north of the settled

provinces of Mexico, from the waters of the Atlantic to those of the

Pacific, with wagons. Mr. William Sublette, the enterprising leader

of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, had, two or three years previously,

reached the valley of the Wind River, which lies on the northeast of the

mountains; but had proceeded with them no further.

A vast valley now spread itself before the travellers, bounded on one

side by the Wind River Mountains, and to the west, by a long range of

high hills. This, Captain Bonneville was assured by a veteran hunter

in his company, was the great valley of the Seedske-dee; and the same

informant would have fain persuaded him that a small stream, three feet

deep, which he came to on the 25th, was that river. The captain was

convinced, however, that the stream was too insignificant to drain so

wide a valley and the adjacent mountains: he encamped, therefore, at an

early hour, on its borders, that he might take the whole of the next day

to reach the main river; which he presumed to flow between him and the

distant range of western hills.

On the 26th of July, he commenced his march at an early hour, making

directly across the valley, toward the hills in the west; proceeding at

as brisk a rate as the jaded condition of his horses would permit. About

eleven o’clock in the morning, a great cloud of dust was descried in the

rear, advancing directly on the trail of the party. The alarm was given;

they all came to a halt, and held a council of war. Some conjectured

that the band of Indians, whose trail they had discovered in the

neighborhood of the stray horse, had been lying in wait for them in some

secret fastness of the mountains; and were about to attack them on

the open plain, where they would have no shelter. Preparations

were immediately made for defence; and a scouting party sent off to

reconnoitre. They soon came galloping back, making signals that all was

well. The cloud of dust was made by a band of fifty or sixty mounted

trappers, belonging to the American Fur Company, who soon came up,

leading their pack-horses. They were headed by Mr. Fontenelle, an

experienced leader, or “partisan,” as a chief of a party is called in

the technical language of the trappers.

Mr. Fontenelle informed Captain Bonneville that he was on his way from

the company’s trading post on the Yellowstone to the yearly rendezvous,

with reinforcements and supplies for their hunting and trading parties

beyond the mountains; and that he expected to meet, by appointment, with

a band of free trappers in that very neighborhood. He had fallen

upon the trail of Captain Bonneville’s party, just after leaving the

Nebraska; and, finding that they had frightened off all the game, had

been obliged to push on, by forced marches, to avoid famine: both men

and horses were, therefore, much travel-worn; but this was no place to

halt; the plain before them he said was destitute of grass and water,

neither of which would be met with short of the Green River, which was

yet at a considerable distance. He hoped, he added, as his party

were all on horseback, to reach the river, with hard travelling, by

nightfall: but he doubted the possibility of Captain Bonneville’s

arrival there with his wagons before the day following. Having imparted

this information, he pushed forward with all speed.

Captain Bonneville followed on as fast as circumstances would permit.

The ground was firm and gravelly; but the horses were too much fatigued

to move rapidly. After a long and harassing day’s march, without pausing

for a noontide meal, they were compelled, at nine o’clock at night,

to encamp in an open plain, destitute of water or pasturage. On the

following morning, the horses were turned loose at the peep of day; to

slake their thirst, if possible, from the dew collected on the sparse

grass, here and there springing up among dry sand-banks. The soil of a

great part of this Green River valley is a whitish clay, into which the

rain cannot penetrate, but which dries and cracks with the sun. In

some places it produces a salt weed, and grass along the margins of the

streams; but the wider expanses of it are desolate and barren. It

was not until noon that Captain Bonneville reached the banks of the

Seeds-ke-dee, or Colorado of the West; in the meantime, the sufferings

of both men and horses had been excessive, and it was with almost

frantic eagerness that they hurried to allay their burning thirst in the

limpid current of the river.

Fontenelle and his party had not fared much better; the chief part had

managed to reach the river by nightfall, but were nearly knocked up

by the exertion; the horses of others sank under them, and they were

obliged to pass the night upon the road.

On the following morning, July 27th, Fontenelle moved his camp across

the river; while Captain Bonneville proceeded some little distance

below, where there was a small but fresh meadow yielding abundant

pasturage. Here the poor jaded horses were turned out to graze, and take

their rest: the weary journey up the mountains had worn them down in

flesh and spirit; but this last march across the thirsty plain had

nearly finished them.

The captain had here the first taste of the boasted strategy of the

fur trade. During his brief, but social encampment, in company with

Fontenelle, that experienced trapper had managed to win over a number of

Delaware Indians whom the captain had brought with him, by offering them

four hundred dollars each for the ensuing autumnal hunt. The captain was

somewhat astonished when he saw these hunters, on whose services he had

calculated securely, suddenly pack up their traps, and go over to the

rival camp. That he might in some measure, however, be even with his

competitor, he dispatched two scouts to look out for the band of free

trappers who were to meet Fontenelle in this neighborhood, and to

endeavor to bring them to his camp.

As it would be necessary to remain some time in this neighborhood, that

both men and horses might repose, and recruit their strength; and as it

was a region full of danger, Captain Bonneville proceeded to fortify his

camp with breastworks of logs and pickets.

These precautions were, at that time, peculiarly necessary, from the

bands of Blackfeet Indians which were roving about the neighborhood.

These savages are the most dangerous banditti of the mountains, and the

inveterate foe of the trappers. They are Ishmaelites of the first order,

always with weapon in hand, ready for action. The young braves of the

tribe, who are destitute of property, go to war for booty; to gain

horses, and acquire the means of setting up a lodge, supporting a

family, and entitling themselves to a seat in the public councils.

The veteran warriors fight merely for the love of the thing, and the

consequence which success gives them among their people.

They are capital horsemen, and are generally well mounted on short,

stout horses, similar to the prairie ponies to be met with at St. Louis.

When on a war party, however, they go on foot, to enable them to skulk

through the country with greater secrecy; to keep in thickets and

ravines, and use more adroit subterfuges and stratagems. Their mode

of warfare is entirely by ambush, surprise, and sudden assaults in the

night time. If they succeed in causing a panic, they dash forward with

headlong fury: if the enemy is on the alert, and shows no signs of fear,

they become wary and deliberate in their movements.

Some of them are armed in the primitive style, with bows and arrows; the

greater part have American fusees, made after the fashion of those of

the Hudson’s Bay Company. These they procure at the trading post of the

American Fur Company, on Marias River, where they traffic their peltries

for arms, ammunition, clothing, and trinkets. They are extremely fond

of spirituous liquors and tobacco; for which nuisances they are ready

to exchange not merely their guns and horses, but even their wives and

daughters. As they are a treacherous race, and have cherished a lurking

hostility to the whites ever since one of their tribe was killed by

Mr. Lewis, the associate of General Clarke, in his exploring expedition

across the Rocky Mountains, the American Fur Company is obliged

constantly to keep at that post a garrison of sixty or seventy men.

Under the general name of Blackfeet are comprehended several tribes:

such as the Surcies, the Peagans, the Blood Indians, and the Gros

Ventres of the Prairies: who roam about the southern branches of the

Yellowstone and Missouri Rivers, together with some other tribes further

north.

The bands infesting the Wind River Mountains and the country adjacent

at the time of which we are treating, were Gros Ventres of the Prairies,

which are not to be confounded with Gros Ventres of the Missouri, who

keep about the lower part of that river, and are friendly to the white

men.

This hostile band keeps about the headwaters of the Missouri, and

numbers about nine hundred fighting men. Once in the course of two or

three years they abandon their usual abodes, and make a visit to the

Arapahoes of the Arkansas. Their route lies either through the Crow

country, and the Black Hills, or through the lands of the Nez Perces,

Flatheads, Bannacks, and Shoshonies. As they enjoy their favorite state

of hostility with all these tribes, their expeditions are prone to be

conducted in the most lawless and predatory style; nor do they hesitate

to extend their maraudings to any party of white men they meet with;

following their trails; hovering about their camps; waylaying and

dogging the caravans of the free traders, and murdering the solitary

trapper. The consequences are frequent and desperate fights between them

and the “mountaineers,” in the wild defiles and fastnesses of the Rocky

Mountains.

The band in question was, at this time, on their way homeward from one

of their customary visits to the Arapahoes; and in the ensuing chapter

we shall treat of some bloody encounters between them and the trappers,

which had taken place just before the arrival of Captain Bonneville

among the mountains.

6.

Sublette and his band--Robert--Campbell--Mr. Wyeth and a

band of “down-easters”--Yankee enterprise--Fitzpatrick--His

adventure with the Blackfeet--A rendezvous of mountaineers--

The battle of--Pierre’s Hole--An Indian ambuscade--

Sublette’s return

LEAVING CAPTAIN BONNEVILLE and his band ensconced within their fortified

camp in the Green River valley, we shall step back and accompany a party

of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company in its progress, with supplies

from St. Louis, to the annual rendezvous at Pierre’s Hole. This

party consisted of sixty men, well mounted, and conducting a line of

packhorses. They were commanded by Captain William Sublette, a partner

in the company, and one of the most active, intrepid, and renowned

leaders in this half military kind of service. He was accompanied by

his associate in business, and tried companion in danger, Mr. Robert

Campbell, one of the pioneers of the trade beyond the mountains, who had

commanded trapping parties there in times of the greatest peril.

As these worthy compeers were on their route to the frontier, they fell

in with another expedition, likewise on its way to the mountains. This

was a party of regular “down-easters,” that is to say, people of New

England, who, with the all-penetrating and all-pervading spirit of their

race, were now pushing their way into a new field of enterprise with

which they were totally unacquainted. The party had been fitted out and

was maintained and commanded by Mr. Nathaniel J. Wyeth, of Boston. This

gentleman had conceived an idea that a profitable fishery for salmon

might be established on the Columbia River, and connected with the fur

trade. He had, accordingly, invested capital in goods, calculated, as he

supposed, for the Indian trade, and had enlisted a number of eastern men

in his employ, who had never been in the Far West, nor knew anything of

the wilderness. With these, he was bravely steering his way across the

continent, undismayed by danger, difficulty, or distance, in the same

way that a New England coaster and his neighbors will coolly launch

forth on a voyage to the Black Sea, or a whaling cruise to the Pacific.

With all their national aptitude at expedient and resource, Wyeth and

his men felt themselves completely at a loss when they reached the

frontier, and found that the wilderness required experience and

habitudes of which they were totally deficient. Not one of the party,

excepting the leader, had ever seen an Indian or handled a rifle; they

were without guide or interpreter, and totally unacquainted with “wood

craft” and the modes of making their way among savage hordes, and

subsisting themselves during long marches over wild mountains and barren

plains.

In this predicament, Captain Sublette found them, in a manner becalmed,

or rather run aground, at the little frontier town of Independence,

in Missouri, and kindly took them in tow. The two parties travelled

amicably together; the frontier men of Sublette’s party gave their

Yankee comrades some lessons in hunting, and some insight into the art

and mystery of dealing with the Indians, and they all arrived without

accident at the upper branches of the Nebraska or Platte River.

In the course of their march, Mr. Fitzpatrick, the partner of the

company who was resident at that time beyond the mountains, came

down from the rendezvous at Pierre’s Hole to meet them and hurry them

forward. He travelled in company with them until they reached the Sweet

Water; then taking a couple of horses, one for the saddle, and the

other as a pack-horse, he started off express for Pierre’s Hole, to make

arrangements against their arrival, that he might commence his hunting

campaign before the rival company.

Fitzpatrick was a hardy and experienced mountaineer, and knew all the

passes and defiles. As he was pursuing his lonely course up the Green

River valley, he described several horsemen at a distance, and came to

a halt to reconnoitre. He supposed them to be some detachment from the

rendezvous, or a party of friendly Indians. They perceived him, and

setting up the war-whoop, dashed forward at full speed: he saw at once

his mistake and his peril--they were Blackfeet. Springing upon his

fleetest horse, and abandoning the other to the enemy, he made for

the mountains, and succeeded in escaping up one of the most dangerous

defiles. Here he concealed himself until he thought the Indians had gone

off, when he returned into the valley. He was again pursued, lost his

remaining horse, and only escaped by scrambling up among the cliffs. For

several days he remained lurking among rocks and precipices, and almost

famished, having but one remaining charge in his rifle, which he kept

for self-defence.

In the meantime, Sublette and Campbell, with their fellow traveller,

Wyeth, had pursued their march unmolested, and arrived in the Green

River valley, totally unconscious that there was any lurking enemy at

hand. They had encamped one night on the banks of a small stream, which

came down from the Wind River Mountains, when about midnight, a band

of Indians burst upon their camp, with horrible yells and whoops, and

a discharge of guns and arrows. Happily no other harm was done than

wounding one mule, and causing several horses to break loose from their

pickets. The camp was instantly in arms; but the Indians retreated with

yells of exultation, carrying off several of the horses under cover of

the night.

This was somewhat of a disagreeable foretaste of mountain life to some

of Wyeth’s band, accustomed only to the regular and peaceful life of New

England; nor was it altogether to the taste of Captain Sublette’s men,

who were chiefly creoles and townsmen from St. Louis. They continued

their march the next morning, keeping scouts ahead and upon their

flanks, and arrived without further molestation at Pierre’s Hole.

The first inquiry of Captain Sublette, on reaching the rendezvous,

was for Fitzpatrick. He had not arrived, nor had any intelligence been

received concerning him. Great uneasiness was now entertained, lest

he should have fallen into the hands of the Blackfeet who had made

the midnight attack upon the camp. It was a matter of general joy,

therefore, when he made his appearance, conducted by two half-breed

Iroquois hunters. He had lurked for several days among the mountains,

until almost starved; at length he escaped the vigilance of his enemies

in the night, and was so fortunate as to meet the two Iroquois hunters,

who, being on horseback, conveyed him without further difficulty to

the rendezvous. He arrived there so emaciated that he could scarcely be

recognized.

The valley called Pierre’s Hole is about thirty miles in length and

fifteen in width, bounded to the west and south by low and broken

ridges, and overlooked to the east by three lofty mountains, called the

three Tetons, which domineer as landmarks over a vast extent of country.

A fine stream, fed by rivulets and mountain springs, pours through

the valley toward the north, dividing it into nearly equal parts. The

meadows on its borders are broad and extensive, covered with willow and

cotton-wood trees, so closely interlocked and matted together as to be

nearly impassable.

In this valley was congregated the motley populace connected with the

fur trade. Here the two rival companies had their encampments,

with their retainers of all kinds: traders, trappers, hunters, and

half-breeds, assembled from all quarters, awaiting their yearly

supplies, and their orders to start off in new directions. Here, also,

the savage tribes connected with the trade, the Nez Perces or Chopunnish

Indians, and Flatheads, had pitched their lodges beside the streams, and

with their squaws, awaited the distribution of goods and finery. There

was, moreover, a band of fifteen free trappers, commanded by a gallant

leader from Arkansas, named Sinclair, who held their encampment a little

apart from the rest. Such was the wild and heterogeneous assemblage,

amounting to several hundred men, civilized and savage, distributed in

tents and lodges in the several camps.

The arrival of Captain Sublette with supplies put the Rocky Mountain Fur

Company in full activity. The wares and merchandise were quickly opened,

and as quickly disposed of to trappers and Indians; the usual excitement

and revelry took place, after which all hands began to disperse to their

several destinations.

On the 17th of July, a small brigade of fourteen trappers, led by

Milton Sublette, brother of the captain, set out with the intention of

proceeding to the southwest. They were accompanied by Sinclair and his

fifteen free trappers; Wyeth, also, and his New England band of beaver

hunters and salmon fishers, now dwindled down to eleven, took this

opportunity to prosecute their cruise in the wilderness, accompanied

with such experienced pilots. On the first day, they proceeded about

eight miles to the southeast, and encamped for the night, still in the

valley of Pierre’s Hole. On the following morning, just as they were

raising their camp, they observed a long line of people pouring down a

defile of the mountains. They at first supposed them to be Fontenelle

and his party, whose arrival had been daily expected. Wyeth, however,

reconnoitred them with a spy-glass, and soon perceived they were

Indians. They were divided into two parties, forming, in the whole,

about one hundred and fifty persons, men, women, and children. Some were

on horseback, fantastically painted and arrayed, with scarlet blankets

fluttering in the wind. The greater part, however, were on foot. They

had perceived the trappers before they were themselves discovered, and

came down yelling and whooping into the plain. On nearer approach, they

were ascertained to be Blackfeet.

One of the trappers of Sublette’s brigade, a half-breed named Antoine

Godin, now mounted his horse, and rode forth as if to hold a conference.

He was the son of an Iroquois hunter, who had been cruelly murdered by

the Blackfeet at a small stream below the mountains, which still bears

his name. In company with Antoine rode forth a Flathead Indian, whose

once powerful tribe had been completely broken down in their wars with

the Blackfeet. Both of them, therefore, cherished the most vengeful

hostility against these marauders of the mountains. The Blackfeet came

to a halt. One of the chiefs advanced singly and unarmed, bearing the

pipe of peace. This overture was certainly pacific; but Antoine and the

Flathead were predisposed to hostility, and pretended to consider it a

treacherous movement.

“Is your piece charged?” said Antoine to his red companion.

“It is.”

“Then cock it, and follow me.”

They met the Blackfoot chief half way, who extended his hand in

friendship. Antoine grasped it.

“Fire!” cried he.

The Flathead levelled his piece, and brought the Blackfoot to the

ground. Antoine snatched off his scarlet blanket, which was richly

ornamented, and galloped off with it as a trophy to the camp, the

bullets of the enemy whistling after him. The Indians immediately threw

themselves into the edge of a swamp, among willows and cotton-wood

trees, interwoven with vines. Here they began to fortify themselves;

the women digging a trench, and throwing up a breastwork of logs

and branches, deep hid in the bosom of the wood, while the warriors

skirmished at the edge to keep the trappers at bay.

The latter took their station in a ravine in front, whence they kept up

a scattering fire. As to Wyeth, and his little band of “downeasters,”

they were perfectly astounded by this second specimen of life in the

wilderness; the men, being especially unused to bushfighting and the use

of the rifle, were at a loss how to proceed. Wyeth, however, acted as

a skilful commander. He got all his horses into camp and secured them;

then, making a breastwork of his packs of goods, he charged his men to

remain in garrison, and not to stir out of their fort. For himself,

he mingled with the other leaders, determined to take his share in the

conflict.

In the meantime, an express had been sent off to the rendezvous for

reinforcements. Captain Sublette, and his associate, Campbell, were at

their camp when the express came galloping across the plain, waving his

cap, and giving the alarm; “Blackfeet! Blackfeet! a fight in the upper

part of the valley!--to arms! to arms!”

The alarm was passed from camp to camp. It was a common cause. Every one

turned out with horse and rifle. The Nez Perces and Flatheads joined.

As fast as horseman could arm and mount he galloped off; the valley was

soon alive with white men and red men scouring at full speed.

Sublette ordered his men to keep to the camp, being recruits from St.

Louis, and unused to Indian warfare. He and his friend Campbell prepared

for action. Throwing off their coats, rolling up their sleeves, and

arming themselves with pistols and rifles, they mounted their horses

and dashed forward among the first. As they rode along, they made their

wills in soldier-like style; each stating how his effects should be

disposed of in case of his death, and appointing the other his executor.

The Blackfeet warriors had supposed the brigade of Milton Sublette all

the foes they had to deal with, and were astonished to behold the

whole valley suddenly swarming with horsemen, galloping to the field

of action. They withdrew into their fort, which was completely hid from

sight in the dark and tangled wood. Most of their women and children

had retreated to the mountains. The trappers now sallied forth and

approached the swamp, firing into the thickets at random; the Blackfeet

had a better sight at their adversaries, who were in the open field, and

a half-breed was wounded in the shoulder.

When Captain Sublette arrived, he urged to penetrate the swamp and storm

the fort, but all hung back in awe of the dismal horrors of the place,

and the danger of attacking such desperadoes in their savage den. The

very Indian allies, though accustomed to bushfighting, regarded it as

almost impenetrable, and full of frightful danger. Sublette was not to

be turned from his purpose, but offered to lead the way into the swamp.

Campbell stepped forward to accompany him. Before entering the perilous

wood, Sublette took his brothers aside, and told them that in case he

fell, Campbell, who knew his will, was to be his executor. This done,

he grasped his rifle and pushed into the thickets, followed by Campbell.

Sinclair, the partisan from Arkansas, was at the edge of the wood with

his brother and a few of his men. Excited by the gallant example of the

two friends, he pressed forward to share their dangers.

The swamp was produced by the labors of the beaver, which, by damming

up a stream, had inundated a portion of the valley. The place was all

overgrown with woods and thickets, so closely matted and entangled that

it was impossible to see ten paces ahead, and the three associates in

peril had to crawl along, one after another, making their way by putting

the branches and vines aside; but doing it with caution, lest they

should attract the eye of some lurking marksman. They took the lead by

turns, each advancing about twenty yards at a time, and now and then

hallooing to their men to follow. Some of the latter gradually entered

the swamp, and followed a little distance in their rear.

They had now reached a more open part of the wood, and had glimpses of

the rude fortress from between the trees. It was a mere breastwork, as

we have said, of logs and branches, with blankets, buffalo robes, and

the leathern covers of lodges, extended round the top as a screen. The

movements of the leaders, as they groped their way, had been descried

by the sharp-sighted enemy. As Sinclair, who was in the advance, was

putting some branches aside, he was shot through the body. He fell on

the spot. “Take me to my brother,” said he to Campbell. The latter gave

him in charge to some of the men, who conveyed him out of the swamp.

Sublette now took the advance. As he was reconnoitring the fort, he

perceived an Indian peeping through an aperture. In an instant his rifle

was levelled and discharged, and the ball struck the savage in the eye.

While he was reloading, he called to Campbell, and pointed out to him

the hole; “Watch that place,” said he, “and you will soon have a fair

chance for a shot.” Scarce had he uttered the words, when a ball struck

him in the shoulder, and almost wheeled him around. His first thought

was to take hold of his arm with his other hand, and move it up and

down. He ascertained, to his satisfaction, that the bone was not broken.

The next moment he was so faint that he could not stand. Campbell took

him in his arms and carried him out of the thicket. The same shot that

struck Sublette wounded another man in the head.

A brisk fire was now opened by the mountaineers from the wood, answered

occasionally from the fort. Unluckily, the trappers and their allies, in

searching for the fort, had got scattered, so that Wyeth, and a number

of Nez Perces, approached the fort on the northwest side, while others

did the same on the opposite quarter. A cross-fire thus took place,

which occasionally did mischief to friends as well as foes. An Indian

was shot down, close to Wyeth, by a ball which, he was convinced, had

been sped from the rifle of a trapper on the other side of the fort.

The number of whites and their Indian allies had by this time so much

increased by arrivals from the rendezvous, that the Blackfeet were

completely overmatched. They kept doggedly in their fort, however,

making no offer of surrender. An occasional firing into the breastwork

was kept up during the day. Now and then, one of the Indian allies, in

bravado, would rush up to the fort, fire over the ramparts, tear off a

buffalo robe or a scarlet blanket, and return with it in triumph to his

comrades. Most of the savage garrison that fell, however, were killed in

the first part of the attack.

At one time it was resolved to set fire to the fort; and the squaws

belonging to the allies were employed to collect combustibles. This

however, was abandoned; the Nez Perces being unwilling to destroy the

robes and blankets, and other spoils of the enemy, which they felt sure

would fall into their hands.

The Indians, when fighting, are prone to taunt and revile each other.

During one of the pauses of the battle, the voice of the Blackfeet chief

was heard.

“So long,” said he, “as we had powder and ball, we fought you in the

open field: when those were spent, we retreated here to die with our

women and children. You may burn us in our fort; but, stay by our ashes,

and you who are so hungry for fighting will soon have enough. There

are four hundred lodges of our brethren at hand. They will soon be

here--their arms are strong--their hearts are big--they will avenge us!”

This speech was translated two or three times by Nez Perce and creole

interpreters. By the time it was rendered into English, the chief was

made to say that four hundred lodges of his tribe were attacking

the encampment at the other end of the valley. Every one now was for

hurrying to the defence of the rendezvous. A party was left to keep

watch upon the fort; the rest galloped off to the camp. As night came

on, the trappers drew out of the swamp, and remained about the skirts of

the wood. By morning, their companions returned from the rendezvous with

the report that all was safe. As the day opened, they ventured within

the swamp and approached the fort. All was silent. They advanced up to

it without opposition. They entered: it had been abandoned in the night,

and the Blackfeet had effected their retreat, carrying off their wounded

on litters made of branches, leaving bloody traces on the herbage. The

bodies of ten Indians were found within the fort; among them the one

shot in the eye by Sublette. The Blackfeet afterward reported that they

had lost twenty-six warriors in this battle. Thirty-two horses were

likewise found killed; among them were some of those recently carried

off from Sublette’s party, in the night; which showed that these were

the very savages that had attacked him. They proved to be an advance

party of the main body of Blackfeet, which had been upon the trail of

Sublette’s party. Five white men and one halfbreed were killed, and

several wounded. Seven of the Nez Perces were also killed, and six

wounded. They had an old chief, who was reputed as invulnerable. In the

course of the action he was hit by a spent ball, and threw up blood; but

his skin was unbroken. His people were now fully convinced that he was

proof against powder and ball.

A striking circumstance is related as having occurred the morning

after the battle. As some of the trappers and their Indian allies were

approaching the fort through the woods, they beheld an Indian woman, of

noble form and features, leaning against a tree. Their surprise at

her lingering here alone, to fall into the hands of her enemies, was

dispelled, when they saw the corpse of a warrior at her feet. Either

she was so lost in grief as not to perceive their approach; or a proud

spirit kept her silent and motionless. The Indians set up a yell, on

discovering her, and before the trappers could interfere, her mangled

body fell upon the corpse which she had refused to abandon. We have

heard this anecdote discredited by one of the leaders who had been in

the battle: but the fact may have taken place without his seeing it, and

been concealed from him. It is an instance of female devotion, even to

the death, which we are well disposed to believe and to record.

After the battle, the brigade of Milton Sublette, together with the

free trappers, and Wyeth’s New England band, remained some days at the

rendezvous, to see if the main body of Blackfeet intended to make an

attack; nothing of the kind occurring, they once more put themselves

in motion, and proceeded on their route toward the southwest. Captain

Sublette having distributed his supplies, had intended to set off on

his return to St. Louis, taking with him the peltries collected from

the trappers and Indians. His wound, however obliged him to postpone his

departure. Several who were to have accompanied him became impatient of

this delay. Among these was a young Bostonian, Mr. Joseph More, one of

the followers of Mr. Wyeth, who had seen enough of mountain life and

savage warfare, and was eager to return to the abodes of civilization.

He and six others, among whom were a Mr. Foy, of Mississippi, Mr. Alfred

K. Stephens, of St. Louis, and two grandsons of the celebrated Daniel

Boon, set out together, in advance of Sublette’s party, thinking they

would make their way through the mountains.

It was just five days after the battle of the swamp that these seven

companions were making their way through Jackson’s Hole, a valley not

far from the three Tetons, when, as they were descending a hill, a party

of Blackfeet that lay in ambush started up with terrific yells. The

horse of the young Bostonian, who was in front, wheeled round with

affright, and threw his unskilled rider. The young man scrambled up

the side of the hill, but, unaccustomed to such wild scenes, lost his

presence of mind, and stood, as if paralyzed, on the edge of a bank,

until the Blackfeet came up and slew him on the spot. His comrades had

fled on the first alarm; but two of them, Foy and Stephens, seeing

his danger, paused when they got half way up the hill, turned back,

dismounted, and hastened to his assistance. Foy was instantly killed.

Stephens was severely wounded, but escaped, to die five days afterward.

The survivors returned to the camp of Captain Sublette, bringing tidings

of this new disaster. That hardy leader, as soon as he could bear the

journey, set out on his return to St. Louis, accompanied by Campbell. As

they had a number of pack-horses richly laden with peltries to convoy,

they chose a different route through the mountains, out of the way, as

they hoped, of the lurking bands of Blackfeet. They succeeded in making

the frontier in safety. We remember to have seen them with their band,

about two or three months afterward, passing through a skirt of woodland

in the upper part of Missouri. Their long cavalcade stretched in single

file for nearly half a mile. Sublette still wore his arm in a sling.

The mountaineers in their rude hunting dresses, armed with rifles

and roughly mounted, and leading their pack-horses down a hill of the

forest, looked like banditti returning with plunder. On the top of some

of the packs were perched several half-breed children, perfect little

imps, with wild black eyes glaring from among elf locks. These, I was

told, were children of the trappers; pledges of love from their squaw

spouses in the wilderness.

7.

Retreat of the Blackfeet--Fontenelle’s camp in danger--

Captain Bonneville and the Blackfeet--Free trappers--Their

character, habits, dress, equipments, horses--Game fellows

of the mountains--Their visit to the camp--Good fellowship

and good cheer--A carouse--A swagger, a brawl, and a

reconciliation

THE BLACKFEET WARRIORS, when they effected their midnight retreat from

their wild fastness in Pierre’s Hole, fell back into the valley of the

Seeds-ke-dee, or Green River where they joined the main body of their

band. The whole force amounted to several hundred fighting men, gloomy

and exasperated by their late disaster. They had with them their wives

and children, which incapacitated them from any bold and extensive

enterprise of a warlike nature; but when, in the course of their

wanderings they came in sight of the encampment of Fontenelle, who

had moved some distance up Green River valley in search of the free

trappers, they put up tremendous war-cries, and advanced fiercely as if

to attack it. Second thoughts caused them to moderate their fury. They

recollected the severe lesson just received, and could not but remark

the strength of Fontenelle’s position; which had been chosen with great

judgment.

A formal talk ensued. The Blackfeet said nothing of the late battle, of

which Fontenelle had as yet received no accounts; the latter, however,

knew the hostile and perfidious nature of these savages, and took care

to inform them of the encampment of Captain Bonneville, that they might

know there were more white men in the neighborhood. The conference

ended, Fontenelle sent a Delaware Indian of his party to conduct fifteen

of the Blackfeet to the camp of Captain Bonneville. There was [sic]

at that time two Crow Indians in the captain’s camp, who had recently

arrived there. They looked with dismay at this deputation from their

implacable enemies, and gave the captain a terrible character of them,

assuring him that the best thing he could possibly do, was to put those

Blackfeet deputies to death on the spot. The captain, however, who had

heard nothing of the conflict at Pierre’s Hole, declined all compliance

with this sage counsel. He treated the grim warriors with his usual

urbanity. They passed some little time at the camp; saw, no doubt, that

everything was conducted with military skill and vigilance; and that

such an enemy was not to be easily surprised, nor to be molested with

impunity, and then departed, to report all that they had seen to their

comrades.

The two scouts which Captain Bonneville had sent out to seek for the

band of free trappers, expected by Fontenelle, and to invite them to

his camp, had been successful in their search, and on the 12th of August

those worthies made their appearance.

To explain the meaning of the appellation, free trapper, it is necessary

to state the terms on which the men enlist in the service of the fur

companies. Some have regular wages, and are furnished with weapons,

horses, traps, and other requisites. These are under command, and bound

to do every duty required of them connected with the service; such as

hunting, trapping, loading and unloading the horses, mounting guard;

and, in short, all the drudgery of the camp. These are the hired

trappers.

The free trappers are a more independent class; and in describing them,

we shall do little more than transcribe the graphic description of them

by Captain Bonneville. “They come and go,” says he, “when and where they

please; provide their own horses, arms, and other equipments; trap and

trade on their own account, and dispose of their skins and peltries

to the highest bidder. Sometimes, in a dangerous hunting ground, they

attach themselves to the camp of some trader for protection. Here they

come under some restrictions; they have to conform to the ordinary rules

for trapping, and to submit to such restraints, and to take part in such

general duties, as are established for the good order and safety of the

camp. In return for this protection, and for their camp keeping, they

are bound to dispose of all the beaver they take, to the trader who

commands the camp, at a certain rate per skin; or, should they prefer

seeking a market elsewhere, they are to make him an allowance, of from

thirty to forty dollars for the whole hunt.”

There is an inferior order, who, either from prudence or poverty, come

to these dangerous hunting grounds without horses or accoutrements, and

are furnished by the traders. These, like the hired trappers, are bound

to exert themselves to the utmost in taking beaver, which, without

skinning, they render in at the trader’s lodge, where a stipulated price

for each is placed to their credit. These though generally included in

the generic name of free trappers, have the more specific title of skin

trappers.

The wandering whites who mingle for any length of time with the savages

have invariably a proneness to adopt savage habitudes; but none more so

than the free trappers. It is a matter of vanity and ambition with them

to discard everything that may bear the stamp of civilized life, and to

adopt the manners, habits, dress, gesture, and even walk of the Indian.

You cannot pay a free trapper a greater compliment, than to persuade

him you have mistaken him for an Indian brave; and, in truth, the

counterfeit is complete. His hair suffered to attain to a great length,

is carefully combed out, and either left to fall carelessly over

his shoulders, or plaited neatly and tied up in otter skins, or

parti-colored ribands. A hunting-shirt of ruffled calico of bright dyes,

or of ornamented leather, falls to his knee; below which, curiously

fashioned legging, ornamented with strings, fringes, and a profusion of

hawks’ bells, reach to a costly pair of moccasons of the finest Indian

fabric, richly embroidered with beads. A blanket of scarlet, or some

other bright color, hangs from his shoulders, and is girt around his

waist with a red sash, in which he bestows his pistols, knife, and the

stem of his Indian pipe; preparations either for peace or war. His gun

is lavishly decorated with brass tacks and vermilion, and provided with

a fringed cover, occasionally of buckskin, ornamented here and there

with a feather. His horse, the noble minister to the pride, pleasure,

and profit of the mountaineer, is selected for his speed and spirit,

and prancing gait, and holds a place in his estimation second only to

himself. He shares largely of his bounty, and of his pride and pomp of

trapping. He is caparisoned in the most dashing and fantastic style; the

bridles and crupper are weightily embossed with beads and cockades; and

head, mane, and tail, are interwoven with abundance of eagles’ plumes,

which flutter in the wind. To complete this grotesque equipment, the

proud animal is bestreaked and bespotted with vermilion, or with white

clay, whichever presents the most glaring contrast to his real color.

Such is the account given by Captain Bonneville of these rangers of

the wilderness, and their appearance at the camp was strikingly

characteristic. They came dashing forward at full speed, firing their

fusees, and yelling in Indian style. Their dark sunburned faces, and

long flowing hair, their legging, flaps, moccasons, and richly-dyed

blankets, and their painted horses gaudily caparisoned, gave them

so much the air and appearance of Indians, that it was difficult to

persuade one’s self that they were white men, and had been brought up in

civilized life.

Captain Bonneville, who was delighted with the game look of these

cavaliers of the mountains, welcomed them heartily to his camp, and

ordered a free allowance of grog to regale them, which soon put them in

the most braggart spirits. They pronounced the captain the finest fellow

in the world, and his men all bons garcons, jovial lads, and swore they

would pass the day with them. They did so; and a day it was, of boast,

and swagger, and rodomontade. The prime bullies and braves among the

free trappers had each his circle of novices, from among the captain’s

band; mere greenhorns, men unused to Indian life; mangeurs de lard,

or pork-eaters; as such new-comers are superciliously called by the

veterans of the wilderness. These he would astonish and delight by the

hour, with prodigious tales of his doings among the Indians; and of

the wonders he had seen, and the wonders he had performed, in his

adventurous peregrinations among the mountains.

In the evening, the free trappers drew off, and returned to the camp

of Fontenelle, highly delighted with their visit and with their new

acquaintances, and promising to return the following day. They kept

their word: day after day their visits were repeated; they became

“hail fellow well met” with Captain Bonneville’s men; treat after treat

succeeded, until both parties got most potently convinced, or rather

confounded, by liquor. Now came on confusion and uproar. The free

trappers were no longer suffered to have all the swagger to themselves.

The camp bullies and prime trappers of the party began to ruffle up, and

to brag, in turn, of their perils and achievements. Each now tried

to out-boast and out-talk the other; a quarrel ensued as a matter

of course, and a general fight, according to frontier usage. The two

factions drew out their forces for a pitched battle. They fell to work

and belabored each other with might and main; kicks and cuffs and dry

blows were as well bestowed as they were well merited, until, having

fought to their hearts’ content, and been drubbed into a familiar

acquaintance with each other’s prowess and good qualities, they ended

the fight by becoming firmer friends than they could have been rendered

by a year’s peaceable companionship.

While Captain Bonneville amused himself by observing the habits and

characteristics of this singular class of men, and indulged them, for

the time, in all their vagaries, he profited by the opportunity to

collect from them information concerning the different parts of the

country about which they had been accustomed to range; the characters

of the tribes, and, in short, everything important to his enterprise. He

also succeeded in securing the services of several to guide and aid him

in his peregrinations among the mountains, and to trap for him during

the ensuing season. Having strengthened his party with such valuable

recruits, he felt in some measure consoled for the loss of the Delaware

Indians, decoyed from him by Mr Fontenelle.

8.

Plans for the winter--Salmon River--Abundance of salmon west

of the mountains--New arrangements--Caches--Cerre’s

detachment--Movements in--Fontenelle’s camp--Departure of

the--Blackfeet--Their fortunes--Wind--Mountain streams--

Buckeye, the Delaware hunter, and the grizzly bear--Bones of

murdered travellers--Visit to Pierre’s Hole--Traces of the

battle--Nez--Perce--Indians--Arrival at--Salmon River

THE INFORMATION derived from the free trappers determined Captain

Bonneville as to his further movements. He learned that in the Green

River valley the winters were severe, the snow frequently falling to the

depth of several feet; and that there was no good wintering ground in

the neighborhood. The upper part of Salmon River was represented as far

more eligible, besides being in an excellent beaver country; and thither

the captain resolved to bend his course.

The Salmon River is one of the upper branches of the Oregon or Columbia;

and takes its rise from various sources, among a group of mountains to

the northwest of the Wind River chain. It owes its name to the immense

shoals of salmon which ascend it in the months of September and October.

The salmon on the west side of the Rocky Mountains are, like the buffalo

on the eastern plains, vast migratory supplies for the wants of man,

that come and go with the seasons. As the buffalo in countless throngs

find their certain way in the transient pasturage on the prairies, along

the fresh banks of the rivers, and up every valley and green defile of

the mountains, so the salmon, at their allotted seasons, regulated by a

sublime and all-seeing Providence, swarm in myriads up the great

rivers, and find their way up their main branches, and into the minutest

tributory streams; so as to pervade the great arid plains, and to

penetrate even among barren mountains. Thus wandering tribes are fed in

the desert places of the wilderness, where there is no herbage for the

animals of the chase, and where, but for these periodical supplies, it

would be impossible for man to subsist.

The rapid currents of the rivers which run into the Pacific render the

ascent of them very exhausting to the salmon. When the fish first run

up the rivers, they are fat and in fine order. The struggle against

impetuous streams and frequent rapids gradually renders them thin and

weak, and great numbers are seen floating down the rivers on their

backs. As the season advances and the water becomes chilled, they are

flung in myriads on the shores, where the wolves and bears assemble to

banquet on them. Often they rot in such quantities along the river banks

as to taint the atmosphere. They are commonly from two to three feet

long.

Captain Bonneville now made his arrangements for the autumn and the

winter. The nature of the country through which he was about to travel

rendered it impossible to proceed with wagons. He had more goods

and supplies of various kinds, also, than were required for present

purposes, or than could be conveniently transported on horseback; aided,

therefore, by a few confidential men, he made caches, or secret pits,

during the night, when all the rest of the camp were asleep, and in

these deposited the superfluous effects, together with the wagons. All

traces of the caches were then carefully obliterated. This is a common

expedient with the traders and trappers of the mountains. Having no

established posts and magazines, they make these caches or deposits at

certain points, whither they repair, occasionally, for supplies. It is

an expedient derived from the wandering tribes of Indians.

Many of the horses were still so weak and lame, as to be unfit for

a long scramble through the mountains. These were collected into one

cavalcade, and given in charge to an experienced trapper, of the name

of Matthieu. He was to proceed westward, with a brigade of trappers, to

Bear River; a stream to the west of the Green River or Colorado, where

there was good pasturage for the horses. In this neighborhood it was

expected he would meet the Shoshonie villages or bands, on their yearly

migrations, with whom he was to trade for peltries and provisions. After

he had traded with these people, finished his trapping, and recruited

the strength of the horses, he was to proceed to Salmon River and rejoin

Captain Bonneville, who intended to fix his quarters there for the

winter.

While these arrangements were in progress in the camp of Captain

Bonneville, there was a sudden bustle and stir in the camp of

Fontenelle. One of the partners of the American Fur Company had arrived,

in all haste, from the rendezvous at Pierre’s Hole, in quest of the

supplies. The competition between the two rival companies was just now

at its height, and prosecuted with unusual zeal. The tramontane concerns

of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company were managed by two resident

partners, Fitzpatrick and Bridger; those of the American Fur Company,

by Vanderburgh and Dripps. The latter were ignorant of the mountain

regions, but trusted to make up by vigilance and activity for their want

of knowledge of the country.

Fitzpatrick, an experienced trader and trapper, knew the evils of

competition in the same hunting grounds, and had proposed that the

two companies should divide the country, so as to hunt in different

directions: this proposition being rejected, he had exerted himself to

get first into the field. His exertions, as have already been shown,

were effectual. The early arrival of Sublette, with supplies, had

enabled the various brigades of the Rocky Mountain Company to start

off to their respective hunting grounds. Fitzpatrick himself, with his

associate, Bridger, had pushed off with a strong party of trappers, for

a prime beaver country to the north-northwest.

This had put Vanderburgh upon his mettle. He had hastened on to

meet Fontenelle. Finding him at his camp in Green River valley, he

immediately furnished himself with the supplies; put himself at the

head of the free trappers and Delawares, and set off with all speed,

determined to follow hard upon the heels of Fitzpatrick and Bridger. Of

the adventures of these parties among the mountains, and the disastrous

effects of their competition, we shall have occasion to treat in a

future chapter.

Fontenelle having now delivered his supplies and accomplished his

errand, struck his tents and set off on his return to the Yellowstone.

Captain Bonneville and his band, therefore, remained alone in the Green

River valley; and their situation might have been perilous, had the

Blackfeet band still lingered in the vicinity. Those marauders, however,

had been dismayed at finding so many resolute and well-appointed parties

of white men in the neighborhood. They had, therefore, abandoned this

part of the country, passing over the headwaters of the Green River, and

bending their course towards the Yellowstone. Misfortune pursued them.

Their route lay through the country of their deadly enemies, the Crows.

In the Wind River valley, which lies east of the mountains, they were

encountered by a powerful war party of that tribe, and completely put

to rout. Forty of them were killed, many of their women and children

captured, and the scattered fugitives hunted like wild beasts until they

were completely chased out of the Crow country.

On the 22d of August Captain Bonneville broke up his camp, and set out

on his route for Salmon River. His baggage was arranged in packs, three

to a mule, or pack-horse; one being disposed on each side of the animal

and one on the top; the three forming a load of from one hundred and

eighty to two hundred and twenty pounds. This is the trappers’ style of

loading pack-horses; his men, however, were inexpert at adjusting

the packs, which were prone to get loose and slip off, so that it was

necessary to keep a rear-guard to assist in reloading. A few days’

experience, however, brought them into proper training.

Their march lay up the valley of the Seeds-ke-dee, overlooked to the

right by the lofty peaks of the Wind River Mountains. From bright little

lakes and fountain-heads of this remarkable bed of mountains poured

forth the tributary streams of the Seeds-ke-dee. Some came rushing

down gullies and ravines; others tumbled in crystal cascades from

inaccessible clefts and rocks, and others winding their way in rapid and

pellucid currents across the valley, to throw themselves into the main

river. So transparent were these waters that the trout with which they

abounded could be seen gliding about as if in the air; and their pebbly

beds were distinctly visible at the depth of many feet. This beautiful

and diaphanous quality of the Rocky Mountain streams prevails for a long

time after they have mingled their waters and swollen into important

rivers.

Issuing from the upper part of the valley, Captain Bonneville continued

to the east-northeast, across rough and lofty ridges, and deep rocky

defiles, extremely fatiguing both to man and horse. Among his hunters

was a Delaware Indian who had remained faithful to him. His name was

Buckeye. He had often prided himself on his skill and success in coping

with the grizzly bear, that terror of the hunters. Though crippled in

the left arm, he declared he had no hesitation to close with a wounded

bear, and attack him with a sword. If armed with a rifle, he was

willing to brave the animal when in full force and fury. He had twice

an opportunity of proving his prowess, in the course of this mountain

journey, and was each time successful. His mode was to seat himself

upon the ground, with his rifle cocked and resting on his lame arm. Thus

prepared, he would await the approach of the bear with perfect coolness,

nor pull trigger until he was close at hand. In each instance, he laid

the monster dead upon the spot.

A march of three or four days, through savage and lonely scenes, brought

Captain Bonneville to the fatal defile of Jackson’s Hole, where poor

More and Foy had been surprised and murdered by the Blackfeet. The

feelings of the captain were shocked at beholding the bones of these

unfortunate young men bleaching among the rocks; and he caused them to

be decently interred.

On the 3d of September he arrived on the summit of a mountain which

commanded a full view of the eventful valley of Pierre’s Hole; whence he

could trace the winding of its stream through green meadows, and

forests of willow and cotton-wood, and have a prospect, between distant

mountains, of the lava plains of Snake River, dimly spread forth like a

sleeping ocean below.

After enjoying this magnificent prospect, he descended into the valley,

and visited the scenes of the late desperate conflict. There were the

remains of the rude fortress in the swamp, shattered by rifle shot, and

strewed with the mingled bones of savages and horses. There was the late

populous and noisy rendezvous, with the traces of trappers’ camps and

Indian lodges; but their fires were extinguished, the motley assemblage

of trappers and hunters, white traders and Indian braves, had all

dispersed to different points of the wilderness, and the valley had

relapsed into its pristine solitude and silence.

That night the captain encamped upon the battle ground; the next day he

resumed his toilsome peregrinations through the mountains. For upwards

of two weeks he continued his painful march; both men and horses

suffering excessively at times from hunger and thirst. At length, on the

19th of September, he reached the upper waters of Salmon River.

The weather was cold, and there were symptoms of an impending storm. The

night set in, but Buckeye, the Delaware Indian, was missing. He had left

the party early in the morning, to hunt by himself, according to his

custom. Fears were entertained lest he should lose his way and become

bewildered in tempestuous weather. These fears increased on the

following morning, when a violent snow-storm came on, which soon covered

the earth to the depth of several inches. Captain Bonneville immediately

encamped, and sent out scouts in every direction. After some search

Buckeye was discovered, quietly seated at a considerable distance in the

rear, waiting the expected approach of the party, not knowing that they

had passed, the snow having covered their trail.

On the ensuing morning they resumed their march at an early hour, but

had not proceeded far when the hunters, who were beating up the country

in the advance, came galloping back, making signals to encamp, and

crying Indians! Indians!

Captain Bonneville immediately struck into a skirt of wood and prepared

for action. The savages were now seen trooping over the hills in great

numbers. One of them left the main body and came forward singly,

making signals of peace. He announced them as a band of Nez Perces or

Pierced-nose Indians, friendly to the whites, whereupon an invitation

was returned by Captain Bonneville for them to come and encamp with him.

They halted for a short time to make their toilette, an operation as

important with an Indian warrior as with a fashionable beauty. This

done, they arranged themselves in martial style, the chiefs leading the

van, the braves following in a long line, painted and decorated, and

topped off with fluttering plumes. In this way they advanced, shouting

and singing, firing off their fusees, and clashing their shields.

The two parties encamped hard by each other. The Nez Perces were on a

hunting expedition, but had been almost famished on their march. They

had no provisions left but a few dried salmon, yet finding the white

men equally in want, they generously offered to share even this meager

pittance, and frequently repeated the offer, with an earnestness that

left no doubt of their sincerity. Their generosity won the heart of

Captain Bonneville, and produced the most cordial good will on the part

of his men. For two days that the parties remained in company, the most

amicable intercourse prevailed, and they parted the best of friends.

Captain Bonneville detached a few men, under Mr. Cerre, an able leader,

to accompany the Nez Perces on their hunting expedition, and to trade

with them for meat for the winter’s supply. After this, he proceeded

down the river, about five miles below the forks, when he came to a halt

on the 26th of September, to establish his winter quarters.

9.

Horses turned loose--Preparations for winter quarters--

Hungry times--Nez-Perces, their honesty, piety, pacific

habits, religious ceremonies--Captain Bonneville’s

conversations with them--Their love of gambling

IT WAS GRATIFYING to Captain Bonneville, after so long and toilsome a

course of travel, to relieve his poor jaded horses of the burden under

which they were almost ready to give out, and to behold them rolling

upon the grass, and taking a long repose after all their sufferings.

Indeed, so exhausted were they, that those employed under the saddle

were no longer capable of hunting for the daily subsistence of the camp.

All hands now set to work to prepare a winter cantonment. A temporary

fortification was thrown up for the protection of the party; a secure

and comfortable pen, into which the horses could be driven at night; and

huts were built for the reception of the merchandise.

This done, Captain Bonneville made a distribution of his forces: twenty

men were to remain with him in garrison to protect the property; the

rest were organized into three brigades, and sent off in different

directions, to subsist themselves by hunting the buffalo, until the snow

should become too deep.

Indeed, it would have been impossible to provide for the whole party in

this neighborhood. It was at the extreme western limit of the buffalo

range, and these animals had recently been completely hunted out of the

neighborhood by the Nez Perces, so that, although the hunters of the

garrison were continually on the alert, ranging the country round, they

brought in scarce game sufficient to keep famine from the door. Now

and then there was a scanty meal of fish or wild-fowl, occasionally an

antelope; but frequently the cravings of hunger had to be appeased with

roots, or the flesh of wolves and muskrats. Rarely could the inmates

of the cantonment boast of having made a full meal, and never of having

wherewithal for the morrow. In this way they starved along until the

8th of October, when they were joined by a party of five families of Nez

Perces, who in some measure reconciled them to the hardships of their

situation by exhibiting a lot still more destitute. A more forlorn set

they had never encountered: they had not a morsel of meat or fish; nor

anything to subsist on, excepting roots, wild rosebuds, the barks of

certain plants, and other vegetable production; neither had they any

weapon for hunting or defence, excepting an old spear: yet the poor

fellows made no murmur nor complaint; but seemed accustomed to their

hard fare. If they could not teach the white men their practical

stoicism, they at least made them acquainted with the edible properties

of roots and wild rosebuds, and furnished them a supply from their

own store. The necessities of the camp at length became so urgent that

Captain Bonneville determined to dispatch a party to the Horse

Prairie, a plain to the north of his cantonment, to procure a supply of

provisions. When the men were about to depart, he proposed to the Nez

Perces that they, or some of them, should join the hunting-party. To

his surprise, they promptly declined. He inquired the reason for their

refusal, seeing that they were in nearly as starving a situation as his

own people. They replied that it was a sacred day with them, and the

Great Spirit would be angry should they devote it to hunting. They

offered, however, to accompany the party if it would delay its departure

until the following day; but this the pinching demands of hunger would

not permit, and the detachment proceeded.

A few days afterward, four of them signified to Captain Bonneville that

they were about to hunt. “What!” exclaimed he, “without guns or arrows;

and with only one old spear? What do you expect to kill?” They smiled

among themselves, but made no answer. Preparatory to the chase, they

performed some religious rites, and offered up to the Great Spirit a

few short prayers for safety and success; then, having received the

blessings of their wives, they leaped upon their horses and departed,

leaving the whole party of Christian spectators amazed and rebuked by

this lesson of faith and dependence on a supreme and benevolent Being.

“Accustomed,” adds Captain Bonneville, “as I had heretofore been, to

find the wretched Indian revelling in blood, and stained by every vice

which can degrade human nature, I could scarcely realize the scene which

I had witnessed. Wonder at such unaffected tenderness and piety, where

it was least to have been sought, contended in all our bosoms with shame

and confusion, at receiving such pure and wholesome instructions from

creatures so far below us in the arts and comforts of life.” The simple

prayers of the poor Indians were not unheard. In the course of four or

five days they returned, laden with meat. Captain Bonneville was curious

to know how they had attained such success with such scanty means. They

gave him to understand that they had chased the buffalo at full speed,

until they tired them down, when they easily dispatched them with the

spear, and made use of the same weapon to flay the carcasses. To carry

through their lessons to their Christian friends, the poor savages were

as charitable as they had been pious, and generously shared with them

the spoils of their hunting, giving them food enough to last for several

days.

A further and more intimate intercourse with this tribe gave Captain

Bonneville still greater cause to admire their strong devotional

feeling. “Simply to call these people religious,” says he, “would convey

but a faint idea of the deep hue of piety and devotion which pervades

their whole conduct. Their honesty is immaculate, and their purity of

purpose, and their observance of the rites of their religion, are most

uniform and remarkable. They are, certainly, more like a nation of

saints than a horde of savages.”

In fact, the antibelligerent policy of this tribe may have sprung from

the doctrines of Christian charity, for it would appear that they had

imbibed some notions of the Christian faith from Catholic missionaries

and traders who had been among them. They even had a rude calendar of

the fasts and festivals of the Romish Church, and some traces of its

ceremonials. These have become blended with their own wild rites, and

present a strange medley; civilized and barbarous. On the Sabbath, men,

women, and children array themselves in their best style, and assemble

round a pole erected at the head of the camp. Here they go through a

wild fantastic ceremonial; strongly resembling the religious dance of

the Shaking Quakers; but from its enthusiasm, much more striking and

impressive. During the intervals of the ceremony, the principal chiefs,

who officiate as priests, instruct them in their duties, and exhort them

to virtue and good deeds.

“There is something antique and patriarchal,” observes Captain

Bonneville, “in this union of the offices of leader and priest; as there

is in many of their customs and manners, which are all strongly imbued

with religion.”

The worthy captain, indeed, appears to have been strongly interested by

this gleam of unlooked for light amidst the darkness of the wilderness.

He exerted himself, during his sojourn among this simple and

well-disposed people, to inculcate, as far as he was able, the gentle

and humanizing precepts of the Christian faith, and to make them

acquainted with the leading points of its history; and it speaks highly

for the purity and benignity of his heart, that he derived unmixed

happiness from the task.

“Many a time,” says he, “was my little lodge thronged, or rather piled

with hearers, for they lay on the ground, one leaning over the other,

until there was no further room, all listening with greedy ears to the

wonders which the Great Spirit had revealed to the white man. No

other subject gave them half the satisfaction, or commanded half the

attention; and but few scenes in my life remain so freshly on my memory,

or are so pleasurably recalled to my contemplation, as these hours

of intercourse with a distant and benighted race in the midst of the

desert.”

The only excesses indulged in by this temperate and exemplary people,

appear to be gambling and horseracing. In these they engage with an

eagerness that amounts to infatuation. Knots of gamblers will assemble

before one of their lodge fires, early in the evening, and remain

absorbed in the chances and changes of the game until long after dawn

of the following day. As the night advances, they wax warmer and warmer.

Bets increase in amount, one loss only serves to lead to a greater,

until in the course of a single night’s gambling, the richest chief may

become the poorest varlet in the camp.

10.

Black feet in the Horse Prairie--Search after the hunters--

Difficulties and dangers--A card party in the wilderness--

The card party interrupted--“Old Sledge” a losing game--

Visitors to the camp--Iroquois hunters--Hanging-eared

Indians

ON the 12th of October, two young Indians of the Nez Perce tribe arrived

at Captain Bonneville’s encampment. They were on their way homeward,

but had been obliged to swerve from their ordinary route through the

mountains, by deep snows. Their new route took them though the Horse

Prairie. In traversing it, they had been attracted by the distant smoke

of a camp fire, and on stealing near to reconnoitre, had discovered a

war party of Blackfeet. They had several horses with them; and, as they

generally go on foot on warlike excursions, it was concluded that these

horses had been captured in the course of their maraudings.

This intelligence awakened solicitude on the mind of Captain Bonneville

for the party of hunters whom he had sent to that neighborhood; and the

Nez Perces, when informed of the circumstances, shook their heads, and

declared their belief that the horses they had seen had been stolen

from that very party. Anxious for information on the subject, Captain

Bonneville dispatched two hunters to beat up the country in that

direction. They searched in vain; not a trace of the men could be found;

but they got into a region destitute of game, where they were well-nigh

famished. At one time they were three entire days with-out a mouthful

of food; at length they beheld a buffalo grazing at the foot of the

mountain. After manoeuvring so as to get within shot, they fired, but

merely wounded him. He took to flight, and they followed him over hill

and dale, with the eagerness and per-severance of starving men. A more

lucky shot brought him to the ground. Stanfield sprang upon him, plunged

his knife into his throat, and allayed his raging hunger by drinking

his blood: A fire was instantly kindled beside the carcass, when the two

hunters cooked, and ate again and again, until, perfectly gorged, they

sank to sleep before their hunting fire. On the following morning they

rose early, made another hearty meal, then loading themselves with

buffalo meat, set out on their return to the camp, to report the

fruitlessness of their mission.

At length, after six weeks’ absence, the hunters made their appearance,

and were received with joy proportioned to the anxiety that had been

felt on their account. They had hunted with success on the prairie,

but, while busy drying buffalo meat, were joined by a few panic-stricken

Flatheads, who informed them that a powerful band of Blackfeet was at

hand. The hunters immediately abandoned the dangerous hunting ground,

and accompanied the Flatheads to their village. Here they found Mr.

Cerre, and the detachment of hunters sent with him to accompany the

hunting party of the Nez Perces.

After remaining some time at the village, until they supposed the

Blackfeet to have left the neighborhood, they set off with some of

Mr. Cerre’s men for the cantonment at Salmon River, where they arrived

without accident. They informed Captain Bonneville, however, that not

far from his quarters they had found a wallet of fresh meat and a cord,

which they supposed had been left by some prowling Blackfeet. A few days

afterward Mr. Cerre, with the remainder of his men, likewise arrived at

the cantonment.

Mr. Walker, one of his subleaders, who had gone with a band of twenty

hunters to range the country just beyond the Horse Prairie, had likewise

his share of adventures with the all-pervading Blackfeet. At one of his

encampments the guard stationed to keep watch round the camp grew weary

of their duty, and feeling a little too secure, and too much at home on

these prairies, retired to a small grove of willows to amuse themselves

with a social game of cards called “old sledge,” which is as popular

among these trampers of the prairies as whist or ecarte among the polite

circles of the cities. From the midst of their sport they were suddenly

roused by a discharge of firearms and a shrill war-whoop. Starting on

their feet, and snatching up their rifles, they beheld in dismay their

horses and mules already in possession of the enemy, who had stolen upon

the camp unperceived, while they were spell-bound by the magic of old

sledge. The Indians sprang upon the animals barebacked, and endeavored

to urge them off under a galling fire that did some execution. The

mules, however, confounded by the hurly-burly and disliking their new

riders kicked up their heels and dismounted half of them, in spite of

their horsemanship. This threw the rest into confusion; they endeavored

to protect their unhorsed comrades from the furious assaults of the

whites; but, after a scene of “confusion worse confounded,” horses and

mules were abandoned, and the Indians betook themselves to the bushes.

Here they quickly scratched holes in the earth about two feet deep, in

which they prostrated themselves, and while thus screened from the shots

of the white men, were enabled to make such use of their bows and arrows

and fusees, as to repulse their assailants and to effect their retreat.

This adventure threw a temporary stigma upon the game of “old sledge.”

In the course of the autumn, four Iroquois hunters, driven by the snow

from their hunting grounds, made their appearance at the cantonment.

They were kindly welcomed, and during their sojourn made themselves

useful in a variety of ways, being excellent trappers and first-rate

woodsmen. They were of the remnants of a party of Iroquois hunters that

came from Canada into these mountain regions many years previously,

in the employ of the Hudson’s Bay Company. They were led by a brave

chieftain, named Pierre, who fell by the hands of the Blackfeet, and

gave his name to the fated valley of Pierre’s Hole. This branch of the

Iroquois tribe has ever since remained among these mountains, at mortal

enmity with the Blackfeet, and have lost many of their prime hunters in

their feuds with that ferocious race. Some of them fell in with

General Ashley, in the course of one of his gallant excursions into the

wilderness, and have continued ever since in the employ of the company.

Among the motley Visitors to the winter quarters of Captain Bonneville

was a party of Pends Oreilles (or Hanging-ears) and their chief. These

Indians have a strong resemblance, in character and customs, to the Nez

Perces. They amount to about three hundred lodges, are well armed, and

possess great numbers of horses. During the spring, summer, and autumn,

they hunt the buffalo about the head-waters of the Missouri, Henry’s

Fork of the Snake River, and the northern branches of Salmon River.

Their winter quarters are upon the Racine Amere, where they subsist upon

roots and dried buffalo meat. Upon this river the Hudson’s Bay Company

have established a trading post, where the Pends Oreilles and the

Flatheads bring their peltries to exchange for arms, clothing and

trinkets.

This tribe, like the Nez Perces, evince strong and peculiar feelings

of natural piety. Their religion is not a mere superstitious fear, like

that of most savages; they evince abstract notions of morality; a deep

reverence for an overruling spirit, and a respect for the rights of

their fellow men. In one respect their religion partakes of the pacific

doctrines of the Quakers. They hold that the Great Spirit is displeased

with all nations who wantonly engage in war; they abstain, therefore,

from all aggressive hostilities. But though thus unoffending in their

policy, they are called upon continually to wage defensive warfare;

especially with the Blackfeet; with whom, in the course of their hunting

expeditions, they come in frequent collision and have desperate battles.

Their conduct as warriors is without fear or reproach, and they can

never be driven to abandon their hunting grounds.

Like most savages they are firm believers in dreams, and in the power

and efficacy of charms and amulets, or medicines as they term them. Some

of their braves, also, who have had numerous hairbreadth ‘scapes, like

the old Nez Perce chief in the battle of Pierre’s Hole, are believed

to wear a charmed life, and to be bullet-proof. Of these gifted beings

marvelous anecdotes are related, which are most potently believed

by their fellow savages, and sometimes almost credited by the white

hunters.

11.

Rival trapping parties--Manoeuvring--A desperate game--

Vanderburgh and the Blackfeet--Deserted camp fire--A dark

defile--An Indian ambush--A fierce melee--Fatal

consequences--Fitzpatrick and Bridger--Trappers precautions

--Meeting with the Blackfeet--More fighting--Anecdote of a

young--Mexican and an Indian girl.

WHILE Captain Bonneville and his men are sojourning among the Nez

Perces, on Salmon River, we will inquire after the fortunes of those

doughty rivals of the Rocky Mountains and American Fur Companies, who

started off for the trapping grounds to the north-northwest.

Fitzpatrick and Bridger, of the former company, as we have already

shown, having received their supplies, had taken the lead, and hoped

to have the first sweep of the hunting grounds. Vanderburgh and

Dripps, however, the two resident partners of the opposite company, by

extraordinary exertions were enabled soon to put themselves upon their

traces, and pressed forward with such speed as to overtake them just

as they had reached the heart of the beaver country. In fact, being

ignorant of the best trapping grounds, it was their object to follow on,

and profit by the superior knowledge of the other party.

Nothing could equal the chagrin of Fitzpatrick and Bridger at being

dogged by their inexperienced rivals, especially after their offer

to divide the country with them. They tried in every way to blind and

baffle them; to steal a march upon them, or lead them on a wrong scent;

but all in vain. Vanderburgh made up by activity and intelligence for

his ignorance of the country; was always wary, always on the alert;

discovered every movement of his rivals, however secret and was not to

be eluded or misled.

Fitzpatrick and his colleague now lost all patience; since the

others persisted in following them, they determined to give them an

unprofitable chase, and to sacrifice the hunting season rather than

share the products with their rivals. They accordingly took up their

line of march down the course of the Missouri, keeping the main

Blackfoot trail, and tramping doggedly forward, without stopping to set

a single trap. The others beat the hoof after them for some time, but

by degrees began to perceive that they were on a wild-goose chase, and

getting into a country perfectly barren to the trapper. They now came

to a halt, and be-thought themselves how to make up for lost time, and

improve the remainder of the season. It was thought best to divide their

forces and try different trapping grounds. While Dripps went in one

direction, Vanderburgh, with about fifty men, proceeded in another.

The latter, in his headlong march had got into the very heart of the

Blackfoot country, yet seems to have been unconscious of his danger. As

his scouts were out one day, they came upon the traces of a recent band

of savages. There were the deserted fires still smoking, surrounded

by the carcasses of buffaloes just killed. It was evident a party

of Blackfeet had been frightened from their hunting camp, and had

retreated, probably to seek reinforcements. The scouts hastened back to

the camp, and told Vanderburgh what they had seen. He made light of the

alarm, and, taking nine men with him, galloped off to reconnoitre for

himself. He found the deserted hunting camp just as they had represented

it; there lay the carcasses of buffaloes, partly dismembered; there

were the smouldering fires, still sending up their wreaths of smoke;

everything bore traces of recent and hasty retreat; and gave reason to

believe that the savages were still lurking in the neighborhood. With

heedless daring, Vanderburgh put himself upon their trail, to trace them

to their place of concealment: It led him over prairies, and through

skirts of woodland, until it entered a dark and dangerous ravine.

Vanderburgh pushed in, without hesitation, followed by his little

band. They soon found themselves in a gloomy dell, between steep banks

overhung with trees, where the profound silence was only broken by the

tramp of their own horses.

Suddenly the horrid war-whoop burst on their ears, mingled with the

sharp report of rifles, and a legion of savages sprang from their

concealments, yelling, and shaking their buffalo robes to frighten

the horses. Vanderburgh’s horse fell, mortally wounded by the first

discharge. In his fall he pinned his rider to the ground, who called

in vain upon his men to assist in extricating him. One was shot down

scalped a few paces distant; most of the others were severely wounded,

and sought their safety in flight. The savages approached to dispatch

the unfortunate leader, as he lay struggling beneath his horse.. He

had still his rifle in his hand and his pistols in his belt. The first

savage that advanced received the contents of the rifle in his breast,

and fell dead upon the spot; but before Vanderburgh could draw a pistol,

a blow from a tomahawk laid him prostrate, and he was dispatched by

repeated wounds.

Such was the fate of Major Henry Vanderburgh, one of the best and

worthiest leaders of the American Fur Company, who by his manly bearing

and dauntless courage is said to have made himself universally popular

among the bold-hearted rovers of the wilderness.

Those of the little band who escaped fled in consternation to the camp,

and spread direful reports of the force and ferocity of the enemy. The

party, being without a head, were in complete confusion and dismay, and

made a precipitate retreat, without attempting to recover the remains

of their butchered leader. They made no halt until they reached the

encampment of the Pends Oreilles, or Hanging-ears, where they offered a

reward for the recovery of the body, but without success; it never could

be found.

In the meantime Fitzpatrick and Bridger, of the Rocky Mountain Company,

fared but little better than their rivals. In their eagerness to

mislead them they betrayed themselves into danger, and got into a region

infested with the Blackfeet. They soon found that foes were on the watch

for them; but they were experienced in Indian warfare, and not to be

surprised at night, nor drawn into an ambush in the daytime. As the

evening advanced, the horses were all brought in and picketed, and a

guard was stationed round the camp. At the earliest streak of day one of

the leaders would mount his horse, and gallop off full speed for about

half a mile; then look round for Indian trails, to ascertain whether

there had been any lurkers round the camp; returning slowly, he would

reconnoitre every ravine and thicket where there might be an ambush.

This done, he would gallop off in an opposite direction and repeat the

same scrutiny. Finding all things safe, the horses would be turned loose

to graze, but always under the eye of a guard.

A caution equally vigilant was observed in the march, on approaching any

defile or place where an enemy might lie in wait; and scouts were always

kept in the advance, or along the ridges and rising grounds on the

flanks.

At length, one day, a large band of Blackfeet appeared in the open

field, but in the vicinity of rocks and cliffs. They kept at a wary

distance, but made friendly signs. The trappers replied in the same way,

but likewise kept aloof. A small party of Indians now advanced, bearing

the pipe of peace; they were met by an equal number of white men, and

they formed a group midway between the two bands, where the pipe was

circulated from hand to hand, and smoked with all due ceremony. An

instance of natural affection took place at this pacific meeting.

Among the free trappers in the Rocky Mountain band was a spirited

young Mexican named Loretto, who, in the course of his wanderings, had

ransomed a beautiful Blackfoot girl from a band of Crows by whom she had

been captured. He made her his wife, after the Indian style, and she had

followed his fortunes ever since, with the most devoted affection.

Among the Blackfeet warriors who advanced with the calumet of peace she

recognized a brother. Leaving her infant with Loretto she rushed forward

and threw herself upon her brother’s neck, who clasped his long-lost

sister to his heart with a warmth of affection but little compatible

with the reputed stoicism of the savage.

While this scene was taking place, Bridger left the main body of

trappers and rode slowly toward the group of smokers, with his rifle

resting across the pommel of his saddle. The chief of the Blackfeet

stepped forward to meet him. From some unfortunate feeling of distrust

Bridger cocked his rifle just as the chief was extending his hand in

friendship. The quick ear of the savage caught the click of the lock; in

a twinkling he grasped the barrel, forced the muzzle downward, and the

contents were discharged into the earth at his feet. His next movement

was to wrest the weapon from the hand of Bridger and fell him with it to

the earth. He might have found this no easy task had not the unfortunate

leader received two arrows in his back during the struggle.

The chief now sprang into the vacant saddle and galloped off to his

band. A wild hurry-skurry scene ensued; each party took to the banks,

the rocks and trees, to gain favorable positions, and an irregular

firing was kept up on either side, without much effect. The Indian girl

had been hurried off by her people at the outbreak of the affray. She

would have returned, through the dangers of the fight, to her husband

and her child, but was prevented by her brother. The young Mexican

saw her struggles and her agony, and heard her piercing cries. With a

generous impulse he caught up the child in his arms, rushed forward,

regardless of Indian shaft or rifle, and placed it in safety upon her

bosom. Even the savage heart of the Blackfoot chief was reached by this

noble deed. He pronounced Loretto a madman for his temerity, but bade

him depart in peace. The young Mexican hesitated; he urged to have his

wife restored to him, but her brother interfered, and the countenance of

the chief grew dark. The girl, he said, belonged to his tribe-she must

remain with her people. Loretto would still have lingered, but his wife

implored him to depart, lest his life should be endangered. It was with

the greatest reluctance that he returned to his companions.

The approach of night put an end to the skirmishing fire of the adverse

parties, and the savages drew off without renewing their hostilities. We

cannot but remark that both in this affair and that of Pierre’s Hole the

affray commenced by a hostile act on the part of white men at the moment

when the Indian warrior was extending the hand of amity. In neither

instance, as far as circumstances have been stated to us by different

persons, do we see any reason to suspect the savage chiefs of perfidy in

their overtures of friendship. They advanced in the confiding way usual

among Indians when they bear the pipe of peace, and consider themselves

sacred from attack. If we violate the sanctity of this ceremonial,

by any hostile movement on our part, it is we who incur the charge of

faithlessness; and we doubt not that in both these instances the white

men have been considered by the Blackfeet as the aggressors, and have,

in consequence, been held up as men not to be trusted.

A word to conclude the romantic incident of Loretto and his Indian

bride. A few months subsequent to the event just related, the young

Mexican settled his accounts with the Rocky Mountain Company, and

obtained his discharge. He then left his comrades and set off to rejoin

his wife and child among her people; and we understand that, at the time

we are writing these pages, he resides at a trading-house established of

late by the American Fur Company in the Blackfoot country, where he acts

as an interpreter, and has his Indian girl with him.

12.

A winter camp in the wilderness--Medley of trappers,

hunters, and Indians--Scarcity of game--New arrangements in

the camp--Detachments sent to a distance--Carelessness of

the Indians when encamped--Sickness among the Indians--

Excellent character of the Nez-Perces--The Captain’s effort

as a pacificator--A Nez-Perce’s argument in favor of war--

Robberies, by the Black feet--Long suffering of the Nez-

Perces--A hunter’s Elysium among the mountains--More

robberies--The Captain preaches up a crusade--The effect

upon his hearers.

FOR the greater part of the month of November Captain Bonneville

remained in his temporary post on Salmon River. He was now in the full

enjoyment of his wishes; leading a hunter’s life in the heart of the

wilderness, with all its wild populace around him. Beside his own

people, motley in character and costume--creole, Kentuckian, Indian,

half-breed, hired trapper, and free trapper--he was surrounded by

encampments of Nez Perces and Flatheads, with their droves of horses

covering the hills and plains. It was, he declares, a wild and bustling

scene. The hunting parties of white men and red men, continually

sallying forth and returning; the groups at the various encampments,

some cooking, some working, some amusing themselves at different games;

the neighing of horses, the braying of asses, the resounding strokes of

the axe, the sharp report of the rifle, the whoop, the halloo, and the

frequent burst of laughter, all in the midst of a region suddenly roused

from perfect silence and loneliness by this transient hunters’ sojourn,

realized, he says, the idea of a “populous solitude.”

The kind and genial character of the captain had, evidently, its

influence on the opposite races thus fortuitously congregated together.

The most perfect harmony prevailed between them. The Indians, he says,

were friendly in their dispositions, and honest to the most scrupulous

degree in their intercourse with the white men. It is true they were

somewhat importunate in their curiosity, and apt to be continually in

the way, examining everything with keen and prying eye, and watching

every movement of the white men. All this, however, was borne with great

good-humor by the captain, and through his example by his men. Indeed,

throughout all his transactions he shows himself the friend of the poor

Indians, and his conduct toward them is above all praise.

The Nez Perces, the Flatheads, and the Hanging-ears pride themselves

upon the number of their horses, of which they possess more in

proportion than any other of the mountain tribes within the buffalo

range. Many of the Indian warriors and hunters encamped around Captain

Bonneville possess from thirty to forty horses each. Their horses are

stout, well-built ponies, of great wind, and capable of enduring the

severest hardship and fatigue. The swiftest of them, however, are those

obtained from the whites while sufficiently young to become acclimated

and inured to the rough service of the mountains.

By degrees the populousness of this encampment began to produce its

inconveniences. The immense droves of horses owned by the Indians

consumed the herbage of the surrounding hills; while to drive them to

any distant pasturage, in a neighborhood abounding with lurking and

deadly enemies, would be to endanger the loss both of man and beast.

Game, too, began to grow scarce. It was soon hunted and frightened out

of the vicinity, and though the Indians made a wide circuit through

the mountains in the hope of driving the buffalo toward the cantonment,

their expedition was unsuccessful. It was plain that so large a party

could not subsist themselves there, nor in any one place throughout the

winter. Captain Bonneville, therefore, altered his whole arrangements.

He detached fifty men toward the south to winter upon Snake River, and

to trap about its waters in the spring, with orders to rejoin him in the

month of July at Horse Creek, in Green River Valley, which he had fixed

upon as the general rendezvous of his company for the ensuing year.

Of all his late party, he now retained with him merely a small number of

free trappers, with whom he intended to sojourn among the Nez Perces and

Flatheads, and adopt the Indian mode of moving with the game and grass.

Those bands, in effect, shortly afterward broke up their encampments

and set off for a less beaten neighborhood. Captain Bonneville remained

behind for a few days, that he might secretly prepare caches, in which

to deposit everything not required for current use. Thus lightened

of all superfluous encumbrance, he set off on the 20th of November to

rejoin his Indian allies. He found them encamped in a secluded part of

the country, at the head of a small stream. Considering themselves

out of all danger in this sequestered spot from their old enemies, the

Blackfeet, their encampment manifested the most negligent security.

Their lodges were scattered in every direction, and their horses covered

every hill for a great distance round, grazing upon the upland bunch

grass which grew in great abundance, and though dry, retained its

nutritious properties instead of losing them like other grasses in the

autumn.

When the Nez Perces, Flatheads, and Pends Oreilles are encamped in a

dangerous neighborhood, says Captain Bonneville, the greatest care

is taken of their horses, those prime articles of Indian wealth, and

objects of Indian depredation. Each warrior has his horse tied by one

foot at night to a stake planted before his lodge. Here they remain

until broad daylight; by that time the young men of the camp are already

ranging over the surrounding hills. Each family then drives its horses

to some eligible spot, where they are left to graze unattended. A young

Indian repairs occasionally to the pasture to give them water, and to

see that all is well. So accustomed are the horses to this management,

that they keep together in the pasture where they have been left. As

the sun sinks behind the hills, they may be seen moving from all points

toward the camp, where they surrender themselves to be tied up for the

night. Even in situations of danger, the Indians rarely set guards over

their camp at night, intrusting that office entirely to their vigilant

and well-trained dogs.

In an encampment, however, of such fancied security as that in which

Captain Bonneville found his Indian friends, much of these precautions

with respect to their horses are omitted. They merely drive them, at

nightfall, to some sequestered little dell, and leave them there, at

perfect liberty, until the morning.

One object of Captain Bonneville in wintering among these Indians was

to procure a supply of horses against the spring. They were, however,

extremely unwilling to part with any, and it was with great difficulty

that he purchased, at the rate of twenty dollars each, a few for the use

of some of his free trappers who were on foot and dependent on him for

their equipment.

In this encampment Captain Bonneville remained from the 21st of November

to the 9th of December. During this period the thermometer ranged from

thirteen to forty-two degrees. There were occasional falls of snow; but

it generally melted away almost immediately, and the tender blades

of new grass began to shoot up among the old. On the 7th of December,

however, the thermometer fell to seven degrees.

The reader will recollect that, on distributing his forces when in

Green River Valley, Captain Bonneville had detached a party, headed by

a leader of the name of Matthieu, with all the weak and disabled horses,

to sojourn about Bear River, meet the Shoshonie bands, and afterward to

rejoin him at his winter camp on Salmon River.

More than sufficient time had elapsed, yet Matthieu failed to make his

appearance, and uneasiness began to be felt on his account. Captain

Bonneville sent out four men, to range the country through which he

would have to pass, and endeavor to get some information concerning

him; for his route lay across the great Snake River plain, which spreads

itself out like an Arabian desert, and on which a cavalcade could be

descried at a great distance. The scouts soon returned, having proceeded

no further than the edge of the plain, pretending that their horses were

lame; but it was evident they had feared to venture, with so small a

force, into these exposed and dangerous regions.

A disease, which Captain Bonneville supposed to be pneumonia, now

appeared among the Indians, carrying off numbers of them after an

illness of three or four days. The worthy captain acted as physician,

prescribing profuse sweatings and copious bleedings, and uniformly with

success, if the patient were subsequently treated with proper care. In

extraordinary cases, the poor savages called in the aid of their own

doctors or conjurors, who officiated with great noise and mummery, but

with little benefit. Those who died during this epidemic were buried in

graves, after the manner of the whites, but without any regard to the

direction of the head. It is a fact worthy of notice that, while this

malady made such ravages among the natives, not a single white man had

the slightest symptom of it.

A familiar intercourse of some standing with the Pierced-nose and

Flathead Indians had now convinced Captain Bonneville of their amicable

and inoffensive character; he began to take a strong interest in them,

and conceived the idea of becoming a pacificator, and healing the deadly

feud between them and the Blackfeet, in which they were so deplorably

the sufferers. He proposed the matter to some of the leaders, and

urged that they should meet the Blackfeet chiefs in a grand pacific

conference, offering to send two of his men to the enemy’s camp with

pipe, tobacco and flag of truce, to negotiate the proposed meeting.

The Nez Perces and Flathead sages upon this held a council of war of two

days’ duration, in which there was abundance of hard smoking and long

talking, and both eloquence and tobacco were nearly exhausted. At length

they came to a decision to reject the worthy captain’s proposition, and

upon pretty substantial grounds, as the reader may judge.

“War,” said the chiefs, “is a bloody business, and full of evil; but

it keeps the eyes of the chiefs always open, and makes the limbs of the

young men strong and supple. In war, every one is on the alert. If we

see a trail we know it must be an enemy; if the Blackfeet come to us, we

know it is for war, and we are ready. Peace, on the other hand, sounds

no alarm; the eyes of the chiefs are closed in sleep, and the young men

are sleek and lazy. The horses stray into the mountains; the women and

their little babes go about alone. But the heart of a Blackfoot is a

lie, and his tongue is a trap. If he says peace it is to deceive; he

comes to us as a brother; he smokes his pipe with us; but when he sees

us weak, and off our guard, he will slay and steal. We will have no such

peace; let there be war!”

With this reasoning Captain Bonneville was fain to acquiesce; but, since

the sagacious Flatheads and their allies were content to remain in

a state of warfare, he wished them at least to exercise the boasted

vigilance which war was to produce, and to keep their eyes open. He

represented to them the impossibility that two such considerable clans

could move about the country without leaving trails by which they might

be traced. Besides, among the Blackfeet braves were several Nez Perces,

who had been taken prisoners in early youth, adopted by their captors,

and trained up and imbued with warlike and predatory notions; these had

lost all sympathies with their native tribe, and would be prone to lead

the enemy to their secret haunts. He exhorted them, therefore, to keep

upon the alert, and never to remit their vigilance while within the

range of so crafty and cruel a foe. All these counsels were lost upon

his easy and simple-minded hearers. A careless indifference reigned

throughout their encampments, and their horses were permitted to range

the hills at night in perfect freedom. Captain Bonneville had his own

horses brought in at night, and properly picketed and guarded. The

evil he apprehended soon took place. In a single night a swoop was made

through the neighboring pastures by the Blackfeet, and eighty-six of the

finest horses carried off. A whip and a rope were left in a conspicuous

situation by the robbers, as a taunt to the simpletons they had

unhorsed.

Long before sunrise the news of this calamity spread like wildfire

through the different encampments. Captain Bonneville, whose own horses

remained safe at their pickets, watched in momentary expectation of an

outbreak of warriors, Pierced-nose and Flathead, in furious pursuit

of the marauders; but no such thing--they contented themselves with

searching diligently over hill and dale, to glean up such horses as

had escaped the hands of the marauders, and then resigned themselves to

their loss with the most exemplary quiescence.

Some, it is true, who were entirely unhorsed, set out on a begging visit

to their cousins, as they called them, the Lower Nez Perces, who inhabit

the lower country about the Columbia, and possess horses in abundance.

To these they repair when in difficulty, and seldom fail, by dint of

begging and bartering, to get themselves once more mounted on horseback.

Game had now become scarce in the neighborhood of the camp, and it was

necessary, according to Indian custom, to move off to a less beaten

ground. Captain Bonneville proposed the Horse Prairie; but his Indian

friends objected that many of the Nez Perces had gone to visit their

cousins, and that the whites were few in number, so that their united

force was not sufficient to Venture upon the buffalo grounds, which were

infested by bands of Blackfeet.

They now spoke of a place at no great distance, which they represented

as a perfect hunter’s elysium. It was on the right branch, or head

stream of the river, locked up among cliffs and precipices where there

was no danger from roving bands, and where the Blackfeet dare not enter.

Here, they said, the elk abounded, and the mountain sheep were to be

seen trooping upon the rocks and hills. A little distance beyond it,

also, herds of buffalo were to be met with, Out of range of danger.

Thither they proposed to move their camp.

The proposition pleased the captain, who was desirous, through the

Indians, of becoming acquainted with all the secret places of the land.

Accordingly, on the 9th of December, they struck their tents, and moved

forward by short stages, as many of the Indians were yet feeble from the

late malady.

Following up the right fork of the river they came to where it entered

a deep gorge of the mountains, up which lay the secluded region so much

valued by the Indians. Captain Bonneville halted and encamped for three

days before entering the gorge. In the meantime he detached five of

his free trappers to scour the hills, and kill as many elk as possible,

before the main body should enter, as they would then be soon frightened

away by the various Indian hunting parties.

While thus encamped, they were still liable to the marauds of the

Blackfeet, and Captain Bonneville admonished his Indian friends to be

upon their guard. The Nez Perces, however, notwithstanding their recent

loss, were still careless of their horses; merely driving them to some

secluded spot, and leaving them there for the night, without setting any

guard upon them. The consequence was a second swoop, in which forty-one

were carried off. This was borne with equal philosophy with the

first, and no effort was made either to recover the horses, or to take

vengeance on the thieves.

The Nez Perces, however, grew more cautious with respect to their

remaining horses, driving them regularly to the camp every evening, and

fastening them to pickets. Captain Bonneville, however, told them that

this was not enough. It was evident they were dogged by a daring and

persevering enemy, who was encouraged by past impunity; they should,

therefore, take more than usual precautions, and post a guard at night

over their cavalry. They could not, however, be persuaded to depart from

their usual custom. The horse once picketed, the care of the owner was

over for the night, and he slept profoundly. None waked in the camp but

the gamblers, who, absorbed in their play, were more difficult to be

roused to external circumstances than even the sleepers.

The Blackfeet are bold enemies, and fond of hazardous exploits. The band

that were hovering about the neighborhood, finding that they had such

pacific people to deal with, redoubled their daring. The horses being

now picketed before the lodges, a number of Blackfeet scouts penetrated

in the early part of the night into the very centre of the camp. Here

they went about among the lodges as calmly and deliberately as if at

home, quietly cutting loose the horses that stood picketed by the lodges

of their sleeping owners. One of these prowlers, more adventurous than

the rest, approached a fire round which a group of Nez Perces were

gambling with the most intense eagerness. Here he stood for some time,

muffled up in his robe, peering over the shoulders of the players,

watching the changes of their countenances and the fluctuations of

the game. So completely engrossed were they, that the presence of this

muffled eaves-dropper was unnoticed and, having executed his bravado, he

retired undiscovered.

Having cut loose as many horses as they could conveniently carry off,

the Blackfeet scouts rejoined their comrades, and all remained patiently

round the camp. By degrees the horses, finding themselves at liberty,

took their route toward their customary grazing ground. As they emerged

from the camp they were silently taken possession of, until, having

secured about thirty, the Blackfeet sprang on their backs and scampered

off. The clatter of hoofs startled the gamblers from their game. They

gave the alarm, which soon roused the sleepers from every lodge. Still

all was quiescent; no marshalling of forces, no saddling of steeds

and dashing off in pursuit, no talk of retribution for their repeated

outrages. The patience of Captain Bonneville was at length exhausted. He

had played the part of a pacificator without success; he now altered his

tone, and resolved, if possible, to rouse their war spirit.

Accordingly, convoking their chiefs, he inveighed against their craven

policy, and urged the necessity of vigorous and retributive measures

that would check the confidence and presumption of their enemies, if

not inspire them with awe. For this purpose, he advised that a war party

should be immediately sent off on the trail of the marauders, to follow

them, if necessary, into the very heart of the Blackfoot country, and

not to leave them until they had taken signal vengeance. Beside this, he

recommended the organization of minor war parties, to make reprisals to

the extent of the losses sustained. “Unless you rouse yourselves from

your apathy,” said he, “and strike some bold and decisive blow, you will

cease to be considered men, or objects of manly warfare. The very squaws

and children of the Blackfeet will be set against you, while their

warriors reserve themselves for nobler antagonists.”

This harangue had evidently a momentary effect upon the pride of the

hearers. After a short pause, however, one of the orators arose. It was

bad, he said, to go to war for mere revenge. The Great Spirit had given

them a heart for peace, not for war. They had lost horses, it was true,

but they could easily get others from their cousins, the Lower Nez

Perces, without incurring any risk; whereas, in war they should lose

men, who were not so readily replaced. As to their late losses, an

increased watchfulness would prevent any more misfortunes of the kind.

He disapproved, therefore, of all hostile measures; and all the other

chiefs concurred in his opinion.

Captain Bonneville again took up the point. “It is true,” said he, “the

Great Spirit has given you a heart to love your friends; but he has

also given you an arm to strike your enemies. Unless you do something

speedily to put an end to this continual plundering, I must say

farewell. As yet I have sustained no loss; thanks to the precautions

which you have slighted; but my property is too unsafe here; my turn

will come next; I and my people will share the contempt you are bringing

upon yourselves, and will be thought, like you, poor-spirited beings,

who may at any time be plundered with impunity.”

The conference broke up with some signs of excitement on the part of

the Indians. Early the next morning, a party of thirty men set off in

pursuit of the foe, and Captain Bonneville hoped to hear a good account

of the Blackfeet marauders. To his disappointment, the war party came

lagging back on the following day, leading a few old, sorry, broken-down

horses, which the free-booters had not been able to urge to sufficient

speed. This effort exhausted the martial spirit, and satisfied the

wounded pride of the Nez Perces, and they relapsed into their usual

state of passive indifference.

13.

Story of Kosato, the Renegade Blackfoot.

IF the meekness and long-suffering of the Pierced-noses grieved the

spirit of Captain Bonneville, there was another individual in the camp

to whom they were still more annoying. This was a Blackfoot renegado,

named Kosato, a fiery hot-blooded youth who, with a beautiful girl of

the same tribe, had taken refuge among the Nez Perces. Though adopted

into the tribe, he still retained the warlike spirit of his race,

and loathed the peaceful, inoffensive habits of those around him. The

hunting of the deer, the elk, and the buffalo, which was the height of

their ambition, was too tame to satisfy his wild and restless nature.

His heart burned for the foray, the ambush, the skirmish, the scamper,

and all the haps and hazards of roving and predatory warfare.

The recent hoverings of the Blackfeet about the camp, their nightly

prowls and daring and successful marauds, had kept him in a fever and

a flutter, like a hawk in a cage who hears his late companions swooping

and screaming in wild liberty above him. The attempt of Captain

Bonneville to rouse the war spirit of the Nez Perces, and prompt them

to retaliation, was ardently seconded by Kosato. For several days he

was incessantly devising schemes of vengeance, and endeavoring to set

on foot an expedition that should carry dismay and desolation into the

Blackfeet town. All his art was exerted to touch upon those springs

of human action with which he was most familiar. He drew the listening

savages round him by his nervous eloquence; taunted them with recitals

of past wrongs and insults; drew glowing pictures of triumphs and

trophies within their reach; recounted tales of daring and romantic

enterprise, of secret marchings, covert lurkings, midnight surprisals,

sackings, burnings, plunderings, scalpings; together with the triumphant

return, and the feasting and rejoicing of the victors. These wild tales

were intermingled with the beating of the drum, the yell, the war-whoop

and the war-dance, so inspiring to Indian valor. All, however, were

lost upon the peaceful spirits of his hearers; not a Nez Perce was to be

roused to vengeance, or stimulated to glorious war. In the bitterness

of his heart, the Blackfoot renegade repined at the mishap which had

severed him from a race of congenial spirits, and driven him to take

refuge among beings so destitute of martial fire.

The character and conduct of this man attracted the attention of Captain

Bonneville, and he was anxious to hear the reason why he had deserted

his tribe, and why he looked back upon them with such deadly hostility.

Kosato told him his own story briefly: it gives a picture of the deep,

strong passions that work in the bosoms of these miscalled stoics.

“You see my wife,” said he, “she is good; she is beautiful--I love her.

Yet she has been the cause of all my troubles. She was the wife of

my chief. I loved her more than he did; and she knew it. We talked

together; we laughed together; we were always seeking each other’s

society; but we were as innocent as children. The chief grew jealous,

and commanded her to speak with me no more. His heart became hard toward

her; his jealousy grew more furious. He beat her without cause and

without mercy; and threatened to kill her outright if she even looked at

me. Do you want traces of his fury? Look at that scar! His rage against

me was no less persecuting. War parties of the Crows were hovering

round us; our young men had seen their trail. All hearts were roused for

action; my horses were before my lodge. Suddenly the chief came, took

them to his own pickets, and called them his own. What could I do? he

was a chief. I durst not speak, but my heart was burning. I joined no

longer in the council, the hunt, or the war-feast. What had I to do

there? an unhorsed, degraded warrior. I kept by myself, and thought of

nothing but these wrongs and outrages.

“I was sitting one evening upon a knoll that overlooked the meadow where

the horses were pastured. I saw the horses that were once mine grazing

among those of the chief. This maddened me, and I sat brooding for a

time over the injuries I had suffered, and the cruelties which she I

loved had endured for my sake, until my heart swelled and grew sore, and

my teeth were clinched. As I looked down upon the meadow I saw the chief

walking among his horses. I fastened my eyes upon him as a hawk’s; my

blood boiled; I drew my breath hard. He went among the willows. In an

instant I was on my feet; my hand was on my knife--I flew rather than

ran--before he was aware I sprang upon him, and with two blows laid him

dead at my feet. I covered his body with earth, and strewed bushes over

the place; then I hastened to her I loved, told her what I had done, and

urged her to fly with me. She only answered me with tears. I reminded

her of the wrongs I had suffered, and of the blows and stripes she had

endured from the deceased; I had done nothing but an act of justice. I

again urged her to fly; but she only wept the more, and bade me go. My

heart was heavy, but my eyes were dry. I folded my arms. ‘’Tis well,’

said I; ‘Kosato will go alone to the desert. None will be with him but

the wild beasts of the desert. The seekers of blood may follow on his

trail. They may come upon him when he sleeps and glut their revenge; but

you will be safe. Kosato will go alone.’

“I turned away. She sprang after me, and strained me in her arms. ‘No,’

she cried, ‘Kosato shall not go alone! Wherever he goes I will go--he

shall never part from me.’

“We hastily took in our hands such things as we most needed, and

stealing quietly from the village, mounted the first horses we

encountered. Speeding day and night, we soon reached this tribe. They

received us with welcome, and we have dwelt with them in peace. They

are good and kind; they are honest; but their hearts are the hearts of

women.”

Such was the story of Kosato, as related by him to Captain Bonneville.

It is of a kind that often occurs in Indian life; where love elopements

from tribe to tribe are as frequent as among the novel-read heroes and

heroines of sentimental civilization, and often give rise to bloods and

lasting feuds.

14.

The party enters the mountain gorge--A wild fastness among

hills--Mountain mutton--Peace and plenty--The amorous

trapper-A piebald wedding--A free trapper’s wife--Her gala

equipments--Christmas in the wilderness.

ON the 19th of December Captain Bonneville and his confederate Indians

raised their camp, and entered the narrow gorge made by the north fork

of Salmon River. Up this lay the secure and plenteous hunting region so

temptingly described by the Indians.

Since leaving Green River the plains had invariably been of loose sand

or coarse gravel, and the rocky formation of the mountains of primitive

limestone. The rivers, in general, were skirted with willows and bitter

cottonwood trees, and the prairies covered with wormwood. In the hollow

breast of the mountains which they were now penetrating, the surrounding

heights were clothed with pine; while the declivities of the lower hills

afforded abundance of bunch grass for the horses.

As the Indians had represented, they were now in a natural fastness of

the mountains, the ingress and egress of which was by a deep gorge, so

narrow, rugged, and difficult as to prevent secret approach or rapid

retreat, and to admit of easy defence. The Blackfeet, therefore,

refrained from venturing in after the Nez Perces, awaiting a better

chance, when they should once more emerge into the open country.

Captain Bonneville soon found that the Indians had not exaggerated the

advantages of this region. Besides the numerous gangs of elk, large

flocks of the ahsahta or bighorn, the mountain sheep, were to be

seen bounding among the precipices. These simple animals were easily

circumvented and destroyed. A few hunters may surround a flock and kill

as many as they please. Numbers were daily brought into camp, and the

flesh of those which were young and fat was extolled as superior to the

finest mutton.

Here, then, there was a cessation from toil, from hunger, and alarm.

Past ills and dangers were forgotten. The hunt, the game, the song, the

story, the rough though good-humored joke, made time pass joyously away,

and plenty and security reigned throughout the camp.

Idleness and ease, it is said, lead to love, and love to matrimony,

in civilized life, and the same process takes place in the wilderness.

Filled with good cheer and mountain mutton, one of the free trappers

began to repine at the solitude of his lodge, and to experience the

force of that great law of nature, “it is not meet for man to live

alone.”

After a night of grave cogitation he repaired to Kowsoter, the

Pierced-nose chief, and unfolded to him the secret workings of his

bosom.

“I want,” said he, “a wife. Give me one from among your tribe. Not a

young, giddy-pated girl, that will think of nothing but flaunting and

finery, but a sober, discreet, hard-working squaw; one that will share

my lot without flinching, however hard it may be; that can take care of

my lodge, and be a companion and a helpmate to me in the wilderness.”

Kowsoter promised to look round among the females of his tribe, and

procure such a one as he desired. Two days were requisite for the

search. At the expiration of these, Kowsoter, called at his lodge, and

informed him that he would bring his bride to him in the course of

the afternoon. He kept his word. At the appointed time he approached,

leading the bride, a comely copper-colored dame attired in her Indian

finery. Her father, mother, brothers by the half dozen and cousins by

the score, all followed on to grace the ceremony and greet the new and

important relative.

The trapper received his new and numerous family connection with proper

solemnity; he placed his bride beside him, and, filling the pipe, the

great symbol of peace, with his best tobacco, took two or three whiffs,

then handed it to the chief who transferred it to the father of the

bride, from whom it was passed on from hand to hand and mouth to mouth

of the whole circle of kinsmen round the fire, all maintaining the most

profound and becoming silence.

After several pipes had been filled and emptied in this solemn

ceremonial, the chief addressed the bride, detailing at considerable

length the duties of a wife which, among Indians, are little less

onerous than those of the pack-horse; this done, he turned to her

friends and congratulated them upon the great alliance she had made.

They showed a due sense of their good fortune, especially when the

nuptial presents came to be distributed among the chiefs and relatives,

amounting to about one hundred and eighty dollars. The company soon

retired, and now the worthy trapper found indeed that he had no green

girl to deal with; for the knowing dame at once assumed the style and

dignity of a trapper’s wife: taking possession of the lodge as her

undisputed empire, arranging everything according to her own taste and

habitudes, and appearing as much at home and on as easy terms with the

trapper as if they had been man and wife for years.

We have already given a picture of a free trapper and his horse, as

furnished by Captain Bonneville: we shall here subjoin, as a companion

picture, his description of a free trapper’s wife, that the reader

may have a correct idea of the kind of blessing the worthy hunter in

question had invoked to solace him in the wilderness.

“The free trapper, while a bachelor, has no greater pet than his horse;

but the moment he takes a wife (a sort of brevet rank in matrimony

occasionally bestowed upon some Indian fair one, like the heroes of

ancient chivalry in the open field), he discovers that he has a still

more fanciful and capricious animal on which to lavish his expenses.

“No sooner does an Indian belle experience this promotion, than all her

notions at once rise and expand to the dignity of her situation, and the

purse of her lover, and his credit into the bargain, are taxed to the

utmost to fit her out in becoming style. The wife of a free trapper to

be equipped and arrayed like any ordinary and undistinguished squaw?

Perish the grovelling thought! In the first place, she must have a horse

for her own riding; but no jaded, sorry, earth-spirited hack, such as

is sometimes assigned by an Indian husband for the transportation of his

squaw and her pappooses: the wife of a free trader must have the

most beautiful animal she can lay her eyes on. And then, as to his

decoration: headstall, breast-bands, saddle and crupper are lavishly

embroidered with beads, and hung with thimbles, hawks’ bells, and

bunches of ribbons. From each side of the saddle hangs an esquimoot,

a sort of pocket, in which she bestows the residue of her trinkets and

nick-nacks, which cannot be crowded on the decoration of her horse or

herself. Over this she folds, with great care, a drapery of scarlet and

bright-colored calicoes, and now considers the caparison of her steed

complete.

“As to her own person, she is even still more extravagant. Her hair,

esteemed beautiful in proportion to its length, is carefully plaited,

and made to fall with seeming negligence over either breast. Her

riding hat is stuck full of parti-colored feathers; her robe, fashioned

somewhat after that of the whites, is of red, green, and sometimes

gray cloth, but always of the finest texture that can be procured.

Her leggings and moccasins are of the most beautiful and expensive

workman-ship, and fitted neatly to the foot and ankle, which with the

Indian woman are generally well formed and delicate. Then as to jewelry:

in the way of finger-rings, ear-rings, necklaces, and other female

glories, nothing within reach of the trapper’s means is omitted that can

tend to impress the beholder with an idea of the lady’s high estate. To

finish the whole, she selects from among her blankets of various dyes

one of some glowing color, and throwing it over her shoulders with a

native grace, vaults into the saddle of her gay, prancing steed, and

is ready to follow her mountaineer ‘to the last gasp with love and

loyalty.’”

Such is the general picture of the free trapper’s wife, given by Captain

Bonneville; how far it applied in its details to the one in question

does not altogether appear, though it would seem from the outset of her

connubial career, that she was ready to avail herself of all the pomp

and circumstance of her new condition. It is worthy of mention that

wherever there are several wives of free trappers in a camp, the keenest

rivalry exists between them, to the sore detriment of their husbands’

purses. Their whole time is expended and their ingenuity tasked by

endeavors to eclipse each other in dress and decoration. The jealousies

and heart-burnings thus occasioned among these so-styled children of

nature are equally intense with those of the rival leaders of style and

fashion in the luxurious abodes of civilized life.

The genial festival of Christmas, which throughout all Christendom

lights up the fireside of home with mirth and jollity, followed hard

upon the wedding just described. Though far from kindred and friends,

Captain Bonneville and his handful of free trappers were not disposed

to suffer the festival to pass unenjoyed; they were in a region of good

cheer, and were disposed to be joyous; so it was determined to “light

up the yule clog,” and celebrate a merry Christmas in the heart of the

wilderness.

On Christmas eve, accordingly, they began their rude fetes and

rejoicings. In the course of the night the free trappers surrounded the

lodge of the Pierced-nose chief and in lieu of Christmas carols, saluted

him with a feude joie.

Kowsoter received it in a truly Christian spirit, and after a speech, in

which he expressed his high gratification at the honor done him, invited

the whole company to a feast on the following day. His invitation was

gladly accepted. A Christmas dinner in the wigwam of an Indian chief!

There was novelty in the idea. Not one failed to be present. The banquet

was served up in primitive style: skins of various kinds, nicely dressed

for the occasion, were spread upon the ground; upon these were heaped up

abundance of venison, elk meat, and mountain mutton, with various bitter

roots which the Indians use as condiments.

After a short prayer, the company all seated themselves cross-legged, in

Turkish fashion, to the banquet, which passed off with great hilarity.

After which various games of strength and agility by both white men and

Indians closed the Christmas festivities.

15.

A hunt after hunters--Hungry times--A voracious repast--

Wintry weather--Godin’s River--Splendid winter scene on the

great--Lava Plain of Snake River--Severe travelling and

tramping in the snow--Manoeuvres of a solitary Indian

horseman--Encampment on Snake River--Banneck Indians--The

horse chief--His charmed life.

THE continued absence of Matthieu and his party had, by this time,

caused great uneasiness in the mind of Captain Bonneville; and, finding

there was no dependence to be placed upon the perseverance and courage

of scouting parties in so perilous a quest, he determined to set

out himself on the search, and to keep on until he should ascertain

something of the object of his solicitude.

Accordingly on the 20th December he left the camp, accompanied by

thirteen stark trappers and hunters, all well mounted and armed for

dangerous enterprise. On the following morning they passed out at the

head of the mountain gorge and sallied forth into the open plain. As

they confidently expected a brush with the Blackfeet, or some other

predatory horde, they moved with great circumspection, and kept vigilant

watch in their encampments.

In the course of another day they left the main branch of Salmon River,

and proceeded south toward a pass called John Day’s defile. It was

severe and arduous travelling. The plains were swept by keen and bitter

blasts of wintry wind; the ground was generally covered with snow, game

was scarce, so that hunger generally prevailed in the camp, while the

want of pasturage soon began to manifest itself in the declining vigor

of the horses.

The party had scarcely encamped on the afternoon of the 28th, when two

of the hunters who had sallied forth in quest of game came galloping

back in great alarm. While hunting they had perceived a party of

savages, evidently manoeuvring to cut them off from the camp; and

nothing had saved them from being entrapped but the speed of their

horses.

These tidings struck dismay into the camp. Captain Bonneville endeavored

to reassure his men by representing the position of their encampment,

and its capability of defence. He then ordered the horses to be driven

in and picketed, and threw up a rough breastwork of fallen trunks of

trees and the vegetable rubbish of the wilderness. Within this barrier

was maintained a vigilant watch throughout the night, which passed away

without alarm. At early dawn they scrutinized the surrounding plain, to

discover whether any enemies had been lurking about during the night;

not a foot-print, however, was to be discovered in the coarse gravel

with which the plain was covered.

Hunger now began to cause more uneasiness than the apprehensions of

surrounding enemies. After marching a few miles they encamped at the

foot of a mountain, in hopes of finding buffalo. It was not until the

next day that they discovered a pair of fine bulls on the edge of the

plain, among rocks and ravines. Having now been two days and a half

without a mouthful of food, they took especial care that these animals

should not escape them. While some of the surest marksmen advanced

cautiously with their rifles into the rough ground, four of the best

mounted horsemen took their stations in the plain, to run the bulls down

should they only be maimed.

The buffalo were wounded and set off in headlong flight. The

half-famished horses were too weak to overtake them on the frozen

ground, but succeeded in driving them on the ice, where they slipped

and fell, and were easily dispatched. The hunters loaded themselves with

beef for present and future supply, and then returned and encamped

at the last nights’s fire. Here they passed the remainder of the day,

cooking and eating with a voracity proportioned to previous starvation,

forgetting in the hearty revel of the moment the certain dangers with

which they were environed.

The cravings of hunger being satisfied, they now began to debate about

their further progress. The men were much disheartened by the hardships

they had already endured. Indeed, two who had been in the rear guard,

taking advantage of their position, had deserted and returned to the

lodges of the Nez Perces. The prospect ahead was enough to stagger the

stoutest heart. They were in the dead of winter. As far as the eye

could reach the wild landscape was wrapped in snow, which was evidently

deepening as they advanced. Over this they would have to toil, with the

icy wind blowing in their faces: their horses might give out through

want of pasturage, and they themselves must expect intervals of horrible

famine like that they had already experienced.

With Captain Bonneville, however, perseverance was a matter of pride;

and, having undertaken this enterprise, nothing could turn him back

until it was accomplished: though he declares that, had he anticipated

the difficulties and sufferings which attended it, he should have

flinched from the undertaking.

Onward, therefore, the little band urged their way, keeping along the

course of a stream called John Day’s Creek. The cold was so intense that

they had frequently to dismount and travel on foot, lest they should

freeze in their saddles. The days which at this season are short enough

even in the open prairies, were narrowed to a few hours by the high

mountains, which allowed the travellers but a brief enjoyment of the

cheering rays of the sun. The snow was generally at least twenty inches

in depth, and in many places much more: those who dismounted had to beat

their way with toilsome steps. Eight miles were considered a good day’s

journey. The horses were almost famished; for the herbage was covered by

the deep snow, so that they had nothing to subsist upon but scanty wisps

of the dry bunch grass which peered above the surface, and the small

branches and twigs of frozen willows and wormwood.

In this way they urged their slow and painful course to the south down

John Day’s Creek, until it lost itself in a swamp. Here they encamped

upon the ice among stiffened willows, where they were obliged to beat

down and clear away the snow to procure pasturage for their horses.

Hence they toiled on to Godin River; so called after an Iroquois hunter

in the service of Sublette, who was murdered there by the Blackfeet.

Many of the features of this remote wilderness are thus named after

scenes of violence and bloodshed that occurred to the early pioneers. It

was an act of filial vengeance on the part of Godin’s son Antoine that,

as the reader may recollect, brought on the recent battle at Pierre’s

Hole.

From Godin’s River, Captain Bonneville and his followers came out upon

the plain of the Three Butes, so called from three singular and isolated

hills that rise from the midst. It is a part of the great desert of

Snake River, one of the most remarkable tracts beyond the mountains.

Could they have experienced a respite from their sufferings and

anxieties, the immense landscape spread out before them was calculated

to inspire admiration. Winter has its beauties and glories as well as

summer; and Captain Bonneville had the soul to appreciate them.

Far away, says he, over the vast plains, and up the steep sides of the

lofty mountains, the snow lay spread in dazzling whiteness: and whenever

the sun emerged in the morning above the giant peaks, or burst forth

from among clouds in his midday course, mountain and dell, glazed rock

and frosted tree, glowed and sparkled with surpassing lustre. The tall

pines seemed sprinkled with a silver dust, and the willows, studded with

minute icicles reflecting the prismatic rays, brought to mind the fairy

trees conjured up by the caliph’s story-teller to adorn his vale of

diamonds.

The poor wanderers, however, nearly starved with hunger and cold, were

in no mood to enjoy the glories of these brilliant scenes; though they

stamped pictures on their memory which have been recalled with delight

in more genial situations.

Encamping at the west Bute, they found a place swept by the winds, so

that it was bare of snow, and there was abundance of bunch grass. Here

the horses were turned loose to graze throughout the night. Though for

once they had ample pasturage, yet the keen winds were so intense that,

in the morning, a mule was found frozen to death. The trappers gathered

round and mourned over him as over a cherished friend. They feared their

half-famished horses would soon share his fate, for there seemed scarce

blood enough left in their veins to withstand the freezing cold. To beat

the way further through the snow with these enfeebled animals seemed

next to impossible; and despondency began to creep over their hearts,

when, fortunately, they discovered a trail made by some hunting party.

Into this they immediately entered, and proceeded with less difficulty.

Shortly afterward, a fine buffalo bull came bounding across the snow and

was instantly brought down by the hunters. A fire was soon blazing and

crackling, and an ample repast soon cooked, and sooner dispatched; after

which they made some further progress and then encamped. One of the men

reached the camp nearly frozen to death; but good cheer and a blazing

fire gradually restored life, and put his blood in circulation.

Having now a beaten path, they proceeded the next morning with more

facility; indeed, the snow decreased in depth as they receded from the

mountains, and the temperature became more mild. In the course of the

day they discovered a solitary horseman hovering at a distance before

them on the plain. They spurred on to overtake him; but he was better

mounted on a fresher steed, and kept at a wary distance, reconnoitring

them with evident distrust; for the wild dress of the free trappers,

their leggings, blankets, and cloth caps garnished with fur and topped

off with feathers, even their very elf-locks and weather-bronzed

complexions, gave them the look of Indians rather than white men, and

made him mistake them for a war party of some hostile tribe.

After much manoeuvring, the wild horseman was at length brought to a

parley; but even then he conducted himself with the caution of a knowing

prowler of the prairies. Dismounting from his horse, and using him as a

breastwork, he levelled his gun across his back, and, thus prepared for

defence like a wary cruiser upon the high seas, he permitted himself to

be approached within speaking distance.

He proved to be an Indian of the Banneck tribe, belonging to a band at

no great distance. It was some time before he could be persuaded that

he was conversing with a party of white men and induced to lay aside his

reserve and join them. He then gave them the interesting intelligence

that there were two companies of white men encamped in the neighborhood.

This was cheering news to Captain Bonneville; who hoped to find in one

of them the long-sought party of Matthieu. Pushing forward, therefore,

with renovated spirits, he reached Snake River by nightfall, and there

fixed his encampment.

Early the next morning (13th January, 1833), diligent search was made

about the neighborhood for traces of the reported parties of white men.

An encampment was soon discovered about four miles farther up the river,

in which Captain Bonneville to his great joy found two of Matthieu’s

men, from whom he learned that the rest of his party would be there

in the course of a few days. It was a matter of great pride and

self-gratulation to Captain Bonneville that he had thus accomplished his

dreary and doubtful enterprise; and he determined to pass some time

in this encampment, both to await the return of Matthieu, and to give

needful repose to men and horses.

It was, in fact, one of the most eligible and delightful wintering

grounds in that whole range of country. The Snake River here wound

its devious way between low banks through the great plain of the Three

Butes; and was bordered by wide and fertile meadows. It was studded with

islands which, like the alluvial bottoms, were covered with groves

of cotton-wood, thickets of willow, tracts of good lowland grass, and

abundance of green rushes. The adjacent plains were so vast in extent

that no single band of Indians could drive the buffalo out of them;

nor was the snow of sufficient depth to give any serious inconvenience.

Indeed, during the sojourn of Captain Bonneville in this neighborhood,

which was in the heart of winter, he found the weather, with the

exception of a few cold and stormy days, generally mild and pleasant,

freezing a little at night but invariably thawing with the morning’s

sun-resembling the spring weather in the middle parts of the United

States.

The lofty range of the Three Tetons, those great landmarks of the Rocky

Mountains rising in the east and circling away to the north and west

of the great plain of Snake River, and the mountains of Salt River and

Portneuf toward the south, catch the earliest falls of snow. Their white

robes lengthen as the winter advances, and spread themselves far into

the plain, driving the buffalo in herds to the banks of the river in

quest of food; where they are easily slain in great numbers.

Such were the palpable advantages of this winter encampment; added to

which, it was secure from the prowlings and plunderings of any petty

band of roving Blackfeet, the difficulties of retreat rendering it

unwise for those crafty depredators to venture an attack unless with an

overpowering force.

About ten miles below the encampment lay the Banneck Indians; numbering

about one hundred and twenty lodges. They are brave and cunning warriors

and deadly foes of the Blackfeet, whom they easily overcome in battles

where their forces are equal. They are not vengeful and enterprising

in warfare, however; seldom sending war parties to attack the Blackfeet

towns, but contenting themselves with defending their own territories

and house. About one third of their warriors are armed with fusees, the

rest with bows and arrows.

As soon as the spring opens they move down the right bank of Snake River

and encamp at the heads of the Boisee and Payette. Here their horses wax

fat on good pasturage, while the tribe revels in plenty upon the flesh

of deer, elk, bear, and beaver. They then descend a little further, and

are met by the Lower Nez Perces, with whom they trade for horses; giving

in exchange beaver, buffalo, and buffalo robes. Hence they strike upon

the tributary streams on the left bank of Snake River, and encamp at the

rise of the Portneuf and Blackfoot streams, in the buffalo range. Their

horses, although of the Nez Perce breed, are inferior to the parent

stock from being ridden at too early an age, being often bought when but

two years old and immediately put to hard work. They have fewer horses,

also, than most of these migratory tribes.

At the time that Captain Bonneville came into the neighborhood of these

Indians, they were all in mourning for their chief, surnamed The

Horse. This chief was said to possess a charmed life, or rather, to be

invulnerable to lead; no bullet having ever hit him, though he had been

in repeated battles, and often shot at by the surest marksmen. He had

shown great magnanimity in his intercourse with the white men. One of

the great men of his family had been slain in an attack upon a band of

trappers passing through the territories of his tribe. Vengeance had

been sworn by the Bannecks; but The Horse interfered, declaring himself

the friend of white men and, having great influence and authority among

his people, he compelled them to forego all vindictive plans and to

conduct themselves amicably whenever they came in contact with the

traders.

This chief had bravely fallen in resisting an attack made by the

Blackfeet upon his tribe, while encamped at the head of Godin River. His

fall in nowise lessened the faith of his people in his charmed life; for

they declared that it was not a bullet which laid him low, but a bit of

horn which had been shot into him by some Blackfoot marksman aware, no

doubt, of the inefficacy of lead. Since his death there was no one with

sufficient influence over the tribe to restrain the wild and predatory

propensities of the young men. The consequence was they had become

troublesome and dangerous neighbors, openly friendly for the sake of

traffic, but disposed to commit secret depredations and to molest any

small party that might fall within their reach.

16.

Misadventures of Matthieu and his party--Return to the

caches at Salmon River--Battle between Nez Perces and Black

feet--Heroism of a Nez Perce woman--Enrolled among the

braves.

ON the 3d of February, Matthieu, with the residue of his band, arrived

in camp. He had a disastrous story to relate. After parting with Captain

Bonneville in Green River Valley he had proceeded to the westward,

keeping to the north of the Eutaw Mountains, a spur of the great Rocky

chain. Here he experienced the most rugged travelling for his horses,

and soon discovered that there was but little chance of meeting the

Shoshonie bands. He now proceeded along Bear River, a stream much

frequented by trappers, intending to shape his course to Salmon River to

rejoin Captain Bonneville.

He was misled, however, either through the ignorance or treachery of

an Indian guide, and conducted into a wild valley where he lay encamped

during the autumn and the early part of the winter, nearly buried in

snow and almost starved. Early in the season he detached five men, with

nine horses, to proceed to the neighborhood of the Sheep Rock, on Bear

River, where game was plenty, and there to procure a supply for the

camp.

They had not proceeded far on their expedition when their trail was

discovered by a party of nine or ten Indians, who immediately commenced

a lurking pursuit, dogging them secretly for five or six days. So long

as their encampments were well chosen and a proper watch maintained

the wary savages kept aloof; at length, observing that they were badly

encamped, in a situation where they might be approached with secrecy,

the enemy crept stealthily along under cover of the river bank,

preparing to burst suddenly upon their prey.

They had not advanced within striking distance, however, before they

were discovered by one of the trappers. He immediately but silently

gave the alarm to his companions. They all sprang upon their horses and

prepared to retreat to a safe position. One of the party, however, named

Jennings, doubted the correctness of the alarm, and before he mounted

his horse wanted to ascertain the fact. His companions urged him to

mount, but in vain; he was incredulous and obstinate. A volley of

firearms by the savages dispelled his doubts, but so overpowered his

nerves that he was unable to get into his saddle. His comrades, seeing

his peril and confusion, generously leaped from their horses to protect

him. A shot from a rifle brought him to the earth; in his agony he

called upon the others not to desert him. Two of them, Le Roy and Ross,

after fighting desperately, were captured by the savages; the remaining

two vaulted into their saddles and saved themselves by headlong flight,

being pursued for nearly thirty miles. They got safe back to Matthieu’s

camp, where their story inspired such dread of lurking Indians that the

hunters could not be prevailed upon to undertake another foray in quest

of provisions. They remained, therefore, almost starving in their camp;

now and then killing an old or disabled horse for food, while the

elk and the mountain sheep roamed unmolested among the surrounding

mountains.

The disastrous surprisal of this hunting party is cited by Captain

Bonneville to show the importance of vigilant watching and judicious

encampments in the Indian country. Most of this kind of disasters to

traders and trappers arise from some careless inattention to the state

of their arms and ammunition, the placing of their horses at night,

the position of their camping ground, and the posting of their night

watches. The Indian is a vigilant and crafty foe, by no means given

to hair-brained assaults; he seldom attacks when he finds his foe

well prepared and on the alert. Caution is at least as efficacious a

protection against him as courage.

The Indians who made this attack were at first supposed to be Blackfeet;

until Captain Bonneville found subsequently, in the camp of the

Bannecks, a horse, saddle, and bridle, which he recognized as having

belonged to one of the hunters. The Bannecks, however, stoutly denied

having taken these spoils in fight, and persisted in affirming that the

outrage had been perpetrated by a Blackfoot band.

Captain Bonneville remained on Snake River nearly three weeks after the

arrival of Matthieu and his party. At length his horses having recovered

strength sufficient for a journey, he prepared to return to the Nez

Perces, or rather to visit his caches on Salmon River; that he might

take thence goods and equipments for the opening season. Accordingly,

leaving sixteen men at Snake River, he set out on the 19th of February

with sixteen others on his journey to the caches.

Fording the river, he proceeded to the borders of the deep snow, when he

encamped under the lee of immense piles of burned rock. On the 21st he

was again floundering through the snow, on the great Snake River

plain, where it lay to the depth of thirty inches. It was sufficiently

incrusted to bear a pedestrian, but the poor horses broke through the

crust, and plunged and strained at every step. So lacerated were they by

the ice that it was necessary to change the front every hundred yards,

and put a different one in advance to break the way. The open prairies

were swept by a piercing and biting wind from the northwest. At night,

they had to task their ingenuity to provide shelter and keep from

freezing. In the first place, they dug deep holes in the snow, piling

it up in ramparts to windward as a protection against the blast. Beneath

these they spread buffalo skins, upon which they stretched themselves

in full dress, with caps, cloaks, and moccasins, and covered themselves

with numerous blankets; notwithstanding all which they were often

severely pinched with the cold.

On the 28th of February they arrived on the banks of Godin River. This

stream emerges from the mountains opposite an eastern branch of the

Malade River, running southeast, forms a deep and swift current about

twenty yards wide, passing rapidly through a defile to which it gives

its name, and then enters the great plain where, after meandering about

forty miles, it is finally lost in the region of the Burned Rocks.

On the banks of this river Captain Bonneville was so fortunate as to

come upon a buffalo trail. Following it up, he entered the defile, where

he remained encamped for two days to allow the hunters time to kill and

dry a supply of buffalo beef. In this sheltered defile the weather was

moderate and grass was already sprouting more than an inch in height.

There was abundance, too, of the salt weed which grows most plentiful

in clayey and gravelly barrens. It resembles pennyroyal, and derives its

name from a partial saltness. It is a nourishing food for the horses

in the winter, but they reject it the moment the young grass affords

sufficient pasturage.

On the 6th of March, having cured sufficient meat, the party resumed

their march, and moved on with comparative ease, excepting where they

had to make their way through snow-drifts which had been piled up by the

wind.

On the 11th, a small cloud of smoke was observed rising in a deep part

of the defile. An encampment was instantly formed and scouts were

sent out to reconnoitre. They returned with intelligence that it was a

hunting party of Flatheads, returning from the buffalo range laden with

meat. Captain Bonneville joined them the next day, and persuaded them

to proceed with his party a few miles below to the caches, whither he

proposed also to invite the Nez Perces, whom he hoped to find somewhere

in this neighborhood. In fact, on the 13th, he was rejoined by that

friendly tribe who, since he separated from them on Salmon River, had

likewise been out to hunt the buffalo, but had continued to be haunted

and harassed by their old enemies the Blackfeet, who, as usual, had

contrived to carry off many of their horses.

In the course of this hunting expedition, a small band of ten lodges

separated from the main body in search of better pasturage for their

horses. About the 1st of March, the scattered parties of Blackfoot

banditti united to the number of three hundred fighting men, and

determined upon some signal blow. Proceeding to the former camping

ground of the Nez Perces, they found the lodges deserted; upon which

they hid themselves among the willows and thickets, watching for some

straggler who might guide them to the present “whereabout” of their

intended victims. As fortune would have it Kosato, the Blackfoot

renegade, was the first to pass along, accompanied by his blood-bought

bride. He was on his way from the main body of hunters to the little

band of ten lodges. The Blackfeet knew and marked him as he passed; he

was within bowshot of their ambuscade; yet, much as they thirsted for

his blood, they forbore to launch a shaft; sparing him for the moment

that he might lead them to their prey. Secretly following his trail,

they discovered the lodges of the unfortunate Nez Perces, and assailed

them with shouts and yellings. The Nez Perces numbered only twenty men,

and but nine were armed with fusees. They showed themselves, however,

as brave and skilful in war as they had been mild and long-suffering in

peace. Their first care was to dig holes inside of their lodges; thus

ensconced they fought desperately, laying several of the enemy dead upon

the ground; while they, though Some of them were wounded, lost not a

single warrior.

During the heat of the battle, a woman of the Nez Perces, seeing her

warrior badly wounded and unable to fight, seized his bow and arrows,

and bravely and successfully defended his person, contributing to the

safety of the whole party.

In another part of the field of action, a Nez Perce had crouched behind

the trunk of a fallen tree, and kept up a galling fire from his covert.

A Blackfoot seeing this, procured a round log, and placing it before

him as he lay prostrate, rolled it forward toward the trunk of the

tree behind which his enemy lay crouched. It was a moment of breathless

interest; whoever first showed himself would be in danger of a shot.

The Nez Perce put an end to the suspense. The moment the logs touched he

Sprang upon his feet and discharged the contents of his fusee into the

back of his antagonist. By this time the Blackfeet had got possession of

the horses, several of their warriors lay dead on the field, and the Nez

Perces, ensconced in their lodges, seemed resolved to defend themselves

to the last gasp. It so happened that the chief of the Blackfeet party

was a renegade from the Nez Perces; unlike Kosato, however, he had no

vindictive rage against his native tribe, but was rather disposed, now

he had got the booty, to spare all unnecessary effusion of blood. He

held a long parley, therefore, with the besieged, and finally drew off

his warriors, taking with him seventy horses. It appeared, afterward,

that the bullets of the Blackfeet had been entirely expended in the

course of the battle, so that they were obliged to make use of stones as

substitute.

At the outset of the fight Kosato, the renegade, fought with fury rather

than valor, animating the others by word as well as deed. A wound in the

head from a rifle ball laid him senseless on the earth. There his body

remained when the battle was over, and the victors were leading off the

horses. His wife hung over him with frantic lamentations. The conquerors

paused and urged her to leave the lifeless renegade, and return with

them to her kindred. She refused to listen to their solicitations, and

they passed on. As she sat watching the features of Kosato, and giving

way to passionate grief, she thought she perceived him to breathe. She

was not mistaken. The ball, which had been nearly spent before it struck

him, had stunned instead of killing him. By the ministry of his faithful

wife he gradually recovered, reviving to a redoubled love for her, and

hatred of his tribe.

As to the female who had so bravely defended her husband, she was

elevated by the tribe to a rank far above her sex, and beside other

honorable distinctions, was thenceforward permitted to take a part in

the war dances of the braves!

17.

Opening of the caches--Detachments of Cerre and Hodgkiss

Salmon River Mountains--Superstition of an Indian trapper--

Godin’s River--Preparations for trapping--An alarm--An

interruption--A rival band--Phenomena of Snake River Plain

Vast clefts and chasms--Ingulfed streams--Sublime scenery--A

grand buffalo hunt.

CAPTAIN BONNEVILLE found his caches perfectly secure, and having

secretly opened them he selected such articles as were necessary to

equip the free trappers and to supply the inconsiderable trade with

the Indians, after which he closed them again. The free trappers, being

newly rigged out and supplied, were in high spirits, and swaggered gayly

about the camp. To compensate all hands for past sufferings, and to give

a cheerful spur to further operations, Captain Bonneville now gave the

men what, in frontier phrase, is termed “a regular blow-out.” It was a

day of uncouth gambols and frolics and rude feasting. The Indians joined

in the sports and games, and all was mirth and good-fellowship.

It was now the middle of March, and Captain Bonneville made preparations

to open the spring campaign. He had pitched upon Malade River for his

main trapping ground for the season. This is a stream which rises among

the great bed of mountains north of the Lava Plain, and after a winding

course falls into Snake River. Previous to his departure the captain

dispatched Mr. Cerre, with a few men, to visit the Indian villages and

purchase horses; he furnished his clerk, Mr. Hodgkiss, also, with a

small stock of goods, to keep up a trade with the Indians during the

spring, for such peltries as they might collect, appointing the caches

on Salmon River as the point of rendezvous, where they were to rejoin

him on the 15th of June following.

This done he set out for Malade River, with a band of twenty-eight men

composed of hired and free trappers and Indian hunters, together with

eight squaws. Their route lay up along the right fork of Salmon River,

as it passes through the deep defile of the mountains. They travelled

very slowly, not above five miles a day, for many of the horses were

so weak that they faltered and staggered as they walked. Pasturage,

however, was now growing plentiful. There was abundance of fresh grass,

which in some places had attained such height as to wave in the wind.

The native flocks of the wilderness, the mountain sheep, as they are

called by the trappers, were continually to be seen upon the hills

between which they passed, and a good supply of mutton was provided by

the hunters, as they were advancing toward a region of scarcity.

In the course of his journey Captain Bonneville had occasion to remark

an instance of the many notions, and almost superstitions, which prevail

among the Indians, and among some of the white men, with respect to

the sagacity of the beaver. The Indian hunters of his party were in the

habit of exploring all the streams along which they passed, in search of

“beaver lodges,” and occasionally set their traps with some success.

One of them, however, though an experienced and skilful trapper, was

invariably unsuccessful. Astonished and mortified at such unusual bad

luck, he at length conceived the idea that there was some odor about his

person of which the beaver got scent and retreated at his approach.

He immediately set about a thorough purification. Making a rude

sweating-house on the banks of the river, he would shut himself up until

in a reeking perspiration, and then suddenly emerging, would plunge

into the river. A number of these sweatings and plungings having, as

he supposed, rendered his person perfectly “inodorous,” he resumed his

trapping with renovated hope.

About the beginning of April they encamped upon Godin’s River, where

they found the swamp full of “musk-rat houses.” Here, therefore, Captain

Bonneville determined to remain a few days and make his first regular

attempt at trapping. That his maiden campaign might open with spirit, he

promised the Indians and free trappers an extra price for every musk-rat

they should take. All now set to work for the next day’s sport. The

utmost animation and gayety prevailed throughout the camp. Everything

looked auspicious for their spring campaign. The abundance of musk-rats

in the swamp was but an earnest of the nobler game they were to find

when they should reach the Malade River, and have a capital beaver

country all to themselves, where they might trap at their leisure

without molestation.

In the midst of their gayety a hunter came galloping into the camp,

shouting, or rather yelling, “A trail! a trail!--lodge poles! lodge

poles!”

These were words full of meaning to a trapper’s ear. They intimated that

there was some band in the neighborhood, and probably a hunting party,

as they had lodge poles for an encampment. The hunter came up and told

his story. He had discovered a fresh trail, in which the traces made by

the dragging of lodge poles were distinctly visible. The buffalo, too,

had just been driven out of the neighborhood, which showed that the

hunters had already been on the range.

The gayety of the camp was at an end; all preparations for musk-rat

trapping were suspended, and all hands sallied forth to examine the

trail. Their worst fears were soon confirmed. Infallible signs showed

the unknown party in the advance to be white men; doubtless, some rival

band of trappers! Here was competition when least expected; and that

too by a party already in the advance, who were driving the game before

them. Captain Bonneville had now a taste of the sudden transitions

to which a trapper’s life is subject. The buoyant confidence in an

uninterrupted hunt was at an end; every countenance lowered with gloom

and disappointment.

Captain Bonneville immediately dispatched two spies to overtake the

rival party, and endeavor to learn their plans; in the meantime, he

turned his back upon the swamp and its musk-rat houses and followed

on at “long camps”, which in trapper’s language is equivalent to long

stages. On the 6th of April he met his spies returning. They had kept on

the trail like hounds until they overtook the party at the south end of

Godin’s defile. Here they found them comfortably encamped: twenty-two

prime trappers, all well appointed, with excellent horses in capital

condition led by Milton Sublette, and an able coadjutor named Jarvie,

and in full march for the Malade hunting ground. This was stunning news.

The Malade River was the only trapping ground within reach; but to have

to compete there with veteran trappers, perfectly at home among the

mountains, and admirably mounted, while they were so poorly provided

with horses and trappers, and had but one man in their party acquainted

with the country-it was out of the question.

The only hope that now remained was that the snow, which still lay deep

among the mountains of Godin’s River and blocked up the usual pass

to the Malade country, might detain the other party until Captain

Bonneville’s horses should get once more into good condition in their

present ample pasturage.

The rival parties now encamped together, not out of companionship, but

to keep an eye upon each other. Day after day passed by without any

possibility of getting to the Malade country. Sublette and Jarvie

endeavored to force their way across the mountain; but the snows lay

so deep as to oblige them to turn back. In the meantime the captain’s

horses were daily gaining strength, and their hoofs improving, which

had been worn and battered by mountain service. The captain, also was

increasing his stock of provisions; so that the delay was all in his

favor.

To any one who merely contemplates a map of the country this difficulty

of getting from Godin to Malade River will appear inexplicable, as the

intervening mountains terminate in the great Snake River plain, so that,

apparently, it would be perfectly easy to proceed round their bases.

Here, however, occur some of the striking phenomena of this wild and

sublime region. The great lower plain which extends to the feet of

these mountains is broken up near their bases into crests, and ridges

resembling the surges of the ocean breaking on a rocky shore.

In a line with the mountains the plain is gashed with numerous and

dangerous chasms, from four to ten feet wide, and of great depth.

Captain Bonneville attempted to sound some of these openings, but

without any satisfactory result. A stone dropped into one of them

reverberated against the sides for apparently a very great depth, and,

by its sound, indicated the same kind of substance with the surface, as

long as the strokes could be heard. The horse, instinctively sagacious

in avoiding danger, shrinks back in alarm from the least of these

chasms, pricking up his ears, snorting and pawing, until permitted to

turn away.

We have been told by a person well acquainted with the country that it

is sometimes necessary to travel fifty and sixty miles to get round one

of these tremendous ravines. Considerable streams, like that of Godin’s

River, that run with a bold, free current, lose themselves in this

plain; some of them end in swamps, others suddenly disappear, finding,

no doubt, subterranean outlets.

Opposite to these chasms Snake River makes two desperate leaps over

precipices, at a short distance from each other; one twenty, the other

forty feet in height.

The volcanic plain in question forms an area of about sixty miles in

diameter, where nothing meets the eye but a desolate and awful waste;

where no grass grows nor water runs, and where nothing is to be seen but

lava. Ranges of mountains skirt this plain, and, in Captain Bonneville’s

opinion, were formerly connected, until rent asunder by some convulsion

of nature. Far to the east the Three Tetons lift their heads sublimely,

and dominate this wide sea of lava--one of the most striking features

of a wilderness where everything seems on a scale of stern and simple

grandeur.

We look forward with impatience for some able geologist to explore this

sublime but almost unknown region.

It was not until the 25th of April that the two parties of trappers

broke up their encampments, and undertook to cross over the southwest

end of the mountain by a pass explored by their scouts. From various

points of the mountain they commanded boundless prospects of the lava

plain, stretching away in cold and gloomy barrenness as far as the eye

could reach. On the evening of the 26th they reached the plain west

of the mountain, watered by the Malade, the Boisee, and other streams,

which comprised the contemplated trapping-ground.

The country about the Boisee (or Woody) River is extolled by Captain

Bonneville as the most enchanting he had seen in the Far West,

presenting the mingled grandeur and beauty of mountain and plain, of

bright running streams and vast grassy meadows waving to the breeze.

We shall not follow the captain throughout his trapping campaign, which

lasted until the beginning of June, nor detail all the manoeuvres of the

rival trapping parties and their various schemes to outwit and out-trap

each other. Suffice it to say that, after having visited and camped

about various streams with varying success, Captain Bonneville set

forward early in June for the appointed rendezvous at the caches. On

the way, he treated his party to a grand buffalo hunt. The scouts had re

ported numerous herds in a plain beyond an intervening height. There was

an immediate halt; the fleetest horses were forthwith mounted and the

party advanced to the summit of the hill. Hence they beheld the great

plain below; absolutely swarming with buffalo. Captain Bonneville now

appointed the place where he would encamp; and toward which the hunters

were to drive the game. He cautioned the latter to advance slowly,

reserving the strength and speed of the horses until within a moderate

distance of the herds. Twenty-two horsemen descended cautiously into

the plain, conformably to these directions. “It was a beautiful sight,”

says the captain, “to see the runners, as they are called, advancing in

column, at a slow trot, until within two hundred and fifty yards of the

outskirts of the herd, then dashing on at full speed until lost in the

immense multitude of buffaloes scouring the plain in every direction.”

All was now tumult and wild confusion. In the meantime Captain

Bonneville and the residue of the party moved on to the appointed

camping ground; thither the most expert runners succeeded in driving

numbers of buffalo, which were killed hard by the camp, and the flesh

transported thither without difficulty. In a little while the whole camp

looked like one great slaughter-house; the carcasses were skilfully

cut up, great fires were made, scaffolds erected for drying and jerking

beef, and an ample provision was made for future subsistence. On the

15th of June, the precise day appointed for the rendezvous, Captain

Bonneville and his party arrived safely at the caches.

Here he was joined by the other detachments of his main party, all

in good health and spirits. The caches were again opened, supplies

of various kinds taken out, and a liberal allowance of aqua vitae

distributed throughout the camp, to celebrate with proper conviviality

this merry meeting.

18.

Meeting with Hodgkiss--Misfortunes of the Nez Perces--

Schemes of Kosato, the renegado--His foray into the Horse

Prairie--Invasion of Black feet--Blue John and his forlorn

hope--Their generous enterprise--Their fate--Consternation

and despair of the village--Solemn obsequies--Attempt at

Indian trade--Hudson’s Bay Company’s monopoly--Arrangements

for autumn--Breaking up of an encampment.

HAVING now a pretty strong party, well armed and equipped, Captain

Bonneville no longer felt the necessity of fortifying himself in the

secret places and fastnesses of the mountains; but sallied forth boldly

into the Snake River plain, in search of his clerk, Hodgkiss, who had

remained with the Nez Perces. He found him on the 24th of June, and

learned from him another chapter of misfortunes which had recently

befallen that ill-fated race.

After the departure of Captain Bonneville in March, Kosato, the renegade

Blackfoot, had recovered from the wound received in battle; and with his

strength revived all his deadly hostility to his native tribe. He now

resumed his efforts to stir up the Nez Perces to reprisals upon

their old enemies; reminding them incessantly of all the outrages and

robberies they had recently experienced, and assuring them that such

would continue to be their lot until they proved themselves men by some

signal retaliation.

The impassioned eloquence of the desperado at length produced an effect;

and a band of braves enlisted under his guidance, to penetrate into the

Blackfoot country, harass their Villages, carry off their horses, and

commit all kinds of depredations.

Kosato pushed forward on his foray as far as the Horse Prairie, where he

came upon a strong party of Blackfeet. Without waiting to estimate

their force, he attacked them with characteristic fury, and was bravely

seconded by his followers. The contest, for a time, was hot and bloody;

at length, as is customary with these two tribes, they paused, and held

a long parley, or rather a war of words.

“What need,” said the Blackfoot chief, tauntingly, “have the Nez Perces

to leave their homes, and sally forth on war parties, when they have

danger enough at their own doors? If you want fighting, return to your

villages; you will have plenty of it there. The Blackfeet warriors have

hitherto made war upon you as children. They are now coming as men. A

great force is at hand; they are on their way to your towns, and

are determined to rub out the very name of the Nez Perces from the

mountains. Return, I say, to your towns, and fight there, if you wish to

live any longer as a people.”

Kosato took him at his word; for he knew the character of his native

tribe. Hastening back with his band to the Nez Perces village, he told

all that he had seen and heard, and urged the most prompt and strenuous

measures for defence. The Nez Perces, however, heard him with their

accustomed phlegm; the threat of the Blackfeet had been often made, and

as often had proved a mere bravado; such they pronounced it to be at

present, and, of course, took no precautions.

They were soon convinced that it was no empty menace. In a few days a

band of three hundred Blackfeet warriors appeared upon the hills. All

now was consternation in the village. The force of the Nez Perces was

too small to cope with the enemy in open fight; many of the young men

having gone to their relatives on the Columbia to procure horses. The

sages met in hurried council. What was to be done to ward off a blow

which threatened annihilation? In this moment of imminent peril, a

Pierced-nose chief, named Blue John by the whites, offered to approach

secretly with a small, but chosen band, through a defile which led to

the encampment of the enemy, and, by a sudden onset, to drive off the

horses. Should this blow be successful, the spirit and strength of the

invaders would be broken, and the Nez Perces, having horses, would be

more than a match for them. Should it fail, the village would not be

worse off than at present, when destruction appeared inevitable.

Twenty-nine of the choicest warriors instantly volunteered to follow

Blue John in this hazardous enterprise. They prepared for it with the

solemnity and devotion peculiar to the tribe. Blue John consulted his

medicine, or talismanic charm, such as every chief keeps in his lodge

as a supernatural protection. The oracle assured him that his enterprise

would be completely successful, provided no rain should fall before he

had passed through the defile; but should it rain, his band would be

utterly cut off.

The day was clear and bright; and Blue John anticipated that the skies

would be propitious. He departed in high spirits with his forlorn hope;

and never did band of braves make a more gallant display-horsemen and

horses being decorated and equipped in the fiercest and most glaring

style-glittering with arms and ornaments, and fluttering with feathers.

The weather continued serene until they reached the defile; but just as

they were entering it a black cloud rose over the mountain crest, and

there was a sudden shower. The warriors turned to their leader, as if to

read his opinion of this unlucky omen; but the countenance of Blue John

remained unchanged, and they continued to press forward. It was

their hope to make their way undiscovered to the very vicinity of the

Blackfoot camp; but they had not proceeded far in the defile, when they

met a scouting party of the enemy. They attacked and drove them among

the hills, and were pursuing them with great eagerness when they heard

shouts and yells behind them, and beheld the main body of the Blackfeet

advancing.

The second chief wavered a little at the sight and proposed an instant

retreat. “We came to fight!” replied Blue John, sternly. Then giving his

war-whoop, he sprang forward to the conflict. His braves followed

him. They made a headlong charge upon the enemy; not with the hope of

victory, but the determination to sell their lives dearly. A frightful

carnage, rather than a regular battle, succeeded. The forlorn band laid

heaps of their enemies dead at their feet, but were overwhelmed with

numbers and pressed into a gorge of the mountain; where they continued

to fight until they were cut to pieces. One only, of the thirty,

survived. He sprang on the horse of a Blackfoot warrior whom he had

slain, and escaping at full speed, brought home the baleful tidings to

his village.

Who can paint the horror and desolation of the inhabitants? The flower

of their warriors laid low, and a ferocious enemy at their doors. The

air was rent by the shrieks and lamentations of the women, who, casting

off their ornaments and tearing their hair, wandered about, frantically

bewailing the dead and predicting destruction to the living. The

remaining warriors armed themselves for obstinate defence; but showed

by their gloomy looks and sullen silence that they considered defence

hopeless. To their surprise the Blackfeet refrained from pursuing

their advantage; perhaps satisfied with the blood already shed, or

disheartened by the loss they had themselves sustained. At any rate,

they disappeared from the hills, and it was soon ascertained that they

had returned to the Horse Prairie.

The unfortunate Nez Perces now began once more to breathe. A few of

their warriors, taking pack-horses, repaired to the defile to bring away

the bodies of their slaughtered brethren. They found them mere headless

trunks; and the wounds with which they were covered showed how bravely

they had fought. Their hearts, too, had been torn out and carried off;

a proof of their signal valor; for in devouring the heart of a foe

renowned for bravery, or who has distinguished himself in battle, the

Indian victor thinks he appropriates to himself the courage of the

deceased.

Gathering the mangled bodies of the slain, and strapping them across

their pack-horses, the warriors returned, in dismal procession, to the

village. The tribe came forth to meet them; the women with piercing

cries and wailings; the men with downcast countenances, in which gloom

and sorrow seemed fixed as if in marble. The mutilated and almost

undistinguishable bodies were placed in rows upon the ground, in the

midst of the assemblage; and the scene of heart-rending anguish and

lamentation that ensued would have confounded those who insist on Indian

stoicism.

Such was the disastrous event that had overwhelmed the Nez Perces tribe

during the absence of Captain Bonneville; and he was informed that

Kosato, the renegade, who, being stationed in the village, had been

prevented from going on the forlorn hope, was again striving to rouse

the vindictive feelings of his adopted brethren, and to prompt them to

revenge the slaughter of their devoted braves.

During his sojourn on the Snake River plain, Captain Bonneville made one

of his first essays at the strategy of the fur trade. There was at

this time an assemblage of Nez Perces, Flatheads, and Cottonois Indians

encamped together upon the plain; well provided with beaver, which they

had collected during the spring. These they were waiting to traffic with

a resident trader of the Hudson’s Bay Company, who was stationed among

them, and with whom they were accustomed to deal. As it happened, the

trader was almost entirely destitute of Indian goods; his spring supply

not having yet reached him. Captain Bonneville had secret intelligence

that the supplies were on their way, and would soon arrive; he hoped,

how-ever, by a prompt move, to anticipate their arrival, and secure the

market to himself. Throwing himself, therefore, among the Indians, he

opened his packs of merchandise and displayed the most tempting wares:

bright cloths, and scarlet blankets, and glittering ornaments, and

everything gay and glorious in the eyes of warrior or squaw; all,

however, was in vain. The Hudson’s Bay trader was a perfect master of

his business, thoroughly acquainted with the Indians he had to deal

with, and held such control over them that none dared to act openly in

opposition to his wishes; nay, more--he came nigh turning the tables

upon the captain, and shaking the allegiance of some of his free

trappers, by distributing liquors among them. The latter, therefore, was

glad to give up a competition, where the war was likely to be carried

into his own camp.

In fact, the traders of the Hudson’s Bay Company have advantages over

all competitors in the trade beyond the Rocky Mountains. That huge

monopoly centers within itself not merely its own hereditary and

long-established power and influence; but also those of its ancient

rival, but now integral part, the famous Northwest Company. It has thus

its races of traders, trappers, hunters, and voyageurs, born and brought

up in its service, and inheriting from preceding generations a knowledge

and aptitude in everything connected with Indian life, and Indian

traffic. In the process of years, this company has been enabled to

spread its ramifications in every direction; its system of intercourse

is founded upon a long and intimate knowledge of the character and

necessities of the various tribes; and of all the fastnesses, defiles,

and favorable hunting grounds of the country. Their capital, also, and

the manner in which their supplies are distributed at various posts,

or forwarded by regular caravans, keep their traders well supplied, and

enable them to furnish their goods to the Indians at a cheap rate. Their

men, too, being chiefly drawn from the Canadas, where they enjoy great

influence and control, are engaged at the most trifling wages, and

supported at little cost; the provisions which they take with them being

little more than Indian corn and grease. They are brought also into the

most perfect discipline and subordination, especially when their

leaders have once got them to their scene of action in the heart of the

wilderness.

These circumstances combine to give the leaders of the Hudson’s Bay

Company a decided advantage over all the American companies that come

within their range, so that any close competition with them is almost

hopeless.

Shortly after Captain Bonneville’s ineffectual attempt to participate

in the trade of the associated camp, the supplies of the Hudson’s Bay

Company arrived; and the resident trader was enabled to monopolize the

market.

It was now the beginning of July; in the latter part of which month

Captain Bonneville had appointed a rendezvous at Horse Creek in Green

River Valley, with some of the parties which he had detached in the

preceding year. He now turned his thoughts in that direction, and

prepared for the journey.

The Cottonois were anxious for him to proceed at once to their country;

which, they assured him, abounded in beaver. The lands of this tribe lie

immediately north of those of the Flatheads and are open to the inroads

of the Blackfeet. It is true, the latter professed to be their allies;

but they had been guilty of so many acts of perfidy, that the Cottonois

had, latterly, renounced their hollow friendship and attached themselves

to the Flatheads and Nez Perces. These they had accompanied in their

migrations rather than remain alone at home, exposed to the outrages

of the Blackfeet. They were now apprehensive that these marauders would

range their country during their absence and destroy the beaver; this

was their reason for urging Captain Bonneville to make it his autumnal

hunting ground. The latter, however, was not to be tempted; his

engagements required his presence at the rendezvous in Green River

Valley; and he had already formed his ulterior plans.

An unexpected difficulty now arose. The free trappers suddenly made a

stand, and declined to accompany him. It was a long and weary journey;

the route lay through Pierre’s Hole, and other mountain passes infested

by the Blackfeet, and recently the scenes of sanguinary conflicts. They

were not disposed to undertake such unnecessary toils and dangers,

when they had good and secure trapping grounds nearer at hand, on the

head-waters of Salmon River.

As these were free and independent fellows, whose will and whim were apt

to be law--who had the whole wilderness before them, “where to choose,”

and the trader of a rival company at hand, ready to pay for their

services--it was necessary to bend to their wishes. Captain Bonneville

fitted them out, therefore, for the hunting ground in question;

appointing Mr. Hodgkiss to act as their partisan, or leader, and fixing

a rendezvous where he should meet them in the course of the ensuing

winter. The brigade consisted of twenty-one free trappers and four or

five hired men as camp-keepers. This was not the exact arrangement of

a trapping party; which when accurately organized is composed of two

thirds trappers whose duty leads them continually abroad in pursuit of

game; and one third camp-keepers who cook, pack, and unpack; set up the

tents, take care of the horses and do all other duties usually assigned

by the Indians to their women. This part of the service is apt to

be fulfilled by French creoles from Canada and the valley of the

Mississippi.

In the meantime the associated Indians having completed their trade

and received their supplies, were all ready to disperse in various

directions. As there was a formidable band of Blackfeet just over a

mountain to the northeast, by which Hodgkiss and his free trappers would

have to pass; and as it was known that those sharp-sighted marauders had

their scouts out watching every movement of the encampments, so as to

cut off stragglers or weak detachments, Captain Bonneville prevailed

upon the Nez Perces to accompany Hodgkiss and his party until they

should be beyond the range of the enemy.

The Cottonois and the Pends Oreilles determined to move together at

the same time, and to pass close under the mountain infested by the

Blackfeet; while Captain Bonneville, with his party, was to strike in

an opposite direction to the southeast, bending his course for Pierre’s

Hole, on his way to Green River.

Accordingly, on the 6th of July, all the camps were raised at the same

moment; each party taking its separate route. The scene was wild and

picturesque; the long line of traders, trappers, and Indians, with their

rugged and fantastic dresses and accoutrements; their varied weapons,

their innumerable horses, some under the saddle, some burdened with

packages, others following in droves; all stretching in lengthening

cavalcades across the vast landscape, making for different points of the

plains and mountains.

19.

Precautions in dangerous defiles--Trappers’ mode of defence

on a prairie--A mysterious visitor--Arrival in Green River

Valley--Adventures of the detachments--The forlorn partisan

--His tale of disasters.

AS the route of Captain Bonneville lay through what was considered the

most perilous part of this region of dangers, he took all his measures

with military skill, and observed the strictest circumspection. When

on the march, a small scouting party was thrown in the advance to

reconnoitre the country through which they were to pass. The encampments

were selected with great care, and a watch was kept up night and day.

The horses were brought in and picketed at night, and at daybreak a

party was sent out to scour the neighborhood for half a mile round,

beating up every grove and thicket that could give shelter to a lurking

foe. When all was reported safe, the horses were cast loose and turned

out to graze. Were such precautions generally observed by traders and

hunters, we should not so often hear of parties being surprised by the

Indians.

Having stated the military arrangements of the captain, we may here

mention a mode of defence on the open prairie, which we have heard from

a veteran in the Indian trade. When a party of trappers is on a journey

with a convoy of goods or peltries, every man has three pack-horses

under his care; each horse laden with three packs. Every man is provided

with a picket with an iron head, a mallet, and hobbles, or leathern

fetters for the horses. The trappers proceed across the prairie in a

long line; or sometimes three parallel lines, sufficiently distant from

each other to prevent the packs from interfering. At an alarm, when

there is no covert at hand, the line wheels so as to bring the front to

the rear and form a circle. All then dismount, drive their pickets into

the ground in the centre, fasten the horses to them, and hobble their

forelegs, so that, in case of alarm, they cannot break away. Then they

unload them, and dispose of their packs as breastworks on the periphery

of the circle; each man having nine packs behind which to shelter

himself. In this promptly-formed fortress, they await the assault of the

enemy, and are enabled to set large bands of Indians at defiance.

The first night of his march, Captain Bonneville encamped upon Henry’s

Fork; an upper branch of Snake River, called after the first American

trader that erected a fort beyond the mountains. About an hour after all

hands had come to a halt the clatter of hoofs was heard, and a solitary

female, of the Nez Perce tribe, came galloping up. She was mounted on

a mustang or half wild horse, which she managed by a long rope hitched

round the under jaw by way of bridle. Dismounting, she walked silently

into the midst of the camp, and there seated herself on the ground,

still holding her horse by the long halter.

The sudden and lonely apparition of this woman, and her calm yet

resolute demeanor, awakened universal curiosity. The hunters and

trappers gathered round, and gazed on her as something mysterious. She

remained silent, but maintained her air of calmness and self-possession.

Captain Bonneville approached and interrogated her as to the object

of her mysterious visit. Her answer was brief but earnest--“I love the

whites--I will go with them.” She was forthwith invited to a lodge,

of which she readily took possession, and from that time forward was

considered one of the camp.

In consequence, very probably, of the military precautions of Captain

Bonneville, he conducted his party in safety through this hazardous

region. No accident of a disastrous kind occurred, excepting the loss of

a horse, which, in passing along the giddy edge of a precipice, called

the Cornice, a dangerous pass between Jackson’s and Pierre’s Hole, fell

over the brink, and was dashed to pieces.

On the 13th of July (1833), Captain Bonneville arrived at Green River.

As he entered the valley, he beheld it strewed in every direction with

the carcasses of buffaloes. It was evident that Indians had recently

been there, and in great numbers. Alarmed at this sight, he came to

a halt, and as soon as it was dark, sent out spies to his place of

rendezvous on Horse Creek, where he had expected to meet with his

detached parties of trappers on the following day. Early in the morning

the spies made their appearance in the camp, and with them came three

trappers of one of his bands, from the rendezvous, who told him his

people were all there expecting him. As to the slaughter among the

buffaloes, it had been made by a friendly band of Shoshonies, who had

fallen in with one of his trapping parties, and accompanied them to the

rendezvous. Having imparted this intelligence, the three worthies from

the rendezvous broached a small keg of “alcohol,” which they had brought

with them to enliven this merry meeting. The liquor went briskly round;

all absent friends were toasted, and the party moved forward to the

rendezvous in high spirits.

The meeting of associated bands, who have been separated from each other

on these hazardous enterprises, is always interesting; each having its

tales of perils and adventures to relate. Such was the case with the

various detachments of Captain Bonneville’s company, thus brought

together on Horse Creek. Here was the detachment of fifty men which

he had sent from Salmon River, in the preceding month of November, to

winter on Snake River. They had met with many crosses and losses in the

course of their spring hunt, not so much from Indians as from white men.

They had come in competition with rival trapping parties, particularly

one belonging to the Rocky Mountain Fur Company; and they had long

stories to relate of their manoeuvres to forestall or distress each

other. In fact, in these virulent and sordid competitions, the trappers

of each party were more intent upon injuring their rivals, than

benefitting themselves; breaking each other’s traps, trampling and

tearing to pieces the beaver lodges, and doing every thing in their

power to mar the success of the hunt. We forbear to detail these pitiful

contentions.

The most lamentable tale of disasters, however, that Captain Bonneville

had to hear, was from a partisan, whom he had detached in the preceding

year, with twenty men, to hunt through the outskirts of the Crow

country, and on the tributary streams of the Yellowstone; whence he was

to proceed and join him in his winter quarters on Salmon River. This

partisan appeared at the rendezvous without his party, and a sorrowful

tale of disasters had he to relate. In hunting the Crow country, he fell

in with a village of that tribe; notorious rogues, jockeys, and horse

stealers, and errant scamperers of the mountains. These decoyed most of

his men to desert, and carry off horses, traps, and accoutrements. When

he attempted to retake the deserters, the Crow warriors ruffled up to

him and declared the deserters were their good friends, had determined

to remain among them, and should not be molested. The poor partisan,

therefore, was fain to leave his vagabonds among these birds of their

own feather, and being too weak in numbers to attempt the dangerous

pass across the mountains to meet Captain Bonneville on Salmon River, he

made, with the few that remained faithful to him, for the neighborhood

of Tullock’s Fort, on the Yellowstone, under the protection of which he

went into winter quarters.

He soon found out that the neighborhood of the fort was nearly as bad

as the neighborhood of the Crows. His men were continually stealing

away thither, with whatever beaver skins they could secrete or lay their

hands on. These they would exchange with the hangers-on of the fort for

whiskey, and then revel in drunkeness and debauchery.

The unlucky partisan made another move. Associating with his party a

few free trappers, whom he met with in this neighborhood, he started off

early in the spring to trap on the head waters of Powder River. In the

course of the journey, his horses were so much jaded in traversing a

steep mountain, that he was induced to turn them loose to graze during

the night. The place was lonely; the path was rugged; there was not the

sign of an Indian in the neighborhood; not a blade of grass that had

been turned by a footstep. But who can calculate on security in the

midst of the Indian country, where the foe lurks in silence and secrecy,

and seems to come and go on the wings of the wind? The horses had scarce

been turned loose, when a couple of Arickara (or Rickaree) warriors

entered the camp. They affected a frank and friendly demeanor; but their

appearance and movements awakened the suspicions of some of the veteran

trappers, well versed in Indian wiles. Convinced that they were spies

sent on some sinister errand, they took them in custody, and set to work

to drive in the horses. It was too late--the horses were already gone.

In fact, a war party of Arickaras had been hovering on their trail for

several days, watching with the patience and perseverance of Indians,

for some moment of negligence and fancied security, to make a successful

swoop. The two spies had evidently been sent into the camp to create a

diversion, while their confederates carried off the spoil.

The unlucky partisan, thus robbed of his horses, turned furiously on his

prisoners, ordered them to be bound hand and foot, and swore to put them

to death unless his property were restored. The robbers, who soon

found that their spies were in captivity, now made their appearance on

horseback, and held a parley. The sight of them, mounted on the very

horses they had stolen, set the blood of the mountaineers in a ferment;

but it was useless to attack them, as they would have but to turn their

steeds and scamper out of the reach of pedestrians. A negotiation was

now attempted. The Arickaras offered what they considered fair terms; to

barter one horse, or even two horses, for a prisoner. The mountaineers

spurned at their offer, and declared that, unless all the horses were

relinquished, the prisoners should be burnt to death. To give force to

their threat, a pyre of logs and fagots was heaped up and kindled into a

blaze.

The parley continued; the Arickaras released one horse and then another,

in earnest of their proposition; finding, however, that nothing short of

the relinquishment of all their spoils would purchase the lives of

the captives, they abandoned them to their fate, moving off with many

parting words and lamentable howlings. The prisoners seeing them depart,

and knowing the horrible fate that awaited them, made a desperate effort

to escape. They partially succeeded, but were severely wounded and

retaken; then dragged to the blazing pyre, and burnt to death in the

sight of their retreating comrades.

Such are the savage cruelties that white men learn to practise, who

mingle in savage life; and such are the acts that lead to terrible

recrimination on the part of the Indians. Should we hear of any

atrocities committed by the Arickaras upon captive white men, let this

signal and recent provocation be borne in mind. Individual cases of the

kind dwell in the recollections of whole tribes; and it is a point of

honor and conscience to revenge them.

The loss of his horses completed the ruin of the unlucky partisan. It

was out of his power to prosecute his hunting, or to maintain his party;

the only thought now was how to get back to civilized life. At the first

water-course, his men built canoes, and committed themselves to the

stream. Some engaged themselves at various trading establishments

at which they touched, others got back to the settlements. As to the

partisan, he found an opportunity to make his way to the rendezvous

at Green River Valley; which he reached in time to render to Captain

Bonneville this forlorn account of his misadventures.

20.

Gathering in Green River valley--Visitings and feastings of

leaders--Rough wassailing among the trappers--Wild blades of

the mountains--Indian belles--Potency of bright beads and

red blankets--Arrival of supplies--Revelry and extravagance

--Mad wolves--The lost Indian

THE GREEN RIVER VALLEY was at this time the scene of one of those

general gatherings of traders, trappers, and Indians, that we have

already mentioned. The three rival companies, which, for a year past

had been endeavoring to out-trade, out-trap and out-wit each other, were

here encamped in close proximity, awaiting their annual supplies. About

four miles from the rendezvous of Captain Bonneville was that of the

American Fur Company, hard by which, was that also of the Rocky Mountain

Fur Company.

After the eager rivalry and almost hostility displayed by these

companies in their late campaigns, it might be expected that, when thus

brought in juxtaposition, they would hold themselves warily and sternly

aloof from each other, and, should they happen to come in contact, brawl

and bloodshed would ensue.

No such thing! Never did rival lawyers, after a wrangle at the bar,

meet with more social good humor at a circuit dinner. The hunting

season over, all past tricks and maneuvres are forgotten, all feuds and

bickerings buried in oblivion. From the middle of June to the middle of

September, all trapping is suspended; for the beavers are then shedding

their furs and their skins are of little value. This, then, is the

trapper’s holiday, when he is all for fun and frolic, and ready for a

saturnalia among the mountains.

At the present season, too, all parties were in good humor. The year had

been productive. Competition, by threatening to lessen their profits,

had quickened their wits, roused their energies, and made them turn

every favorable chance to the best advantage; so that, on assembling

at their respective places of rendezvous, each company found itself in

possession of a rich stock of peltries.

The leaders of the different companies, therefore, mingled on terms of

perfect good fellowship; interchanging visits, and regaling each other

in the best style their respective camps afforded. But the rich

treat for the worthy captain was to see the “chivalry” of the various

encampments, engaged in contests of skill at running, jumping,

wrestling, shooting with the rifle, and running horses. And then their

rough hunters’ feastings and carousels. They drank together, they sang,

they laughed, they whooped; they tried to out-brag and out-lie each

other in stories of their adventures and achievements. Here the free

trappers were in all their glory; they considered themselves the “cocks

of the walk,” and always carried the highest crests. Now and then

familiarity was pushed too far, and would effervesce into a brawl, and a

“rough and tumble” fight; but it all ended in cordial reconciliation and

maudlin endearment.

The presence of the Shoshonie tribe contributed occasionally to cause

temporary jealousies and feuds. The Shoshonie beauties became objects

of rivalry among some of the amorous mountaineers. Happy was the trapper

who could muster up a red blanket, a string of gay beads, or a paper

of precious vermilion, with which to win the smiles of a Shoshonie fair

one.

The caravans of supplies arrived at the valley just at this period

of gallantry and good fellowship. Now commenced a scene of eager

competition and wild prodigality at the different encampments. Bales

were hastily ripped open, and their motley contents poured forth.

A mania for purchasing spread itself throughout the several

bands--munitions for war, for hunting, for gallantry, were seized upon

with equal avidity--rifles, hunting knives, traps, scarlet cloth, red

blankets, garish beads, and glittering trinkets, were bought at any

price, and scores run up without any thought how they were ever to be

rubbed off. The free trappers, especially, were extravagant in their

purchases. For a free mountaineer to pause at a paltry consideration of

dollars and cents, in the attainment of any object that might strike his

fancy, would stamp him with the mark of the beast in the estimation of

his comrades. For a trader to refuse one of these free and flourishing

blades a credit, whatever unpaid scores might stare him in the face,

would be a flagrant affront scarcely to be forgiven.

Now succeeded another outbreak of revelry and extravagance. The trappers

were newly fitted out and arrayed, and dashed about with their horses

caparisoned in Indian style. The Shoshonie beauties also flaunted

about in all the colors of the rainbow. Every freak of prodigality

was indulged to its fullest extent, and in a little while most of

the trappers, having squandered away all their wages, and perhaps

run knee-deep in debt, were ready for another hard campaign in the

wilderness.

During this season of folly and frolic, there was an alarm of mad wolves

in the two lower camps. One or more of these animals entered the camps

for three nights successively, and bit several of the people.

Captain Bonneville relates the case of an Indian, who was a universal

favorite in the lower camp. He had been bitten by one of these animals.

Being out with a party shortly afterwards, he grew silent and gloomy,

and lagged behind the rest as if he wished to leave them. They halted

and urged him to move faster, but he entreated them not to approach him,

and, leaping from his horse, began to roll frantically on the earth,

gnashing his teeth and foaming at the mouth. Still he retained his

senses, and warned his companions not to come near him, as he should not

be able to restrain himself from biting them. They hurried off to obtain

relief; but on their return he was nowhere to be found. His horse and

his accoutrements remained upon the spot. Three or four days afterwards

a solitary Indian, believed to be the same, was observed crossing a

valley, and pursued; but he darted away into the fastnesses of the

mountains, and was seen no more.

Another instance we have from a different person who was present in the

encampment. One of the men of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company had been

bitten. He set out shortly afterwards in company with two white men on

his return to the settlements. In the course of a few days he showed

symptoms of hydrophobia, and became raving toward night. At length,

breaking away from his companions, he rushed into a thicket of willows,

where they left him to his fate!

21.

Schemes of Captain Bonneville--The Great Salt Lake

Expedition to explore it--Preparations for a journey to the

Bighorn

CAPTAIN BONNEVILLE now found himself at the head of a hardy,

well-seasoned and well-appointed company of trappers, all benefited

by at least one year’s experience among the mountains, and capable of

protecting themselves from Indian wiles and stratagems, and of providing

for their subsistence wherever game was to be found. He had, also, an

excellent troop of horses, in prime condition, and fit for hard service.

He determined, therefore, to strike out into some of the bolder parts of

his scheme. One of these was to carry his expeditions into some of the

unknown tracts of the Far West, beyond what is generally termed the

buffalo range. This would have something of the merit and charm of

discovery, so dear to every brave and adventurous spirit. Another

favorite project was to establish a trading post on the lower part

of the Columbia River, near the Multnomah valley, and to endeavor to

retrieve for his country some of the lost trade of Astoria.

The first of the above mentioned views was, at present, uppermost in his

mind--the exploring of unknown regions. Among the grand features of the

wilderness about which he was roaming, one had made a vivid impression

on his mind, and been clothed by his imagination with vague and ideal

charms. This is a great lake of salt water, laving the feet of the

mountains, but extending far to the west-southwest, into one of those

vast and elevated plateaus of land, which range high above the level of

the Pacific.

Captain Bonneville gives a striking account of the lake when seen from

the land. As you ascend the mountains about its shores, says he, you

behold this immense body of water spreading itself before you, and

stretching further and further, in one wide and far-reaching expanse,

until the eye, wearied with continued and strained attention, rests

in the blue dimness of distance, upon lofty ranges of mountains,

confidently asserted to rise from the bosom of the waters. Nearer to

you, the smooth and unruffled surface is studded with little islands,

where the mountain sheep roam in considerable numbers. What extent of

lowland may be encompassed by the high peaks beyond, must remain for the

present matter of mere conjecture though from the form of the summits,

and the breaks which may be discovered among them, there can be little

doubt that they are the sources of streams calculated to water large

tracts, which are probably concealed from view by the rotundity of the

lake’s surface. At some future day, in all probability, the rich harvest

of beaver fur, which may be reasonably anticipated in such a spot, will

tempt adventurers to reduce all this doubtful region to the palpable

certainty of a beaten track. At present, however, destitute of the means

of making boats, the trapper stands upon the shore, and gazes upon a

promised land which his feet are never to tread.

Such is the somewhat fanciful view which Captain Bonneville gives to

this great body of water. He has evidently taken part of his ideas

concerning it from the representations of others, who have somewhat

exaggerated its features. It is reported to be about one hundred and

fifty miles long, and fifty miles broad. The ranges of mountain peaks

which Captain Bonneville speaks of, as rising from its bosom, are

probably the summits of mountains beyond it, which may be visible at

a vast distance, when viewed from an eminence, in the transparent

atmosphere of these lofty regions. Several large islands certainly exist

in the lake; one of which is said to be mountainous, but not by any

means to the extent required to furnish the series of peaks above

mentioned.

Captain Sublette, in one of his early expeditions across the mountains,

is said to have sent four men in a skin canoe, to explore the lake,

who professed to have navigated all round it; but to have suffered

excessively from thirst, the water of the lake being extremely salt, and

there being no fresh streams running into it.

Captain Bonneville doubts this report, or that the men accomplished

the circumnavigation, because, he says, the lake receives several large

streams from the mountains which bound it to the east. In the spring,

when the streams are swollen by rain and by the melting of the snows,

the lake rises several feet above its ordinary level during the summer,

it gradually subsides again, leaving a sparkling zone of the finest salt

upon its shores.

The elevation of the vast plateau on which this lake is situated, is

estimated by Captain Bonneville at one and three-fourths of a mile above

the level of the ocean. The admirable purity and transparency of the

atmosphere in this region, allowing objects to be seen, and the report

of firearms to be heard, at an astonishing distance; and its extreme

dryness, causing the wheels of wagons to fall in pieces, as instanced

in former passages of this work, are proofs of the great altitude of the

Rocky Mountain plains. That a body of salt water should exist at such a

height is cited as a singular phenomenon by Captain Bonneville, though

the salt lake of Mexico is not much inferior in elevation.

To have this lake properly explored, and all its secrets revealed, was

the grand scheme of the captain for the present year; and while it was

one in which his imagination evidently took a leading part, he believed

it would be attended with great profit, from the numerous beaver streams

with which the lake must be fringed.

This momentous undertaking he confided to his lieutenant, Mr. Walker, in

whose experience and ability he had great confidence. He instructed him

to keep along the shores of the lake, and trap in all the streams on his

route; also to keep a journal, and minutely to record the events of his

journey, and everything curious or interesting, making maps or charts of

his route, and of the surrounding country.

No pains nor expense were spared in fitting out the party, of forty men,

which he was to command. They had complete supplies for a year, and were

to meet Captain Bonneville in the ensuing summer, in the valley of Bear

River, the largest tributary of the Salt Lake, which was to be his point

of general rendezvous.

The next care of Captain Bonneville was to arrange for the safe

transportation of the peltries which he had collected to the Atlantic

States. Mr. Robert Campbell, the partner of Sublette, was at this time

in the rendezvous of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, having brought up

their supplies. He was about to set off on his return, with the peltries

collected during the year, and intended to proceed through the Crow

country, to the head of navigation on the Bighorn River, and to descend

in boats down that river, the Missouri, and the Yellowstone, to St.

Louis.

Captain Bonneville determined to forward his peltries by the same

route, under the especial care of Mr. Cerre. By way of escort, he would

accompany Cerre to the point of embarkation, and then make an autumnal

hunt in the Crow country.

22.

The Crow country--A Crow paradise Habits of the Crows--

Anecdotes of Rose, the renegade white man--His fights with

the Blackfeet--His elevation--His death--Arapooish, the Crow

chief--His eagle Adventure of Robert Campbell--Honor among

Crows

BEFORE WE ACCOMPANY Captain Bonneville into the Crow country, we will

impart a few facts about this wild region, and the wild people who

inhabit it. We are not aware of the precise boundaries, if there are

any, of the country claimed by the Crows; it appears to extend from

the Black Hills to the Rocky Mountains, including a part of their lofty

ranges, and embracing many of the plains and valleys watered by the Wind

River, the Yellowstone, the Powder River, the Little Missouri, and the

Nebraska. The country varies in soil and climate; there are vast plains

of sand and clay, studded with large red sand-hills; other parts are

mountainous and picturesque; it possesses warm springs, and coal mines,

and abounds with game.

But let us give the account of the country as rendered by Arapooish, a

Crow chief, to Mr. Robert Campbell, of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company.

“The Crow country,” said he, “is a good country. The Great Spirit has

put it exactly in the right place; while you-are in it you fare well;

whenever you go out of it, whichever way you travel, you fare worse.

“If you go to the south, you have to wander over great barren plains;

the water is warm and bad, and you meet the fever and ague.

“To the north it is cold; the winters are long and bitter, with no

grass; you cannot keep horses there, but must travel with dogs. What is

a country without horses?

“On the Columbia they are poor and dirty, paddle about in canoes, and

eat fish. Their teeth are worn out; they are always taking fish-bones

out of their mouths. Fish is poor food.

“To the east, they dwell in villages; they live well; but they drink the

muddy water of the Missouri--that is bad. A Crow’s dog would not drink

such water.

“About the forks of the Missouri is a fine country; good water; good

grass; plenty of buffalo. In summer, it is almost as good as the Crow

country; but in winter it is cold; the grass is gone; and there is no

salt weed for the horses.

“The Crow country is exactly in the right place. It has snowy mountains

and sunny plains; all kinds of climates and good things for every

season. When the summer heats scorch the prairies, you can draw up under

the mountains, where the air is sweet and cool, the grass fresh, and the

bright streams come tumbling out of the snow-banks. There you can

hunt the elk, the deer, and the antelope, when their skins are fit for

dressing; there you will find plenty of white bears and mountain sheep.

“In the autumn, when your horses are fat and strong from the mountain

pastures, you can go down into the plains and hunt the buffalo, or trap

beaver on the streams. And when winter comes on, you can take shelter in

the woody bottoms along the rivers; there you will find buffalo meat for

yourselves, and cotton-wood bark for your horses: or you may winter in

the Wind River valley, where there is salt weed in abundance.

“The Crow country is exactly in the right place. Everything good is to

be found there. There is no country like the Crow country.”

Such is the eulogium on his country by Arapooish.

We have had repeated occasions to speak of the restless and predatory

habits of the Crows. They can muster fifteen hundred fighting men, but

their incessant wars with the Blackfeet, and their vagabond, predatory

habits, are gradually wearing them out.

In a recent work, we related the circumstance of a white man named Rose,

an outlaw, and a designing vagabond, who acted as guide and interpreter

to Mr. Hunt and his party, on their journey across the mountains to

Astoria, who came near betraying them into the hands of the Crows, and

who remained among the tribe, marrying one of their women, and adopting

their congenial habits. A few anecdotes of the subsequent fortunes of

that renegade may not be uninteresting, especially as they are connected

with the fortunes of the tribe.

Rose was powerful in frame and fearless in spirit; and soon by his

daring deeds took his rank among the first braves of the tribe. He

aspired to command, and knew it was only to be attained by desperate

exploits. He distinguished himself in repeated actions with Blackfeet.

On one occasion, a band of those savages had fortified themselves within

a breastwork, and could not be harmed. Rose proposed to storm the work.

“Who will take the lead?” was the demand. “I!” cried he; and putting

himself at their head, rushed forward. The first Blackfoot that opposed

him he shot down with his rifle, and, snatching up the war-club of his

victim, killed four others within the fort. The victory was complete,

and Rose returned to the Crow village covered with glory, and bearing

five Blackfoot scalps, to be erected as a trophy before his lodge. From

this time, he was known among the Crows by the name of Che-ku-kaats,

or “the man who killed five.” He became chief of the village, or rather

band, and for a time was the popular idol. His popularity soon awakened

envy among the native braves; he was a stranger, an intruder, a white

man. A party seceded from his command. Feuds and civil wars succeeded

that lasted for two or three years, until Rose, having contrived to set

his adopted brethren by the ears, left them, and went down the Missouri

in 1823. Here he fell in with one of the earliest trapping expeditions

sent by General Ashley across the mountains. It was conducted by

Smith, Fitzpatrick, and Sublette. Rose enlisted with them as guide

and interpreter. When he got them among the Crows, he was exceedingly

generous with their goods; making presents to the braves of his adopted

tribe, as became a high-minded chief.

This, doubtless, helped to revive his popularity. In that expedition,

Smith and Fitzpatrick were robbed of their horses in Green River valley;

the place where the robbery took place still bears the name of Horse

Creek. We are not informed whether the horses were stolen through the

instigation and management of Rose; it is not improbable, for such was

the perfidy he had intended to practice on a former occasion toward Mr.

Hunt and his party.

The last anecdote we have of Rose is from an Indian trader. When General

Atkinson made his military expedition up the Missouri, in 1825, to

protect the fur trade, he held a conference with the Crow nation,

at which Rose figured as Indian dignitary and Crow interpreter. The

military were stationed at some little distance from the scene of the

“big talk”; while the general and the chiefs were smoking pipes and

making speeches, the officers, supposing all was friendly, left the

troops, and drew near the scene of ceremonial. Some of the more knowing

Crows, perceiving this, stole quietly to the camp, and, unobserved,

contrived to stop the touch-holes of the field-pieces with dirt. Shortly

after, a misunderstanding occurred in the conference: some of the

Indians, knowing the cannon to be useless, became insolent. A tumult

arose. In the confusion, Colonel O’Fallan snapped a pistol in the face

of a brave, and knocked him down with the butt end. The Crows were all

in a fury. A chance-medley fight was on the point of taking place, when

Rose, his natural sympathies as a white man suddenly recurring, broke

the stock of his fusee over the head of a Crow warrior, and laid so

vigorously about him with the barrel, that he soon put the whole throng

to flight. Luckily, as no lives had been lost, this sturdy rib roasting

calmed the fury of the Crows, and the tumult ended without serious

consequences.

What was the ultimate fate of this vagabond hero is not distinctly

known. Some report him to have fallen a victim to disease, brought on by

his licentious life; others assert that he was murdered in a feud

among the Crows. After all, his residence among these savages, and

the influence he acquired over them, had, for a time, some beneficial

effects. He is said, not merely to have rendered them more formidable

to the Blackfeet, but to have opened their eyes to the policy of

cultivating the friendship of the white men.

After Rose’s death, his policy continued to be cultivated, with

indifferent success, by Arapooish, the chief already mentioned, who

had been his great friend, and whose character he had contributed

to develope. This sagacious chief endeavored, on every occasion, to

restrain the predatory propensities of his tribe when directed against

the white men. “If we keep friends with them,” said he, “we have nothing

to fear from the Blackfeet, and can rule the mountains.” Arapooish

pretended to be a great “medicine man”, a character among the Indians

which is a compound of priest, doctor, prophet, and conjurer. He carried

about with him a tame eagle, as his “medicine” or familiar. With the

white men, he acknowledged that this was all charlatanism, but said it

was necessary, to give him weight and influence among his people.

Mr. Robert Campbell, from whom we have most of these facts, in the

course of one of his trapping expeditions, was quartered in the

village of Arapooish, and a guest in the lodge of the chieftain. He had

collected a large quantity of furs, and, fearful of being plundered,

deposited but a part in the lodge of the chief; the rest he buried in a

cache. One night, Arapooish came into the lodge with a cloudy brow, and

seated himself for a time without saying a word. At length, turning to

Campbell, “You have more furs with you,” said he, “than you have brought

into my lodge?”

“I have,” replied Campbell.

“Where are they?”

Campbell knew the uselessness of any prevarication with an Indian; and

the importance of complete frankness. He described the exact place where

he had concealed his peltries.

“‘Tis well,” replied Arapooish; “you speak straight. It is just as you

say. But your cache has been robbed. Go and see how many skins have been

taken from it.”

Campbell examined the cache, and estimated his loss to be about one

hundred and fifty beaver skins.

Arapooish now summoned a meeting of the village. He bitterly reproached

his people for robbing a stranger who had confided to their honor; and

commanded that whoever had taken the skins, should bring them back:

declaring that, as Campbell was his guest and inmate of his lodge, he

would not eat nor drink until every skin was restored to him.

The meeting broke up, and every one dispersed. Arapooish now charged

Campbell to give neither reward nor thanks to any one who should bring

in the beaver skins, but to keep count as they were delivered.

In a little while, the skins began to make their appearance, a few at

a time; they were laid down in the lodge, and those who brought them

departed without saying a word. The day passed away. Arapooish sat

in one corner of his lodge, wrapped up in his robe, scarcely moving a

muscle of his countenance. When night arrived, he demanded if all

the skins had been brought in. Above a hundred had been given up, and

Campbell expressed himself contented. Not so the Crow chieftain. He

fasted all that night, nor tasted a drop of water. In the morning, some

more skins were brought in, and continued to come, one and two at a

time, throughout the day, until but a few were wanting to make the

number complete. Campbell was now anxious to put an end to this fasting

of the old chief, and again declared that he was perfectly satisfied.

Arapooish demanded what number of skins were yet wanting. On being told,

he whispered to some of his people, who disappeared. After a time the

number were brought in, though it was evident they were not any of the

skins that had been stolen, but others gleaned in the village.

“Is all right now?” demanded Arapooish.

“All is right,” replied Campbell.

“Good! Now bring me meat and drink!”

When they were alone together, Arapooish had a conversation with his

guest.

“When you come another time among the Crows,” said he, “don’t hide your

goods: trust to them and they will not wrong you. Put your goods in the

lodge of a chief, and they are sacred; hide them in a cache, and any one

who finds will steal them. My people have now given up your goods for

my sake; but there are some foolish young men in the village, who may

be disposed to be troublesome. Don’t linger, therefore, but pack your

horses and be off.”

Campbell took his advice, and made his way safely out of the Crow

country. He has ever since maintained that the Crows are not so black

as they are painted. “Trust to their honor,” says he, “and you are safe:

trust to their honesty, and they will steal the hair off your head.”

Having given these few preliminary particulars, we will resume the

course of our narrative.

23.

Departure from--Green River valley--Popo-Agie--Its course--

The rivers into which it runs--Scenery of the Bluffs the

great Tar Spring--Volcanic tracts in the Crow country--

Burning Mountain of Powder River--Sulphur springs--Hidden

fires--Colter’s Hell-Wind River--Campbell’s party--

Fitzpatrick and his trappers--Captain Stewart, an amateur

traveller--Nathaniel Wyeth--Anecdotes of his expedition to

the Far West--Disaster of Campbell’s party--A union of

bands--The Bad Pass--The rapids--Departure of Fitzpatrick--

Embarkation of peltries--Wyeth and his bull boat--Adventures

of Captain--Bonneville in the Bighorn Mountains--Adventures

in the plain--Traces of Indians--Travelling precautions--

Dangers of making a smoke--The rendezvous

ON THE 25TH of July, Captain Bonneville struck his tents, and set out

on his route for the Bighorn, at the head of a party of fifty-six men,

including those who were to embark with Cerre. Crossing the Green River

valley, he proceeded along the south point of the Wind River range of

mountains, and soon fell upon the track of Mr. Robert Campbell’s party,

which had preceded him by a day. This he pursued, until he perceived

that it led down the banks of the Sweet Water to the southeast. As this

was different from his proposed direction, he left it; and turning to

the northeast, soon came upon the waters of the Popo Agie. This stream

takes its rise in the Wind River Mountains. Its name, like most Indian

names, is characteristic. Popo, in the Crow language, signifies head;

and Agie, river. It is the head of a long river, extending from the

south end of the Wind River Mountains in a northeast direction, until it

falls into the Yellowstone. Its course is generally through plains,

but is twice crossed by chains of mountains; the first called the

Littlehorn; the second, the Bighorn. After it has forced its way through

the first chain, it is called the Horn River; after the second chain,

it is called the Bighorn River. Its passage through this last chain

is rough and violent; making repeated falls, and rushing down long and

furious rapids, which threaten destruction to the navigator; though a

hardy trapper is said to have shot down them in a canoe. At the foot of

these rapids, is the head of navigation; where it was the intention of

the parties to construct boats, and embark.

Proceeding down along the Popo Agie, Captain Bonneville came again in

full view of the “Bluffs,” as they are called, extending from the base

of the Wind River Mountains far away to the east, and presenting to the

eye a confusion of hills and cliffs of red sandstone, some peaked and

angular, some round, some broken into crags and precipices, and piled up

in fantastic masses; but all naked and sterile. There appeared to be no

soil favorable to vegetation, nothing but coarse gravel; yet, over all

this isolated, barren landscape, were diffused such atmospherical tints

and hues, as to blend the whole into harmony and beauty.

In this neighborhood, the captain made search for “the great Tar

Spring,” one of the wonders of the mountains; the medicinal properties

of which, he had heard extravagantly lauded by the trappers. After a

toilsome search, he found it at the foot of a sand-bluff, a little east

of the Wind River Mountains; where it exuded in a small stream of the

color and consistency of tar. The men immediately hastened to collect

a quantity of it, to use as an ointment for the galled backs of

their horses, and as a balsam for their own pains and aches. From the

description given of it, it is evidently the bituminous oil, called

petrolium or naphtha, which forms a principal ingredient in the potent

medicine called British Oil. It is found in various parts of Europe and

Asia, in several of the West India islands, and in some places of the

United States. In the state of New York, it is called Seneca Oil, from

being found near the Seneca lake.

The Crow country has other natural curiosities, which are held in

superstitious awe by the Indians, and considered great marvels by the

trappers. Such is the Burning Mountain, on Powder River, abounding

with anthracite coal. Here the earth is hot and cracked; in many places

emitting smoke and sulphurous vapors, as if covering concealed fires. A

volcanic tract of similar character is found on Stinking River, one of

the tributaries of the Bighorn, which takes its unhappy name from the

odor derived from sulphurous springs and streams. This last mentioned

place was first discovered by Colter, a hunter belonging to Lewis and

Clarke’s exploring party, who came upon it in the course of his lonely

wanderings, and gave such an account of its gloomy terrors, its hidden

fires, smoking pits, noxious streams, and the all-pervading “smell

of brimstone,” that it received, and has ever since retained among

trappers, the name of “Colter’s Hell!”

Resuming his descent along the left bank of the Popo Agie, Captain

Bonneville soon reached the plains; where he found several large streams

entering from the west. Among these was Wind River, which gives its name

to the mountains among which it takes its rise. This is one of the most

important streams of the Crow country. The river being much swollen,

Captain Bonneville halted at its mouth, and sent out scouts to look for

a fording place. While thus encamped, he beheld in the course of the

afternoon a long line of horsemen descending the slope of the hills on

the opposite side of the Popo Agie. His first idea was that they were

Indians; he soon discovered, however, that they were white men, and,

by the long line of pack-horses, ascertained them to be the convoy of

Campbell, which, having descended the Sweet Water, was now on its way to

the Horn River.

The two parties came together two or three days afterwards, on the

4th of August, after having passed through the gap of the Littlehorn

Mountain. In company with Campbell’s convoy was a trapping party of the

Rocky Mountain Company, headed by Fitzpatrick; who, after Campbell’s

embarkation on the Bighorn, was to take charge of all the horses,

and proceed on a trapping campaign. There were, moreover, two chance

companions in the rival camp. One was Captain Stewart, of the British

army, a gentleman of noble connections, who was amusing himself by a

wandering tour in the Far West; in the course of which, he had lived

in hunter’s style; accompanying various bands of traders, trappers, and

Indians; and manifesting that relish for the wilderness that belongs to

men of game spirit.

The other casual inmate of Mr. Campbell’s camp was Mr. Nathaniel Wyeth;

the self-same leader of the band of New England salmon fishers, with

whom we parted company in the valley of Pierre’s Hole, after the battle

with the Blackfeet. A few days after that affair, he again set out

from the rendezvous in company with Milton Sublette and his brigade of

trappers. On his march, he visited the battle ground, and penetrated to

the deserted fort of the Blackfeet in the midst of the wood. It was a

dismal scene. The fort was strewed with the mouldering bodies of the

slain; while vultures soared aloft, or sat brooding on the trees around;

and Indian dogs howled about the place, as if bewailing the death

of their masters. Wyeth travelled for a considerable distance to the

southwest, in company with Milton Sublette, when they separated; and the

former, with eleven men, the remnant of his band, pushed on for Snake

River; kept down the course of that eventful stream; traversed the Blue

Mountains, trapping beaver occasionally by the way, and finally, after

hardships of all kinds, arrived, on the 29th of October, at Vancouver,

on the Columbia, the main factory of the Hudson’s Bay Company.

He experienced hospitable treatment at the hands of the agents of that

company; but his men, heartily tired of wandering in the wilderness, or

tempted by other prospects, refused, for the most part, to continue

any longer in his service. Some set off for the Sandwich Islands; some

entered into other employ. Wyeth found, too, that a great part of the

goods he had brought with him were unfitted for the Indian trade; in a

word, his expedition, undertaken entirely on his own resources, proved a

failure. He lost everything invested in it, but his hopes. These were as

strong as ever. He took note of every thing, therefore, that could be of

service to him in the further prosecution of his project; collected

all the information within his reach, and then set off, accompanied by

merely two men, on his return journey across the continent. He had got

thus far “by hook and by crook,” a mode in which a New England man can

make his way all over the world, and through all kinds of difficulties,

and was now bound for Boston; in full confidence of being able to form a

company for the salmon fishery and fur trade of the Columbia.

The party of Mr. Campbell had met with a disaster in the course of

their route from the Sweet Water. Three or four of the men, who were

reconnoitering the country in advance of the main body, were visited one

night in their camp, by fifteen or twenty Shoshonies. Considering this

tribe as perfectly friendly, they received them in the most cordial and

confiding manner. In the course of the night, the man on guard near the

horses fell sound asleep; upon which a Shoshonie shot him in the head,

and nearly killed him. The savages then made off with the horses,

leaving the rest of the party to find their way to the main body on

foot.

The rival companies of Captain Bonneville and Mr. Campbell, thus

fortuitously brought together, now prosecuted their journey in great

good fellowship; forming a joint camp of about a hundred men. The

captain, however, began to entertain doubts that Fitzpatrick and his

trappers, who kept profound silence as to their future movements,

intended to hunt the same grounds which he had selected for his autumnal

campaign; which lay to the west of the Horn River, on its tributary

streams. In the course of his march, therefore, he secretly detached

a small party of trappers, to make their way to those hunting grounds,

while he continued on with the main body; appointing a rendezvous, at

the next full moon, about the 28th of August, at a place called the

Medicine Lodge.

On reaching the second chain, called the Bighorn Mountains, where

the river forced its impetuous way through a precipitous defile, with

cascades and rapids, the travellers were obliged to leave its banks,

and traverse the mountains by a rugged and frightful route, emphatically

called the “Bad Pass.” Descending the opposite side, they again made for

the river banks; and about the middle of August, reached the point below

the rapids where the river becomes navigable for boats. Here Captain

Bonneville detached a second party of trappers, consisting of ten

men, to seek and join those whom he had detached while on the route;

appointing for them the same rendezvous, (at the Medicine Lodge,) on the

28th of August.

All hands now set to work to construct “bull boats,” as they are

technically called; a light, fragile kind of bark, characteristic of

the expedients and inventions of the wilderness; being formed of buffalo

skins, stretched on frames. They are sometimes, also, called skin boats.

Wyeth was the first ready; and, with his usual promptness and hardihood,

launched his frail bark, singly, on this wild and hazardous voyage, down

an almost interminable succession of rivers, winding through countries

teeming with savage hordes. Milton Sublette, his former fellow

traveller, and his companion in the battle scenes of Pierre’s Hole,

took passage in his boat. His crew consisted of two white men, and two

Indians. We shall hear further of Wyeth, and his wild voyage, in the

course of our wanderings about the Far West.

The remaining parties soon completed their several armaments. That

of Captain Bonneville was composed of three bull boats, in which he

embarked all his peltries, giving them in charge of Mr. Cerre, with a

party of thirty-six men. Mr. Campbell took command of his own boats, and

the little squadrons were soon gliding down the bright current of the

Bighorn.

The secret precautions which Captain Bonneville had taken to throw his

men first into the trapping ground west of the Bighorn, were, probably,

superfluous. It did not appear that Fitzpatrick had intended to hunt in

that direction. The moment Mr. Campbell and his men embarked with the

peltries, Fitzpatrick took charge of all the horses, amounting to above

a hundred, and struck off to the east, to trap upon Littlehorn, Powder,

and Tongue rivers. He was accompanied by Captain Stewart, who was

desirous of having a range about the Crow country. Of the adventures

they met with in that region of vagabonds and horse stealers, we shall

have something to relate hereafter.

Captain Bonneville being now left to prosecute his trapping campaign

without rivalry, set out, on the 17th of August, for the rendezvous at

Medicine Lodge. He had but four men remaining with him, and forty-six

horses to take care of; with these he had to make his way over mountain

and plain, through a marauding, horse-stealing region, full of peril

for a numerous cavalcade so slightly manned. He addressed himself to his

difficult journey, however, with his usual alacrity of spirit.

In the afternoon of his first day’s journey, on drawing near to the

Bighorn Mountain, on the summit of which he intended to encamp for the

night, he observed, to his disquiet, a cloud of smoke rising from

its base. He came to a halt, and watched it anxiously. It was very

irregular; sometimes it would almost die away; and then would mount up

in heavy volumes. There was, apparently, a large party encamped there;

probably, some ruffian horde of Blackfeet. At any rate, it would not do

for so small a number of men, with so numerous a cavalcade, to venture

within sight of any wandering tribe. Captain Bonneville and his

companions, therefore, avoided this dangerous neighborhood; and,

proceeding with extreme caution, reached the summit of the mountain,

apparently without being discovered. Here they found a deserted

Blackfoot fort, in which they ensconced themselves; disposed of every

thing as securely as possible, and passed the night without molestation.

Early the next morning they descended the south side of the mountain

into the great plain extending between it and the Littlehorn range. Here

they soon came upon numerous footprints, and the carcasses of buffaloes;

by which they knew there must be Indians not far off. Captain Bonneville

now began to feel solicitude about the two small parties of trappers

which he had detached, lest the Indians should have come upon them

before they had united their forces. But he felt still more solicitude

about his own party; for it was hardly to be expected he could traverse

these naked plains undiscovered, when Indians were abroad; and should

he be discovered, his chance would be a desperate one. Everything now

depended upon the greatest circumspection. It was dangerous to discharge

a gun, or light a fire, or make the least noise, where such quick-eared

and quick-sighted enemies were at hand. In the course of the day they

saw indubitable signs that the buffalo had been roaming there in great

numbers, and had recently been frightened away. That night they encamped

with the greatest care; and threw up a strong breastwork for their

protection.

For the two succeeding days they pressed forward rapidly, but

cautiously, across the great plain; fording the tributary streams of the

Horn River; encamping one night among thickets; the next, on an island;

meeting, repeatedly, with traces of Indians; and now and then, in

passing through a defile, experiencing alarms that induced them to cock

their rifles.

On the last day of their march hunger got the better of their caution,

and they shot a fine buffalo bull at the risk of being betrayed by the

report. They did not halt to make a meal, but carried the meat on with

them to the place of rendezvous, the Medicine Lodge, where they arrived

safely, in the evening, and celebrated their arrival by a hearty supper.

The next morning they erected a strong pen for the horses, and a

fortress of logs for themselves; and continued to observe the greatest

caution. Their cooking was all done at mid-day, when the fire makes no

glare, and a moderate smoke cannot be perceived at any great distance.

In the morning and the evening, when the wind is lulled, the smoke rises

perpendicularly in a blue column, or floats in light clouds above the

tree-tops, and can be discovered from afar.

In this way the little party remained for several days, cautiously

encamped, until, on the 29th of August, the two detachments they had

been expecting, arrived together at the rendezvous. They, as usual, had

their several tales of adventures to relate to the captain, which we

will furnish to the reader in the next chapter.

24.

Adventures of the party of ten--The--Balaamite mule--A dead

point--The mysterious elks--A night attack--A retreat--

Travelling under an alarm--A joyful meeting--Adventures of

the other party--A decoy elk--Retreat to an island--A savage

dance of triumph--Arrival at Wind River

THE ADVENTURES of the detachment of ten are the first in order. These

trappers, when they separated from Captain Bonneville at the place where

the furs were embarked, proceeded to the foot of the Bighorn Mountain,

and having encamped, one of them mounted his mule and went out to set

his trap in a neighboring stream. He had not proceeded far when his

steed came to a full stop. The trapper kicked and cudgelled, but to

every blow and kick the mule snorted and kicked up, but still refused

to budge an inch. The rider now cast his eyes warily around in search of

some cause for this demur, when, to his dismay, he discovered an Indian

fort within gunshot distance, lowering through the twilight. In a

twinkling he wheeled about; his mule now seemed as eager to get on as

himself, and in a few moments brought him, clattering with his traps,

among his comrades. He was jeered at for his alacrity in retreating;

his report was treated as a false alarm; his brother trappers contented

themselves with reconnoitring the fort at a distance, and pronounced

that it was deserted.

As night set in, the usual precaution, enjoined by Captain Bonneville on

his men, was observed. The horses were brought in and tied, and a guard

stationed over them. This done, the men wrapped themselves in their

blankets, stretched themselves before the fire, and being fatigued with

a long day’s march, and gorged with a hearty supper, were soon in a

profound sleep.

The camp fires gradually died away; all was dark and silent; the

sentinel stationed to watch the horses had marched as far, and supped

as heartily as any of his companions, and while they snored, he began to

nod at his post. After a time, a low trampling noise reached his ear. He

half opened his closing eyes, and beheld two or three elks moving about

the lodges, picking, and smelling, and grazing here and there. The sight

of elk within the purlieus of the camp caused some little surprise; but

having had his supper, he cared not for elk meat, and, suffering them to

graze about unmolested, soon relapsed into a doze.

Suddenly, before daybreak, a discharge of firearms, and a struggle and

tramp of horses, made every one start to his feet. The first move was to

secure the horses. Some were gone; others were struggling, and kicking,

and trembling, for there was a horrible uproar of whoops, and yells, and

firearms. Several trappers stole quietly from the camp, and succeeded

in driving in the horses which had broken away; the rest were tethered

still more strongly. A breastwork was thrown up of saddles, baggage,

and camp furniture, and all hands waited anxiously for daylight. The

Indians, in the meantime, collected on a neighboring height, kept up

the most horrible clamor, in hopes of striking a panic into the camp, or

frightening off the horses. When the day dawned, the trappers attacked

them briskly and drove them to some distance. A desultory fire was kept

up for an hour, when the Indians, seeing nothing was to be gained, gave

up the contest and retired. They proved to be a war party of Blackfeet,

who, while in search of the Crow tribe, had fallen upon the trail of

Captain Bonneville on the Popo Agie, and dogged him to the Bighorn; but

had been completely baffled by his vigilance. They had then waylaid the

present detachment, and were actually housed in perfect silence within

their fort, when the mule of the trapper made such a dead point.

The savages went off uttering the wildest denunciations of hostility,

mingled with opprobrious terms in broken English, and gesticulations of

the most insulting kind.

In this melee, one white man was wounded, and two horses were killed.

On preparing the morning’s meal, however, a number of cups, knives, and

other articles were missing, which had, doubtless, been carried off by

the fictitious elk, during the slumber of the very sagacious sentinel.

As the Indians had gone off in the direction which the trappers had

intended to travel, the latter changed their route, and pushed forward

rapidly through the “Bad Pass,” nor halted until night; when, supposing

themselves out of the reach of the enemy, they contented themselves with

tying up their horses and posting a guard. They had scarce laid down to

sleep, when a dog strayed into the camp with a small pack of moccasons

tied upon his back; for dogs are made to carry burdens among the

Indians. The sentinel, more knowing than he of the preceding night,

awoke his companions and reported the circumstance. It was evident that

Indians were at hand. All were instantly at work; a strong pen was soon

constructed for the horses, after completing which, they resumed their

slumbers with the composure of men long inured to dangers.

In the next night, the prowling of dogs about the camp, and various

suspicious noises, showed that Indians were still hovering about them.

Hurrying on by long marches, they at length fell upon a trail, which,

with the experienced eye of veteran woodmen, they soon discovered to be

that of the party of trappers detached by Captain Bonneville when on his

march, and which they were sent to join. They likewise ascertained from

various signs, that this party had suffered some maltreatment from the

Indians. They now pursued the trail with intense anxiety; it carried

them to the banks of the stream called the Gray Bull, and down along its

course, until they came to where it empties into the Horn River. Here,

to their great joy, they discovered the comrades of whom they were in

search, all strongly fortified, and in a state of great watchfulness and

anxiety.

We now take up the adventures of this first detachment of trappers.

These men, after parting with the main body under Captain Bonneville,

had proceeded slowly for several days up the course of the river,

trapping beaver as they went. One morning, as they were about to visit

their traps, one of the camp-keepers pointed to a fine elk, grazing at a

distance, and requested them to shoot it. Three of the trappers started

off for the purpose. In passing a thicket, they were fired upon by some

savages in ambush, and at the same time, the pretended elk, throwing off

his hide and his horn, started forth an Indian warrior.

One of the three trappers had been brought down by the volley; the

others fled to the camp, and all hands, seizing up whatever they could

carry off, retreated to a small island in the river, and took refuge

among the willows. Here they were soon joined by their comrade who had

fallen, but who had merely been wounded in the neck.

In the meantime the Indians took possession of the deserted camp, with

all the traps, accoutrements, and horses. While they were busy among

the spoils, a solitary trapper, who had been absent at his work, came

sauntering to the camp with his traps on his back. He had approached

near by, when an Indian came forward and motioned him to keep away; at

the same moment, he was perceived by his comrades on the island, and

warned of his danger with loud cries. The poor fellow stood for a

moment, bewildered and aghast, then dropping his traps, wheeled and

made off at full speed, quickened by a sportive volley which the Indians

rattled after him.

In high good humor with their easy triumph, the savages now formed

a circle round the fire and performed a war dance, with the unlucky

trappers for rueful spectators. This done, emboldened by what they

considered cowardice on the part of the white men, they neglected their

usual mode of bush-fighting, and advanced openly within twenty paces of

the willows. A sharp volley from the trappers brought them to a sudden

halt, and laid three of them breathless. The chief, who had stationed

himself on an eminence to direct all the movements of his people,

seeing three of his warriors laid low, ordered the rest to retire. They

immediately did so, and the whole band soon disappeared behind a point

of woods, carrying off with them the horses, traps, and the greater part

of the baggage.

It was just after this misfortune that the party of ten men discovered

this forlorn band of trappers in a fortress, which they had thrown up

after their disaster. They were so perfectly dismayed, that they could

not be induced even to go in quest of their traps, which they had set in

a neighboring stream. The two parties now joined their forces, and made

their way, without further misfortune, to the rendezvous.

Captain Bonneville perceived from the reports of these parties, as well

as from what he had observed himself in his recent march, that he was in

a neighborhood teeming with danger. Two wandering Snake Indians, also,

who visited the camp, assured him that there were two large bands of

Crows marching rapidly upon him. He broke up his encampment, therefore,

on the 1st of September, made his way to the south, across the

Littlehorn Mountain, until he reached Wind River, and then turning

westward, moved slowly up the banks of that stream, giving time for his

men to trap as he proceeded. As it was not in the plan of the present

hunting campaigns to go near the caches on Green River, and as the

trappers were in want of traps to replace those they had lost, Captain

Bonneville undertook to visit the caches, and procure a supply. To

accompany him in this hazardous expedition, which would take him through

the defiles of the Wind River Mountains, and up the Green River valley,

he took but three men; the main party were to continue on trapping up

toward the head of Wind River, near which he was to rejoin them, just

about the place where that stream issues from the mountains. We shall

accompany the captain on his adventurous errand.

25.

Captain Bonneville sets out for Green River valley--Journey

up the Popo Agie--Buffaloes--The staring white bears--The

smok--The warm springs--Attempt to traverse the Wind River

Mountains--The Great Slope Mountain dells and chasms--

Crystal lakes--Ascent of a snowy peak--Sublime prospect--A

panorama “Les dignes de pitie,” or wild men of the mountains

HAVING FORDED WIND RIVER a little above its mouth, Captain Bonneville

and his three companions proceeded across a gravelly plain, until they

fell upon the Popo Agie, up the left bank of which they held their

course, nearly in a southerly direction. Here they came upon numerous

droves of buffalo, and halted for the purpose of procuring a supply of

beef. As the hunters were stealing cautiously to get within shot of the

game, two small white bears suddenly presented themselves in their path,

and, rising upon their hind legs, contemplated them for some time with a

whimsically solemn gaze. The hunters remained motionless; whereupon the

bears, having apparently satisfied their curiosity, lowered themselves

upon all fours, and began to withdraw. The hunters now advanced, upon

which the bears turned, rose again upon their haunches, and repeated

their serio-comic examination. This was repeated several times, until

the hunters, piqued at their unmannerly staring, rebuked it with a

discharge of their rifles. The bears made an awkward bound or two, as

if wounded, and then walked off with great gravity, seeming to commune

together, and every now and then turning to take another look at the

hunters. It was well for the latter that the bears were but half grown,

and had not yet acquired the ferocity of their kind.

The buffalo were somewhat startled at the report of the firearms; but

the hunters succeeded in killing a couple of fine cows, and, having

secured the best of the meat, continued forward until some time after

dark, when, encamping in a large thicket of willows, they made a great

fire, roasted buffalo beef enough for half a score, disposed of the

whole of it with keen relish and high glee, and then “turned in” for the

night and slept soundly, like weary and well fed hunters.

At daylight they were in the saddle again, and skirted along the river,

passing through fresh grassy meadows, and a succession of beautiful

groves of willows and cotton-wood. Toward evening, Captain Bonneville

observed a smoke at a distance rising from among hills, directly in the

route he was pursuing. Apprehensive of some hostile band, he concealed

the horses in a thicket, and, accompanied by one of his men, crawled

cautiously up a height, from which he could overlook the scene of

danger. Here, with a spy-glass, he reconnoitred the surrounding

country, but not a lodge nor fire, not a man, horse, nor dog, was to be

discovered; in short, the smoke which had caused such alarm proved to

be the vapor from several warm, or rather hot springs of considerable

magnitude, pouring forth streams in every direction over a bottom of

white clay. One of the springs was about twenty-five yards in diameter,

and so deep that the water was of a bright green color.

They were now advancing diagonally upon the chain of Wind River

Mountains, which lay between them and Green River valley. To coast round

their southern points would be a wide circuit; whereas, could they

force their way through them, they might proceed in a straight line. The

mountains were lofty, with snowy peaks and cragged sides; it was hoped,

however, that some practicable defile might be found. They attempted,

accordingly, to penetrate the mountains by following up one of the

branches of the Popo Agie, but soon found themselves in the midst of

stupendous crags and precipices that barred all progress. Retracing

their steps, and falling back upon the river, they consulted where to

make another attempt. They were too close beneath the mountains to scan

them generally, but they now recollected having noticed, from the plain,

a beautiful slope rising, at an angle of about thirty degrees, and

apparently without any break, until it reached the snowy region. Seeking

this gentle acclivity, they began to ascend it with alacrity, trusting

to find at the top one of those elevated plains which prevail among the

Rocky Mountains. The slope was covered with coarse gravel, interspersed

with plates of freestone. They attained the summit with some toil, but

found, instead of a level, or rather undulating plain, that they were

on the brink of a deep and precipitous ravine, from the bottom of which

rose a second slope, similar to the one they had just ascended. Down

into this profound ravine they made their way by a rugged path, or

rather fissure of the rocks, and then labored up the second slope. They

gained the summit only to find themselves on another ravine, and now

perceived that this vast mountain, which had presented such a sloping

and even side to the distant beholder on the plain, was shagged by

frightful precipices, and seamed with longitudinal chasms, deep and

dangerous.

In one of these wild dells they passed the night, and slept soundly

and sweetly after their fatigues. Two days more of arduous climbing and

scrambling only served to admit them into the heart of this mountainous

and awful solitude; where difficulties increased as they proceeded.

Sometimes they scrambled from rock to rock, up the bed of some mountain

stream, dashing its bright way down to the plains; sometimes they

availed themselves of the paths made by the deer and the mountain sheep,

which, however, often took them to the brinks of fearful precipices, or

led to rugged defiles, impassable for their horses. At one place, they

were obliged to slide their horses down the face of a rock, in which

attempt some of the poor animals lost their footing, rolled to the

bottom, and came near being dashed to pieces.

In the afternoon of the second day, the travellers attained one of the

elevated valleys locked up in this singular bed of mountains. Here were

two bright and beautiful little lakes, set like mirrors in the midst of

stern and rocky heights, and surrounded by grassy meadows, inexpressibly

refreshing to the eye. These probably were among the sources of those

mighty streams which take their rise among these mountains, and wander

hundreds of miles through the plains.

In the green pastures bordering upon these lakes, the travellers halted

to repose, and to give their weary horses time to crop the sweet and

tender herbage. They had now ascended to a great height above the level

of the plains, yet they beheld huge crags of granite piled one upon

another, and beetling like battlements far above them. While two of

the men remained in the camp with the horses, Captain Bonneville,

accompanied by the other men [man], set out to climb a neighboring

height, hoping to gain a commanding prospect, and discern some

practicable route through this stupendous labyrinth. After much toil, he

reached the summit of a lofty cliff, but it was only to behold gigantic

peaks rising all around, and towering far into the snowy regions of the

atmosphere. Selecting one which appeared to be the highest, he crossed a

narrow intervening valley, and began to scale it. He soon found that

he had undertaken a tremendous task; but the pride of man is never more

obstinate than when climbing mountains. The ascent was so steep and

rugged that he and his companion were frequently obliged to clamber on

hands and knees, with their guns slung upon their backs. Frequently,

exhausted with fatigue, and dripping with perspiration, they threw

themselves upon the snow, and took handfuls of it to allay their

parching thirst. At one place, they even stripped off their coats and

hung them upon the bushes, and thus lightly clad, proceeded to scramble

over these eternal snows. As they ascended still higher, there were cool

breezes that refreshed and braced them, and springing with new ardor to

their task, they at length attained the summit.

Here a scene burst upon the view of Captain Bonneville, that for a time

astonished and overwhelmed him with its immensity. He stood, in fact,

upon that dividing ridge which Indians regard as the crest of the world;

and on each side of which, the landscape may be said to decline to the

two cardinal oceans of the globe. Whichever way he turned his eye, it

was confounded by the vastness and variety of objects. Beneath him, the

Rocky Mountains seemed to open all their secret recesses: deep, solemn

valleys; treasured lakes; dreary passes; rugged defiles, and foaming

torrents; while beyond their savage precincts, the eye was lost in an

almost immeasurable landscape; stretching on every side into dim and

hazy distance, like the expanse of a summer’s sea. Whichever way he

looked, he beheld vast plains glimmering with reflected sunshine; mighty

streams wandering on their shining course toward either ocean, and snowy

mountains, chain beyond chain, and peak beyond peak, till they melted

like clouds into the horizon. For a time, the Indian fable seemed

realized: he had attained that height from which the Blackfoot warrior,

after death, first catches a view of the land of souls, and beholds the

happy hunting grounds spread out below him, brightening with the abodes

of the free and generous spirits. The captain stood for a long while

gazing upon this scene, lost in a crowd of vague and indefinite ideas

and sensations. A long-drawn inspiration at length relieved him from

this enthralment of the mind, and he began to analyze the parts of this

vast panorama. A simple enumeration of a few of its features may give

some idea of its collective grandeur and magnificence.

The peak on which the captain had taken his stand commanded the whole

Wind River chain; which, in fact, may rather be considered one immense

mountain, broken into snowy peaks and lateral spurs, and seamed with

narrow valleys. Some of these valleys glittered with silver lakes

and gushing streams; the fountain heads, as it were, of the mighty

tributaries to the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Beyond the snowy peaks,

to the south, and far, far below the mountain range, the gentle river,

called the Sweet Water, was seen pursuing its tranquil way through the

rugged regions of the Black Hills. In the east, the head waters of Wind

River wandered through a plain, until, mingling in one powerful current,

they forced their way through the range of Horn Mountains, and were lost

to view. To the north were caught glimpses of the upper streams of the

Yellowstone, that great tributary of the Missouri. In another direction

were to be seen some of the sources of the Oregon, or Columbia, flowing

to the northwest, past those towering landmarks the Three Tetons, and

pouring down into the great lava plain; while, almost at the captain’s

feet, the Green River, or Colorado of the West, set forth on its

wandering pilgrimage to the Gulf of California; at first a mere mountain

torrent, dashing northward over a crag and precipice, in a succession

of cascades, and tumbling into the plain where, expanding into an ample

river, it circled away to the south, and after alternately shining out

and disappearing in the mazes of the vast landscape, was finally lost

in a horizon of mountains. The day was calm and cloudless, and the

atmosphere so pure that objects were discernible at an astonishing

distance. The whole of this immense area was inclosed by an outer range

of shadowy peaks, some of them faintly marked on the horizon, which

seemed to wall it in from the rest of the earth.

It is to be regretted that Captain Bonneville had no instruments with

him with which to ascertain the altitude of this peak. He gives it

as his opinion that it is the loftiest point of the North American

continent; but of this we have no satisfactory proof. It is certain

that the Rocky Mountains are of an altitude vastly superior to what was

formerly supposed. We rather incline to the opinion that the highest

peak is further to the northward, and is the same measured by Mr.

Thompson, surveyor to the Northwest Company; who, by the joint means

of the barometer and trigonometric measurement, ascertained it to be

twenty-five thousand feet above the level of the sea; an elevation only

inferior to that of the Himalayas.

For a long time, Captain Bonneville remained gazing around him with

wonder and enthusiasm; at length the chill and wintry winds, whirling

about the snow-clad height, admonished him to descend. He soon regained

the spot where he and his companions [companion] had thrown off their

coats, which were now gladly resumed, and, retracing their course down

the peak, they safely rejoined their companions on the border of the

lake.

Notwithstanding the savage and almost inaccessible nature of these

mountains, they have their inhabitants. As one of the party was out

hunting, he came upon the solitary track of a man in a lonely valley.

Following it up, he reached the brow of a cliff, whence he beheld three

savages running across the valley below him. He fired his gun to call

their attention, hoping to induce them to turn back. They only fled

the faster, and disappeared among the rocks. The hunter returned and

reported what he had seen. Captain Bonneville at once concluded that

these belonged to a kind of hermit race, scanty in number, that inhabit

the highest and most inaccessible fastnesses. They speak the Shoshonie

language, and probably are offsets from that tribe, though they have

peculiarities of their own, which distinguish them from all other

Indians. They are miserably poor; own no horses, and are destitute of

every convenience to be derived from an intercourse with the whites.

Their weapons are bows and stone-pointed arrows, with which they

hunt the deer, the elk, and the mountain sheep. They are to be found

scattered about the countries of the Shoshonie, Flathead, Crow, and

Blackfeet tribes; but their residences are always in lonely places, and

the clefts of the rocks.

Their footsteps are often seen by the trappers in the high and solitary

valleys among the mountains, and the smokes of their fires descried

among the precipices, but they themselves are rarely met with, and still

more rarely brought to a parley, so great is their shyness, and their

dread of strangers.

As their poverty offers no temptation to the marauder, and as they are

inoffensive in their habits, they are never the objects of warfare:

should one of them, however, fall into the hands of a war party, he

is sure to be made a sacrifice, for the sake of that savage trophy, a

scalp, and that barbarous ceremony, a scalp dance. These forlorn beings,

forming a mere link between human nature and the brute, have been looked

down upon with pity and contempt by the creole trappers, who have

given them the appellation of “les dignes de pitie,” or “the objects

of pity.”; They appear more worthy to be called the wild men of the

mountains.

26.

A retrogade move Channel of a mountain torrent--Alpine

scenery--Cascades--Beaver valleys--Beavers at work--Their

architecture--Their modes of felling trees--Mode of trapping

beaver--Contests of skill--A beaver “up to trap”--Arrival at

the Green River caches

THE VIEW from the snowy peak of the Wind River Mountains, while it had

excited Captain Bonneville’s enthusiasm, had satisfied him that it would

be useless to force a passage westward, through multiplying barriers

of cliffs and precipices. Turning his face eastward, therefore, he

endeavored to regain the plains, intending to make the circuit round

the southern point of the mountain. To descend, and to extricate himself

from the heart of this rock-piled wilderness, was almost as difficult as

to penetrate it. Taking his course down the ravine of a tumbling stream,

the commencement of some future river, he descended from rock to rock,

and shelf to shelf, between stupendous cliffs and beetling crags that

sprang up to the sky. Often he had to cross and recross the rushing

torrent, as it wound foaming and roaring down its broken channel, or

was walled by perpendicular precipices; and imminent was the hazard of

breaking the legs of the horses in the clefts and fissures of slippery

rocks. The whole scenery of this deep ravine was of Alpine wildness

and sublimity. Sometimes the travellers passed beneath cascades which

pitched from such lofty heights that the water fell into the stream like

heavy rain. In other places, torrents came tumbling from crag to crag,

dashing into foam and spray, and making tremendous din and uproar.

On the second day of their descent, the travellers, having got beyond

the steepest pitch of the mountains, came to where the deep and rugged

ravine began occasionally to expand into small levels or valleys, and

the stream to assume for short intervals a more peaceful character.

Here, not merely the river itself, but every rivulet flowing into it,

was dammed up by communities of industrious beavers, so as to inundate

the neighborhood, and make continual swamps.

During a mid-day halt in one of these beaver valleys, Captain Bonneville

left his companions, and strolled down the course of the stream to

reconnoitre. He had not proceeded far when he came to a beaver pond, and

caught a glimpse of one of its painstaking inhabitants busily at work

upon the dam. The curiosity of the captain was aroused, to behold

the mode of operating of this far-famed architect; he moved forward,

therefore, with the utmost caution, parting the branches of the water

willows without making any noise, until having attained a position

commanding a view of the whole pond, he stretched himself flat on the

ground, and watched the solitary workman. In a little while, three

others appeared at the head of the dam, bringing sticks and bushes. With

these they proceeded directly to the barrier, which Captain Bonneville

perceived was in need of repair. Having deposited their loads upon the

broken part, they dived into the water, and shortly reappeared at the

surface. Each now brought a quantity of mud, with which he would plaster

the sticks and bushes just deposited. This kind of masonry was continued

for some time, repeated supplies of wood and mud being brought, and

treated in the same manner. This done, the industrious beavers indulged

in a little recreation, chasing each other about the pond, dodging and

whisking about on the surface, or diving to the bottom; and in their

frolic, often slapping their tails on the water with a loud clacking

sound. While they were thus amusing themselves, another of the

fraternity made his appearance, and looked gravely on their sports for

some time, without offering to join in them. He then climbed the bank

close to where the captain was concealed, and, rearing himself on his

hind quarters, in a sitting position, put his forepaws against a young

pine tree, and began to cut the bark with his teeth. At times he would

tear off a small piece, and holding it between his paws, and retaining

his sedentary position, would feed himself with it, after the fashion of

a monkey. The object of the beaver, however, was evidently to cut down

the tree; and he was proceeding with his work, when he was alarmed by

the approach of Captain Bonneville’s men, who, feeling anxious at the

protracted absence of their leader, were coming in search of him. At the

sound of their voices, all the beavers, busy as well as idle, dived

at once beneath the surface, and were no more to be seen. Captain

Bonneville regretted this interruption. He had heard much of the

sagacity of the beaver in cutting down trees, in which, it is said,

they manage to make them fall into the water, and in such a position and

direction as may be most favorable for conveyance to the desired point.

In the present instance, the tree was a tall straight pine, and as it

grew perpendicularly, and there was not a breath of air stirring the

beaver could have felled it in any direction he pleased, if really

capable of exercising a discretion in the matter. He was evidently

engaged in “belting” the tree, and his first incision had been on the

side nearest to the water.

Captain Bonneville, however, discredits, on the whole, the alleged

sagacity of the beaver in this particular, and thinks the animal has

no other aim than to get the tree down, without any of the subtle

calculation as to its mode or direction of falling. This attribute, he

thinks, has been ascribed to them from the circumstance that most trees

growing near water-courses, either lean bodily toward the stream, or

stretch their largest limbs in that direction, to benefit by the space,

the light, and the air to be found there. The beaver, of course, attacks

those trees which are nearest at hand, and on the banks of the stream or

pond. He makes incisions round them, or in technical phrase, belts them

with his teeth, and when they fall, they naturally take the direction in

which their trunks or branches preponderate.

“I have often,” says Captain Bonneville, “seen trees measuring eighteen

inches in diameter, at the places where they had been cut through by the

beaver, but they lay in all directions, and often very inconveniently

for the after purposes of the animal. In fact, so little ingenuity do

they at times display in this particular, that at one of our camps on

Snake River, a beaver was found with his head wedged into the cut which

he had made, the tree having fallen upon him and held him prisoner until

he died.”

Great choice, according to the captain, is certainly displayed by

the beaver in selecting the wood which is to furnish bark for winter

provision. The whole beaver household, old and young, set out upon this

business, and will often make long journeys before they are suited.

Sometimes they cut down trees of the largest size and then cull the

branches, the bark of which is most to their taste. These they cut into

lengths of about three feet, convey them to the water, and float them to

their lodges, where they are stored away for winter. They are studious

of cleanliness and comfort in their lodges, and after their repasts,

will carry out the sticks from which they have eaten the bark, and throw

them into the current beyond the barrier. They are jealous, too, of

their territories, and extremely pugnacious, never permitting a strange

beaver to enter their premises, and often fighting with such virulence

as almost to tear each other to pieces. In the spring, which is the

breeding season, the male leaves the female at home, and sets off on a

tour of pleasure, rambling often to a great distance, recreating himself

in every clear and quiet expanse of water on his way, and climbing

the banks occasionally to feast upon the tender sprouts of the young

willows. As summer advances, he gives up his bachelor rambles, and

bethinking himself of housekeeping duties, returns home to his mate and

his new progeny, and marshals them all for the foraging expedition in

quest of winter provisions.

After having shown the public spirit of this praiseworthy little animal

as a member of a community, and his amiable and exemplary conduct as

the father of a family, we grieve to record the perils with which he is

environed, and the snares set for him and his painstaking household.

Practice, says Captain Bonneville, has given such a quickness of eye to

the experienced trapper in all that relates to his pursuit, that he

can detect the slightest sign of beaver, however wild; and although the

lodge may be concealed by close thickets and overhanging willows, he can

generally, at a single glance, make an accurate guess at the number of

its inmates. He now goes to work to set his trap; planting it upon the

shore, in some chosen place, two or three inches below the surface of

the water, and secures it by a chain to a pole set deep in the mud. A

small twig is then stripped of its bark, and one end is dipped in the

“medicine,” as the trappers term the peculiar bait which they employ.

This end of the stick rises about four inches above the surface of

the water, the other end is planted between the jaws of the trap. The

beaver, possessing an acute sense of smell, is soon attracted by the

odor of the bait. As he raises his nose toward it, his foot is caught

in the trap. In his fright he throws a somerset into the deep water. The

trap, being fastened to the pole, resists all his efforts to drag it

to the shore; the chain by which it is fastened defies his teeth; he

struggles for a time, and at length sinks to the bottom and is drowned.

Upon rocky bottoms, where it is not possible to plant the pole, it is

thrown into the stream. The beaver, when entrapped, often gets fastened

by the chain to sunken logs or floating timber; if he gets to shore, he

is entangled in the thickets of brook willows. In such cases, however,

it costs the trapper diligent search, and sometimes a bout at swimming,

before he finds his game.

Occasionally it happens that several members of a beaver family are

trapped in succession. The survivors then become extremely shy, and

can scarcely be “brought to medicine,” to use the trapper’s phrase for

“taking the bait.” In such case, the trapper gives up the use of the

bait, and conceals his traps in the usual paths and crossing places of

the household. The beaver now being completely “up to trap,” approaches

them cautiously, and springs them ingeniously with a stick. At other

times, he turns the traps bottom upwards, by the same means, and

occasionally even drags them to the barrier and conceals them in the

mud. The trapper now gives up the contest of ingenuity, and shouldering

his traps, marches off, admitting that he is not yet “up to beaver.”

On the day following Captain Bonneville’s supervision of the industrious

and frolicsome community of beavers, of which he has given so edifying

an account, he succeeded in extricating himself from the Wind River

Mountains, and regaining the plain to the eastward, made a great bend

to the south, so as to go round the bases of the mountains, and arrived

without further incident of importance, at the old place of rendezvous

in Green River valley, on the 17th of September.

He found the caches, in which he had deposited his superfluous goods

and equipments, all safe, and having opened and taken from them the

necessary supplies, he closed them again; taking care to obliterate all

traces that might betray them to the keen eyes of Indian marauders.

27.

Route toward--Wind River--Dangerous neighborhood--Alarms and

precautions--A sham encampment--Apparition of an Indian spy--

Midnight move--A mountain defile--The Wind River valley--

Tracking a party--Deserted camps--Symptoms of Crows--Meeting

of comrades--A trapper entrapped--Crow pleasantry--Crow

spies--A decampment--Return to Green River valley--Meeting

with Fitzpatrick’s party--Their adventures among the Crows--

Orthodox Crows

ON THE 18TH of September, Captain Bonneville and his three companions

set out, bright and early, to rejoin the main party, from which they had

parted on Wind River. Their route lay up the Green River valley, with

that stream on their right hand, and beyond it, the range of Wind River

Mountains. At the head of the valley, they were to pass through a defile

which would bring them out beyond the northern end of these mountains,

to the head of Wind River; where they expected to meet the main party,

according to arrangement.

We have already adverted to the dangerous nature of this neighborhood,

infested by roving bands of Crows and Blackfeet; to whom the numerous

defiles and passes of the country afford capital places for ambush and

surprise. The travellers, therefore, kept a vigilant eye upon everything

that might give intimation of lurking danger.

About two hours after mid-day, as they reached the summit of a hill,

they discovered buffalo on the plain below, running in every direction.

One of the men, too, fancied he heard the report of a gun. It was

concluded, therefore, that there was some party of Indians below,

hunting the buffalo.

The horses were immediately concealed in a narrow ravine; and the

captain, mounting an eminence, but concealing himself from view,

reconnoitred the whole neighborhood with a telescope. Not an Indian was

to be seen; so, after halting about an hour, he resumed his journey.

Convinced, however, that he was in a dangerous neighborhood, he advanced

with the utmost caution; winding his way through hollows and ravines,

and avoiding, as much as possible, any open tract, or rising ground,

that might betray his little party to the watchful eye of an Indian

scout.

Arriving, at length, at the edge of the open meadow-land bordering

on the river, he again observed the buffalo, as far as he could see,

scampering in great alarm. Once more concealing the horses, he and his

companions remained for a long time watching the various groups of the

animals, as each caught the panic and started off; but they sought in

vain to discover the cause.

They were now about to enter the mountain defile, at the head of Green

River valley, where they might be waylaid and attacked; they, therefore,

arranged the packs on their horses, in the manner most secure and

convenient for sudden flight, should such be necessary. This done, they

again set forward, keeping the most anxious look-out in every direction.

It was now drawing toward evening; but they could not think of encamping

for the night, in a place so full of danger. Captain Bonneville,

therefore, determined to halt about sunset, kindle a fire, as if for

encampment, cook and eat supper; but, as soon as it was sufficiently

dark, to make a rapid move for the summit of the mountain, and seek some

secluded spot for their night’s lodgings.

Accordingly, as the sun went down, the little party came to a halt, made

a large fire, spitted their buffalo meat on wooden sticks, and, when

sufficiently roasted, planted the savory viands before them; cutting

off huge slices with their hunting knives, and supping with a hunter’s

appetite. The light of their fire would not fail, as they knew, to

attract the attention of any Indian horde in the neighborhood; but they

trusted to be off and away, before any prowlers could reach the place.

While they were supping thus hastily, however, one of their party

suddenly started up and shouted “Indians!” All were instantly on their

feet, with their rifles in their hands; but could see no enemy. The

man, however, declared that he had seen an Indian advancing, cautiously,

along the trail which they had made in coming to the encampment; who,

the moment he was perceived, had thrown himself on the ground, and

disappeared. He urged Captain Bonneville instantly to decamp. The

captain, however, took the matter more coolly. The single fact, that the

Indian had endeavored to hide himself, convinced him that he was not

one of a party, on the advance to make an attack. He was, probably, some

scout, who had followed up their trail, until he came in sight of their

fire. He would, in such case, return, and report what he had seen to his

companions. These, supposing the white men had encamped for the night,

would keep aloof until very late, when all should be asleep. They would,

then, according to Indian tactics, make their stealthy approaches, and

place themselves in ambush around, preparatory to their attack, at the

usual hour of daylight.

Such was Captain Bonneville’s conclusion; in consequence of which, he

counselled his men to keep perfectly quiet, and act as if free from

all alarm, until the proper time arrived for a move. They, accordingly,

continued their repast with pretended appetite and jollity; and then

trimmed and replenished their fire, as if for a bivouac. As soon,

however, as the night had completely set in, they left their fire

blazing; walked quietly among the willows, and then leaping into their

saddles, made off as noiselessly as possible. In proportion as they left

the point of danger behind them, they relaxed in their rigid and anxious

taciturnity, and began to joke at the expense of their enemy; whom they

pictured to themselves mousing in the neighborhood of their deserted

fire, waiting for the proper time of attack, and preparing for a grand

disappointment.

About midnight, feeling satisfied that they had gained a secure

distance, they posted one of their number to keep watch, in case the

enemy should follow on their trail, and then, turning abruptly into a

dense and matted thicket of willows, halted for the night at the foot of

the mountain, instead of making for the summit, as they had originally

intended.

A trapper in the wilderness, like a sailor on the ocean, snatches

morsels of enjoyment in the midst of trouble, and sleeps soundly when

surrounded by danger. The little party now made their arrangements for

sleep with perfect calmness; they did not venture to make a fire and

cook, it is true, though generally done by hunters whenever they come

to a halt, and have provisions. They comforted themselves, however,

by smoking a tranquil pipe; and then calling in the watch, and turning

loose the horses, stretched themselves on their pallets, agreed that

whoever should first awake, should rouse the rest, and in a little while

were all as sound asleep as though in the midst of a fortress.

A little before day, they were all on the alert; it was the hour for

Indian maraud. A sentinel was immediately detached, to post himself at

a little distance on their trail, and give the alarm, should he see or

hear an enemy.

With the first blink of dawn, the rest sought the horses; brought them

to the camp, and tied them up, until an hour after sunrise; when, the

sentinel having reported that all was well, they sprang once more into

their saddles, and pursued the most covert and secret paths up the

mountain, avoiding the direct route.

At noon, they halted and made a hasty repast; and then bent their course

so as to regain the route from which they had diverged. They were now

made sensible of the danger from which they had just escaped. There were

tracks of Indians, who had evidently been in pursuit of them; but had

recently returned, baffled in their search.

Trusting that they had now got a fair start, and could not be overtaken

before night, even in case the Indians should renew the chase, they

pushed briskly forward, and did not encamp until late; when they

cautiously concealed themselves in a secure nook of the mountains.

Without any further alarm, they made their way to the head waters of

Wind River, and reached the neighborhood in which they had appointed

the rendezvous with their companions. It was within the precincts of the

Crow country; the Wind River valley being one of the favorite haunts of

that restless tribe. After much searching, Captain Bonneville came upon

a trail which had evidently been made by his main party. It was so old,

however, that he feared his people might have left the neighborhood;

driven off, perhaps by some of those war parties which were on the

prowl. He continued his search with great anxiety, and no little

fatigue; for his horses were jaded, and almost crippled, by their forced

marches and scramblings through rocky defiles.

On the following day, about noon, Captain Bonneville came upon a

deserted camp of his people, from which they had, evidently, turned

back; but he could find no signs to indicate why they had done so;

whether they had met with misfortune, or molestation, or in what

direction they had gone. He was now, more than ever, perplexed.

On the following day, he resumed his march with increasing anxiety. The

feet of his horses had by this time become so worn and wounded by the

rocks, that he had to make moccasons for them of buffalo hide. About

noon, he came to another deserted camp of his men; but soon after lost

their trail. After great search, he once more found it, turning in a

southerly direction along the eastern bases of the Wind River Mountains,

which towered to the right. He now pushed forward with all possible

speed, in hopes of overtaking the party. At night, he slept at another

of their camps, from which they had but recently departed. When the day

dawned sufficiently to distinguish objects, he perceived the danger that

must be dogging the heels of his main party. All about the camp were

traces of Indians who must have been prowling about it at the time his

people had passed the night there; and who must still be hovering about

them. Convinced, now, that the main party could not be at any great

distance, he mounted a scout on the best horse, and sent him forward to

overtake them, to warn them of their danger, and to order them to halt,

until he should rejoin them.

In the afternoon, to his great joy, he met the scout returning, with

six comrades from the main party, leading fresh horses for his

accommodation; and on the following day (September 25th), all hands

were once more reunited, after a separation of nearly three weeks. Their

meeting was hearty and joyous; for they had both experienced dangers and

perplexities.

The main party, in pursuing their course up the Wind River valley, had

been dogged the whole way by a war party of Crows. In one place, they

had been fired upon, but without injury; in another place, one of their

horses had been cut loose, and carried off. At length, they were so

closely beset, that they were obliged to make a retrogade move, lest

they should be surprised and overcome. This was the movement which had

caused such perplexity to Captain Bonneville.

The whole party now remained encamped for two or three days, to give

repose to both men and horses. Some of the trappers, however, pursued

their vocations about the neighboring streams. While one of them was

setting his traps, he heard the tramp of horses, and looking up,

beheld a party of Crow braves moving along at no great distance, with a

considerable cavalcade. The trapper hastened to conceal himself, but was

discerned by the quick eye of the savages. With whoops and yells,

they dragged him from his hiding-place, flourished over his head their

tomahawks and scalping-knives, and for a time, the poor trapper gave

himself up for lost. Fortunately, the Crows were in a jocose, rather

than a sanguinary mood. They amused themselves heartily, for a while,

at the expense of his terrors; and after having played off divers Crow

pranks and pleasantries, suffered him to depart unharmed. It is true,

they stripped him completely, one taking his horse, another his gun,

a third his traps, a fourth his blanket, and so on, through all his

accoutrements, and even his clothing, until he was stark naked; but then

they generously made him a present of an old tattered buffalo robe, and

dismissed him, with many complimentary speeches, and much laughter. When

the trapper returned to the camp, in such sorry plight, he was greeted

with peals of laughter from his comrades and seemed more mortified by

the style in which he had been dismissed, than rejoiced at escaping with

his life. A circumstance which he related to Captain Bonneville, gave

some insight into the cause of this extreme jocularity on the part

of the Crows. They had evidently had a run of luck, and, like winning

gamblers, were in high good humor. Among twenty-six fine horses, and

some mules, which composed their cavalcade, the trapper recognized a

number which had belonged to Fitzpatrick’s brigade, when they parted

company on the Bighorn. It was supposed, therefore, that these vagabonds

had been on his trail, and robbed him of part of his cavalry.

On the day following this affair, three Crows came into Captain

Bonneville’s camp, with the most easy, innocent, if not impudent air

imaginable; walking about with the imperturbable coolness and unconcern,

in which the Indian rivals the fine gentleman. As they had not been of

the set which stripped the trapper, though evidently of the same band,

they were not molested. Indeed, Captain Bonneville treated them with his

usual kindness and hospitality; permitting them to remain all day in the

camp, and even to pass the night there. At the same time, however, he

caused a strict watch to be maintained on all their movements; and at

night, stationed an armed sentinel near them. The Crows remonstrated

against the latter being armed. This only made the captain suspect

them to be spies, who meditated treachery; he redoubled, therefore, his

precautions. At the same time, he assured his guests, that while they

were perfectly welcome to the shelter and comfort of his camp, yet,

should any of their tribe venture to approach during the night, they

would certainly be shot; which would be a very unfortunate circumstance,

and much to be deplored. To the latter remark, they fully assented; and

shortly afterward commenced a wild song, or chant, which they kept up

for a long time, and in which they very probably gave their friends, who

might be prowling round the camp, notice that the white men were on the

alert. The night passed away without disturbance. In the morning, the

three Crow guests were very pressing that Captain Bonneville and his

party should accompany them to their camp, which they said was close

by. Instead of accepting their invitation, Captain Bonneville took his

departure with all possible dispatch, eager to be out of the vicinity

of such a piratical horde; nor did he relax the diligence of his march,

until, on the second day, he reached the banks of the Sweet Water,

beyond the limits of the Crow country, and a heavy fall of snow had

obliterated all traces of his course.

He now continued on for some few days, at a slower pace, round the point

of the mountain toward Green River, and arrived once more at the caches,

on the 14th of October.

Here they found traces of the band of Indians who had hunted them in the

defile toward the head waters of Wind River. Having lost all trace of

them on their way over the mountains, they had turned and followed back

their trail down the Green River valley to the caches. One of these they

had discovered and broken open, but it fortunately contained nothing but

fragments of old iron, which they had scattered about in all directions,

and then departed. In examining their deserted camp, Captain Bonneville

discovered that it numbered thirty-nine fires, and had more reason than

ever to congratulate himself on having escaped the clutches of such a

formidable band of freebooters.

He now turned his course southward, under cover of the mountains, and on

the 25th of October reached Liberge’s Ford, a tributary of the Colorado,

where he came suddenly upon the trail of this same war party, which

had crossed the stream so recently that the banks were yet wet with the

water that had been splashed upon them. To judge from their tracks, they

could not be less than three hundred warriors, and apparently of the

Crow nation.

Captain Bonneville was extremely uneasy lest this overpowering force

should come upon him in some place where he would not have the means of

fortifying himself promptly. He now moved toward Hane’s Fork, another

tributary of the Colorado, where he encamped, and remained during the

26th of October. Seeing a large cloud of smoke to the south, he supposed

it to arise from some encampment of Shoshonies, and sent scouts to

procure information, and to purchase a lodge. It was, in fact, a band

of Shoshonies, but with them were encamped Fitzpatrick and his party

of trappers. That active leader had an eventful story to relate of

his fortunes in the country of the Crows. After parting with Captain

Bonneville on the banks of the Bighorn, he made for the west, to trap

upon Powder and Tongue Rivers. He had between twenty and thirty men with

him, and about one hundred horses. So large a cavalcade could not

pass through the Crow country without attracting the attention of its

freebooting hordes. A large band of Crows was soon on their traces,

and came up with them on the 5th of September, just as they had reached

Tongue River. The Crow chief came forward with great appearance

of friendship, and proposed to Fitzpatrick that they should encamp

together. The latter, however, not having any faith in Crows, declined

the invitation, and pitched his camp three miles off. He then rode over

with two or three men, to visit the Crow chief, by whom he was received

with great apparent cordiality. In the meantime, however, a party of

young braves, who considered them absolved by his distrust from all

scruples of honor, made a circuit privately, and dashed into his

encampment. Captain Stewart, who had remained there in the absence of

Fitzpatrick, behaved with great spirit; but the Crows were too numerous

and active. They had got possession of the camp, and soon made booty

of every thing--carrying off all the horses. On their way back they met

Fitzpatrick returning to his camp; and finished their exploit by rifling

and nearly stripping him.

A negotiation now took place between the plundered white men and the

triumphant Crows; what eloquence and management Fitzpatrick made use of,

we do not know, but he succeeded in prevailing upon the Crow chieftain

to return him his horses and many of his traps; together with his rifles

and a few rounds of ammunition for each man. He then set out with all

speed to abandon the Crow country, before he should meet with any fresh

disasters.

After his departure, the consciences of some of the most orthodox Crows

pricked them sorely for having suffered such a cavalcade to escape out

of their hands. Anxious to wipe off so foul a stigma on the reputation

of the Crow nation, they followed on his trial, nor quit hovering about

him on his march until they had stolen a number of his best horses and

mules. It was, doubtless, this same band which came upon the lonely

trapper on the Popo Agie, and generously gave him an old buffalo robe in

exchange for his rifle, his traps, and all his accoutrements. With these

anecdotes, we shall, for present, take our leave of the Crow country and

its vagabond chivalry.

28.

A region of natural curiosities--The plain of white clay--

Hot springs--The Beer Spring--Departure to seek the free

trappers--Plain of Portneuf--Lava--Chasms and gullies--

Bannack Indians--Their hunt of the buffalo--Hunter’s feast--

Trencher heroes--Bullying of an absent foe--The damp

comrade--The Indian spy--Meeting with Hodgkiss--His

adventures--Poordevil Indians--Triumph of the Bannacks--

Blackfeet policy in war

CROSSING AN ELEVATED RIDGE, Captain Bonneville now came upon Bear

River, which, from its source to its entrance into the Great Salt Lake,

describes the figure of a horse-shoe. One of the principal head waters

of this river, although supposed to abound with beaver, has never

been visited by the trapper; rising among rugged mountains, and being

barricadoed [sic] by fallen pine trees and tremendous precipices.

Proceeding down this river, the party encamped, on the 6th of November,

at the outlet of a lake about thirty miles long, and from two to three

miles in width, completely imbedded in low ranges of mountains, and

connected with Bear River by an impassable swamp. It is called the

Little Lake, to distinguish it from the great one of salt water.

On the 10th of November, Captain Bonneville visited a place in the

neighborhood which is quite a region of natural curiosities. An area

of about half a mile square presents a level surface of white clay or

fuller’s earth, perfectly spotless, resembling a great slab of Parian

marble, or a sheet of dazzling snow. The effect is strikingly beautiful

at all times: in summer, when it is surrounded with verdure, or in

autumn, when it contrasts its bright immaculate surface with the

withered herbage. Seen from a distant eminence, it then shines like

a mirror, set in the brown landscape. Around this plain are clustered

numerous springs of various sizes and temperatures. One of them, of

scalding heat, boils furiously and incessantly, rising to the height of

two or three feet. In another place, there is an aperture in the earth,

from which rushes a column of steam that forms a perpetual cloud. The

ground for some distance around sounds hollow, and startles the solitary

trapper, as he hears the tramp of his horse giving the sound of a

muffled drum. He pictures to himself a mysterious gulf below, a place of

hidden fires, and gazes round him with awe and uneasiness.

The most noted curiosity, however, of this singular region, is the Beer

Spring, of which trappers give wonderful accounts. They are said to turn

aside from their route through the country to drink of its waters, with

as much eagerness as the Arab seeks some famous well of the desert.

Captain Bonneville describes it as having the taste of beer. His men

drank it with avidity, and in copious draughts. It did not appear to him

to possess any medicinal properties, or to produce any peculiar effects.

The Indians, however, refuse to taste it, and endeavor to persuade the

white men from doing so.

We have heard this also called the Soda Spring, and described as

containing iron and sulphur. It probably possesses some of the

properties of the Ballston water.

The time had now arrived for Captain Bonneville to go in quest of the

party of free trappers, detached in the beginning of July, under the

command of Mr. Hodgkiss, to trap upon the head waters of Salmon River.

His intention was to unite them with the party with which he was at

present travelling, that all might go into quarters together for the

winter. Accordingly, on the 11th of November, he took a temporary leave

of his band, appointing a rendezvous on Snake River, and, accompanied by

three men, set out upon his journey. His route lay across the plain

of the Portneuf, a tributary stream of Snake River, called after an

unfortunate Canadian trapper murdered by the Indians. The whole country

through which he passed bore evidence of volcanic convulsions and

conflagrations in the olden time. Great masses of lava lay scattered

about in every direction; the crags and cliffs had apparently been under

the action of fire; the rocks in some places seemed to have been in

a state of fusion; the plain was rent and split with deep chasms and

gullies, some of which were partly filled with lava.

They had not proceeded far, however, before they saw a party of

horsemen, galloping full tilt toward them. They instantly turned, and

made full speed for the covert of a woody stream, to fortify themselves

among the trees. The Indians came to a halt, and one of them came

forward alone. He reached Captain Bonneville and his men just as they

were dismounting and about to post themselves. A few words dispelled all

uneasiness. It was a party of twenty-five Bannack Indians, friendly to

the whites, and they proposed, through their envoy, that both parties

should encamp together, and hunt the buffalo, of which they had

discovered several large herds hard by. Captain Bonneville cheerfully

assented to their proposition, being curious to see their manner of

hunting.

Both parties accordingly encamped together on a convenient spot, and

prepared for the hunt. The Indians first posted a boy on a small hill

near the camp, to keep a look-out for enemies. The “runners,” then,

as they are called, mounted on fleet horses, and armed with bows and

arrows, moved slowly and cautiously toward the buffalo, keeping as much

as possible out of sight, in hollows and ravines. When within a proper

distance, a signal was given, and they all opened at once like a pack

of hounds, with a full chorus of yells, dashing into the midst of the

herds, and launching their arrows to the right and left. The plain

seemed absolutely to shake under the tramp of the buffalo, as they

scoured off. The cows in headlong panic, the bulls furious with rage,

uttering deep roars, and occasionally turning with a desperate rush upon

their pursuers. Nothing could surpass the spirit, grace, and dexterity,

with which the Indians managed their horses; wheeling and coursing among

the affrighted herd, and launching their arrows with unerring aim. In

the midst of the apparent confusion, they selected their victims with

perfect judgment, generally aiming at the fattest of the cows, the flesh

of the bull being nearly worthless, at this season of the year. In a few

minutes, each of the hunters had crippled three or four cows. A single

shot was sufficient for the purpose, and the animal, once maimed, was

left to be completely dispatched at the end of the chase. Frequently, a

cow was killed on the spot by a single arrow. In one instance, Captain

Bonneville saw an Indian shoot his arrow completely through the body of

a cow, so that it struck in the ground beyond. The bulls, however, are

not so easily killed as the cows, and always cost the hunter several

arrows; sometimes making battle upon the horses, and chasing them

furiously, though severely wounded, with the darts still sticking in

their flesh.

The grand scamper of the hunt being over, the Indians proceeded to

dispatch the animals that had been disabled; then cutting up the

carcasses, they returned with loads of meat to the camp, where the

choicest pieces were soon roasting before large fires, and a hunters’

feast succeeded; at which Captain Bonneville and his men were qualified,

by previous fasting, to perform their parts with great vigor.

Some men are said to wax valorous upon a full stomach, and such seemed

to be the case with the Bannack braves, who, in proportion as they

crammed themselves with buffalo meat, grew stout of heart, until, the

supper at an end, they began to chant war songs, setting forth their

mighty deeds, and the victories they had gained over the Blackfeet.

Warming with the theme, and inflating themselves with their own

eulogies, these magnanimous heroes of the trencher would start up,

advance a short distance beyond the light of the fire, and apostrophize

most vehemently their Blackfeet enemies, as though they had been within

hearing. Ruffling, and swelling, and snorting, and slapping their

breasts, and brandishing their arms, they would vociferate all their

exploits; reminding the Blackfeet how they had drenched their towns in

tears and blood; enumerate the blows they had inflicted, the warriors

they had slain, the scalps they had brought off in triumph. Then, having

said everything that could stir a man’s spleen or pique his valor, they

would dare their imaginary hearers, now that the Bannacks were few

in number, to come and take their revenge--receiving no reply to

this valorous bravado, they would conclude by all kinds of sneers and

insults, deriding the Blackfeet for dastards and poltroons, that

dared not accept their challenge. Such is the kind of swaggering and

rhodomontade in which the “red men” are prone to indulge in their

vainglorious moments; for, with all their vaunted taciturnity, they are

vehemently prone at times to become eloquent about their exploits, and

to sound their own trumpet.

Having vented their valor in this fierce effervescence, the Bannack

braves gradually calmed down, lowered their crests, smoothed their

ruffled feathers, and betook themselves to sleep, without placing a

single guard over their camp; so that, had the Blackfeet taken them at

their word, but few of these braggart heroes might have survived for any

further boasting.

On the following morning, Captain Bonneville purchased a supply of

buffalo meat from his braggadocio friends; who, with all their vaporing,

were in fact a very forlorn horde, destitute of firearms, and of

almost everything that constitutes riches in savage life. The bargain

concluded, the Bannacks set off for their village, which was situated,

they said, at the mouth of the Portneuf, and Captain Bonneville and his

companions shaped their course toward Snake River.

Arrived on the banks of that river, he found it rapid and boisterous,

but not too deep to be forded. In traversing it, however, one of the

horses was swept suddenly from his footing, and his rider was flung from

the saddle into the midst of the stream. Both horse and horseman were

extricated without any damage, excepting that the latter was completely

drenched, so that it was necessary to kindle a fire to dry him. While

they were thus occupied, one of the party looking up, perceived

an Indian scout cautiously reconnoitring them from the summit of a

neighboring hill. The moment he found himself discovered, he disappeared

behind the hill. From his furtive movements, Captain Bonneville

suspected him to be a scout from the Blackfeet camp, and that he had

gone to report what he had seen to his companions. It would not do

to loiter in such a neighborhood, so the kindling of the fire was

abandoned, the drenched horseman mounted in dripping condition, and the

little band pushed forward directly into the plain, going at a smart

pace, until they had gained a considerable distance from the place of

supposed danger. Here encamping for the night, in the midst of abundance

of sage, or wormwood, which afforded fodder for their horses, they

kindled a huge fire for the benefit of their damp comrade, and then

proceeded to prepare a sumptuous supper of buffalo humps and ribs, and

other choice bits, which they had brought with them. After a hearty

repast, relished with an appetite unknown to city epicures, they

stretched themselves upon their couches of skins, and under the starry

canopy of heaven, enjoyed the sound and sweet sleep of hardy and

well-fed mountaineers.

They continued on their journey for several days, without any incident

worthy of notice, and on the 19th of November, came upon traces of the

party of which they were in search; such as burned patches of prairie,

and deserted camping grounds. All these were carefully examined, to

discover by their freshness or antiquity the probable time that

the trappers had left them; at length, after much wandering and

investigating, they came upon the regular trail of the hunting party,

which led into the mountains, and following it up briskly, came about

two o’clock in the afternoon of the 20th, upon the encampment of

Hodgkiss and his band of free trappers, in the bosom of a mountain

valley.

It will be recollected that these free trappers, who were masters

of themselves and their movements, had refused to accompany Captain

Bonneville back to Green River in the preceding month of July,

preferring to trap about the upper waters of the Salmon River,

where they expected to find plenty of beaver, and a less dangerous

neighborhood. Their hunt had not been very successful. They had

penetrated the great range of mountains among which some of the upper

branches of Salmon River take their rise, but had become so entangled

among immense and almost impassable barricades of fallen pines, and so

impeded by tremendous precipices, that a great part of their season had

been wasted among these mountains. At one time, they had made their way

through them, and reached the Boisee River; but meeting with a band of

Bannack Indians, from whom they apprehended hostilities, they had again

taken shelter among the mountains, where they were found by Captain

Bonneville. In the neighborhood of their encampment, the captain had the

good fortune to meet with a family of those wanderers of the mountains,

emphatically called “les dignes de pitie,” or Poordevil Indians. These,

however, appear to have forfeited the title, for they had with them

a fine lot of skins of beaver, elk, deer, and mountain sheep. These,

Captain Bonneville purchased from them at a fair valuation, and sent

them off astonished at their own wealth, and no doubt objects of envy to

all their pitiful tribe.

Being now reinforced by Hodgkiss and his band of free trappers, Captain

Bonneville put himself at the head of the united parties, and set out

to rejoin those he had recently left at the Beer Spring, that they might

all go into winter quarters on Snake River. On his route, he encountered

many heavy falls of snow, which melted almost immediately, so as not to

impede his march, and on the 4th of December, he found his other party,

encamped at the very place where he had partaken in the buffalo hunt

with the Bannacks.

That braggart horde was encamped but about three miles off, and were

just then in high glee and festivity, and more swaggering than ever,

celebrating a prodigious victory. It appeared that a party of their

braves being out on a hunting excursion, discovered a band of Blackfeet

moving, as they thought, to surprise their hunting camp. The Bannacks

immediately posted themselves on each side of a dark ravine, through

which the enemy must pass, and, just as they were entangled in the midst

of it, attacked them with great fury. The Blackfeet, struck with sudden

panic, threw off their buffalo robes and fled, leaving one of their

warriors dead on the spot. The victors eagerly gathered up the spoils;

but their greatest prize was the scalp of the Blackfoot brave. This they

bore off in triumph to their village, where it had ever since been an

object of the greatest exultation and rejoicing. It had been elevated

upon a pole in the centre of the village, where the warriors had

celebrated the scalp dance round it, with war feasts, war songs, and

warlike harangues. It had then been given up to the women and boys; who

had paraded it up and down the village with shouts and chants and antic

dances; occasionally saluting it with all kinds of taunts, invectives,

and revilings.

The Blackfeet, in this affair, do not appear to have acted up to the

character which has rendered them objects of such terror. Indeed,

their conduct in war, to the inexperienced observer, is full of

inconsistencies; at one time they are headlong in courage, and heedless

of danger; at another time cautious almost to cowardice. To understand

these apparent incongruities, one must know their principles of warfare.

A war party, however triumphant, if they lose a warrior in the fight,

bring back a cause of mourning to their people, which casts a shade over

the glory of their achievement. Hence, the Indian is often less fierce

and reckless in general battle, than he is in a private brawl; and

the chiefs are checked in their boldest undertakings by the fear of

sacrificing their warriors.

This peculiarity is not confined to the Blackfeet. Among the Osages,

says Captain Bonneville, when a warrior falls in battle, his comrades,

though they may have fought with consummate valor, and won a glorious

victory, will leave their arms upon the field of battle, and returning

home with dejected countenances, will halt without the encampment, and

wait until the relatives of the slain come forth and invite them to

mingle again with their people.

29.

Winter camp at the Portneuf--Fine springs--The Bannack

Indians--Their honesty--Captain--Bonneville prepares for an

expedition--Christmas--The American--Falls--Wild scenery--

Fishing Falls--Snake Indians--Scenery on the Bruneau--View

of volcanic country from a mountain--Powder River--

Shoshokoes, or Root Diggers--Their character, habits,

habitations, dogs--Vanity at its last shift

IN ESTABLISHING his winter camp near the Portneuf, Captain Bonneville

had drawn off to some little distance from his Bannack friends, to avoid

all annoyance from their intimacy or intrusions. In so doing, however,

he had been obliged to take up his quarters on the extreme edge of the

flat land, where he was encompassed with ice and snow, and had nothing

better for his horses to subsist on than wormwood. The Bannacks, on the

contrary, were encamped among fine springs of water, where there was

grass in abundance. Some of these springs gush out of the earth in

sufficient quantity to turn a mill; and furnish beautiful streams, clear

as crystal, and full of trout of a large size, which may be seen darting

about the transparent water.

Winter now set in regularly. The snow had fallen frequently, and in

large quantities, and covered the ground to a depth of a foot; and the

continued coldness of the weather prevented any thaw.

By degrees, a distrust which at first subsisted between the Indians and

the trappers, subsided, and gave way to mutual confidence and good

will. A few presents convinced the chiefs that the white men were their

friends; nor were the white men wanting in proofs of the honesty and

good faith of their savage neighbors. Occasionally, the deep snow and

the want of fodder obliged them to turn their weakest horses out to roam

in quest of sustenance. If they at any time strayed to the camp of the

Bannacks, they were immediately brought back. It must be confessed,

however, that if the stray horse happened, by any chance, to be in

vigorous plight and good condition, though he was equally sure to be

returned by the honest Bannacks, yet it was always after the lapse of

several days, and in a very gaunt and jaded state; and always with the

remark that they had found him a long way off. The uncharitable were apt

to surmise that he had, in the interim, been well used up in a

buffalo hunt; but those accustomed to Indian morality in the matter of

horseflesh, considered it a singular evidence of honesty that he should

be brought back at all.

Being convinced, therefore, from these, and other circumstances, that

his people were encamped in the neighborhood of a tribe as honest as

they were valiant, and satisfied that they would pass their winter

unmolested, Captain Bonneville prepared for a reconnoitring expedition

of great extent and peril. This was, to penetrate to the Hudson’s

Bay establishments on the banks of the Columbia, and to make himself

acquainted with the country and the Indian tribes; it being one part of

his scheme to establish a trading post somewhere on the lower part of

the river, so as to participate in the trade lost to the United States

by the capture of Astoria. This expedition would, of course, take him

through the Snake River country, and across the Blue Mountains, the

scenes of so much hardship and disaster to Hunt and Crooks, and their

Astorian bands, who first explored it, and he would have to pass through

it in the same frightful season, the depth of winter.

The idea of risk and hardship, however, only served to stimulate the

adventurous spirit of the captain. He chose three companions for his

journey, put up a small stock of necessaries in the most portable form,

and selected five horses and mules for themselves and their baggage. He

proposed to rejoin his band in the early part of March, at the winter

encampment near the Portneuf. All these arrangements being completed,

he mounted his horse on Christmas morning, and set off with his three

comrades. They halted a little beyond the Bannack camp, and made their

Christmas dinner, which, if not a very merry, was a very hearty one,

after which they resumed their journey.

They were obliged to travel slowly, to spare their horses; for the snow

had increased in depth to eighteen inches; and though somewhat packed

and frozen, was not sufficiently so to yield firm footing. Their route

lay to the west, down along the left side of Snake River; and they were

several days in reaching the first, or American Falls. The banks of the

river, for a considerable distance, both above and below the falls,

have a volcanic character: masses of basaltic rock are piled one upon

another; the water makes its way through their broken chasms, boiling

through narrow channels, or pitching in beautiful cascades over ridges

of basaltic columns.

Beyond these falls, they came to a picturesque, but inconsiderable

stream, called the Cassie. It runs through a level valley, about four

miles wide, where the soil is good; but the prevalent coldness and

dryness of the climate is unfavorable to vegetation. Near to this stream

there is a small mountain of mica slate, including garnets. Granite,

in small blocks, is likewise seen in this neighborhood, and white

sandstone. From this river, the travellers had a prospect of the snowy

heights of the Salmon River Mountains to the north; the nearest, at

least fifty miles distant.

In pursuing his course westward, Captain Bonneville generally kept

several miles from Snake River, crossing the heads of its tributary

streams; though he often found the open country so encumbered by

volcanic rocks, as to render travelling extremely difficult. Whenever he

approached Snake River, he found it running through a broad chasm, with

steep, perpendicular sides of basaltic rock. After several days’ travel

across a level plain, he came to a part of the river which filled him

with astonishment and admiration. As far as the eye could reach, the

river was walled in by perpendicular cliffs two hundred and fifty

feet high, beetling like dark and gloomy battlements, while blocks and

fragments lay in masses at their feet, in the midst of the boiling and

whirling current. Just above, the whole stream pitched in one cascade

above forty feet in height, with a thundering sound, casting up a volume

of spray that hung in the air like a silver mist. These are called

by some the Fishing Falls, as the salmon are taken here in immense

quantities. They cannot get by these falls.

After encamping at this place all night, Captain Bonneville, at sunrise,

descended with his party through a narrow ravine, or rather crevice, in

the vast wall of basaltic rock which bordered the river; this being the

only mode, for many miles, of getting to the margin of the stream.

The snow lay in a thin crust along the banks of the river, so that their

travelling was much more easy than it had been hitherto. There were

foot tracks, also, made by the natives, which greatly facilitated their

progress. Occasionally, they met the inhabitants of this wild region;

a timid race, and but scantily provided with the necessaries of life.

Their dress consisted of a mantle about four feet square, formed

of strips of rabbit skins sewed together; this they hung over their

shoulders, in the ordinary Indian mode of wearing the blanket. Their

weapons were bows and arrows; the latter tipped with obsidian, which

abounds in the neighborhood. Their huts were shaped like haystacks, and

constructed of branches of willow covered with long grass, so as to

be warm and comfortable. Occasionally, they were surrounded by small

inclosures of wormwood, about three feet high, which gave them

a cottage-like appearance. Three or four of these tenements were

occasionally grouped together in some wild and striking situation, and

had a picturesque effect. Sometimes they were in sufficient number

to form a small hamlet. From these people, Captain Bonneville’s party

frequently purchased salmon, dried in an admirable manner, as were

likewise the roes. This seemed to be their prime article of food; but

they were extremely anxious to get buffalo meat in exchange.

The high walls and rocks, within which the travellers had been so long

inclosed, now occasionally presented openings, through which they were

enabled to ascend to the plain, and to cut off considerable bends of the

river.

Throughout the whole extent of this vast and singular chasm, the scenery

of the river is said to be of the most wild and romantic character.

The rocks present every variety of masses and grouping. Numerous small

streams come rushing and boiling through narrow clefts and ravines:

one of a considerable size issued from the face of a precipice, within

twenty-five feet of its summit; and after running in nearly a horizontal

line for about one hundred feet, fell, by numerous small cascades, to

the rocky bank of the river.

In its career through this vast and singular defile, Snake River is

upward of three hundred yards wide, and as clear as spring water.

Sometimes it steals along with a tranquil and noiseless course; at other

times, for miles and miles, it dashes on in a thousand rapids, wild

and beautiful to the eye, and lulling the ear with the soft tumult of

plashing waters.

Many of the tributary streams of Snake River, rival it in the wildness

and picturesqueness of their scenery. That called the Bruneau; is

particularly cited. It runs through a tremendous chasm, rather than a

valley, extending upwards of a hundred and fifty miles. You come upon it

on a sudden, in traversing a level plain. It seems as if you could throw

a stone across from cliff to cliff; yet, the valley is near two thousand

feet deep: so that the river looks like an inconsiderable stream.

Basaltic rocks rise perpendicularly, so that it is impossible to get

from the plain to the water, or from the river margin to the plain. The

current is bright and limpid. Hot springs are found on the borders of

this river. One bursts out of the cliffs forty feet above the river, in

a stream sufficient to turn a mill, and sends up a cloud of vapor.

We find a characteristic picture of this volcanic region of mountains

and streams, furnished by the journal of Mr. Wyeth, which lies before

us; who ascended a peak in the neighborhood we are describing. From this

summit, the country, he says, appears an indescribable chaos; the tops

of the hills exhibit the same strata as far as the eye can reach; and

appear to have once formed the level of the country; and the valleys

to be formed by the sinking of the earth, rather than the rising of the

hills. Through the deep cracks and chasms thus formed, the rivers and

brooks make their way, which renders it difficult to follow them. All

these basaltic channels are called cut rocks by the trappers. Many of

the mountain streams disappear in the plains; either absorbed by their

thirsty soil, and by the porous surface of the lava, or swallowed up in

gulfs and chasms.

On the 12th of January (1834), Captain Bonneville reached Powder River;

much the largest stream that he had seen since leaving the Portneuf. He

struck it about three miles above its entrance into Snake River. Here he

found himself above the lower narrows and defiles of the latter river,

and in an open and level country. The natives now made their appearance

in considerable numbers, and evinced the most insatiable curiosity

respecting the white men; sitting in groups for hours together, exposed

to the bleakest winds, merely for the pleasure of gazing upon the

strangers, and watching every movement. These are of that branch of

the great Snake tribe called Shoshokoes, or Root Diggers, from their

subsisting, in a great measure, on the roots of the earth; though they

likewise take fish in great quantities, and hunt, in a small way. They

are, in general, very poor; destitute of most of the comforts of life,

and extremely indolent: but a mild, inoffensive race. They differ, in

many respects, from the other branch of the Snake tribe, the Shoshonies;

who possess horses, are more roving and adventurous, and hunt the

buffalo.

On the following day, as Captain Bonneville approached the mouth

of Powder River, he discovered at least a hundred families of these

Diggers, as they are familiarly called, assembled in one place. The

women and children kept at a distance, perched among the rocks and

cliffs; their eager curiosity being somewhat dashed with fear. From

their elevated posts, they scrutinized the strangers with the most

intense earnestness; regarding them with almost as much awe as if they

had been beings of a supernatural order.

The men, however, were by no means so shy and reserved; but importuned

Captain Bonneville and his companions excessively by their curiosity.

Nothing escaped their notice; and any thing they could lay their hands

on underwent the most minute examination. To get rid of such inquisitive

neighbors, the travellers kept on for a considerable distance, before

they encamped for the night.

The country, hereabout, was generally level and sandy; producing very

little grass, but a considerable quantity of sage or wormwood. The

plains were diversified by isolated hills, all cut off, as it were,

about the same height, so as to have tabular summits. In this they

resembled the isolated hills of the great prairies, east of the Rocky

Mountains; especially those found on the plains of the Arkansas.

The high precipices which had hitherto walled in the channel of Snake

River had now disappeared; and the banks were of the ordinary height. It

should be observed, that the great valleys or plains, through which the

Snake River wound its course, were generally of great breadth, extending

on each side from thirty to forty miles; where the view was bounded by

unbroken ridges of mountains.

The travellers found but little snow in the neighborhood of Powder

River, though the weather continued intensely cold. They learned a

lesson, however, from their forlorn friends, the Root Diggers, which

they subsequently found of great service in their wintry wanderings.

They frequently observed them to be furnished with long ropes, twisted

from the bark of the wormwood. This they used as a slow match, carrying

it always lighted. Whenever they wished to warm themselves, they would

gather together a little dry wormwood, apply the match, and in an

instant produce a cheering blaze.

Captain Bonneville gives a cheerless account of a village of these

Diggers, which he saw in crossing the plain below Powder River. “They

live,” says he, “without any further protection from the inclemency

of the season, than a sort of break-weather, about three feet high,

composed of sage (or wormwood), and erected around them in the shape

of a half moon.” Whenever he met with them, however, they had always a

large suite of half-starved dogs: for these animals, in savage as well

as in civilized life, seem to be the concomitants of beggary.

These dogs, it must be allowed, were of more use than the beggary curs

of cities. The Indian children used them in hunting the small game of

the neighborhood, such as rabbits and prairie dogs; in which mongrel

kind of chase they acquitted themselves with some credit.

Sometimes the Diggers aspire to nobler game, and succeed in entrapping

the antelope, the fleetest animal of the prairies. The process by which

this is effected is somewhat singular. When the snow has disappeared,

says Captain Bonneville, and the ground become soft, the women go into

the thickest fields of wormwood, and pulling it up in great quantities,

construct with it a hedge, about three feet high, inclosing about a

hundred acres. A single opening is left for the admission of the game.

This done, the women conceal themselves behind the wormwood, and wait

patiently for the coming of the antelopes; which sometimes enter this

spacious trap in considerable numbers. As soon as they are in, the women

give the signal, and the men hasten to play their part. But one of them

enters the pen at a time; and, after chasing the terrified animals round

the inclosure, is relieved by one of his companions. In this way

the hunters take their turns, relieving each other, and keeping up a

continued pursuit by relays, without fatigue to themselves. The poor

antelopes, in the end, are so wearied down, that the whole party of men

enter and dispatch them with clubs; not one escaping that has entered

the inclosure. The most curious circumstance in this chase is, that an

animal so fleet and agile as the antelope, and straining for its life,

should range round and round this fated inclosure, without attempting to

overleap the low barrier which surrounds it. Such, however, is said to

be the fact; and such their only mode of hunting the antelope.

Notwithstanding the absence of all comfort and convenience in their

habitations, and the general squalidness of their appearance, the

Shoshokoes do not appear to be destitute of ingenuity. They manufacture

good ropes, and even a tolerably fine thread, from a sort of weed found

in their neighborhood; and construct bowls and jugs out of a kind of

basket-work formed from small strips of wood plaited: these, by the aid

of a little wax, they render perfectly water tight. Beside the roots on

which they mainly depend for subsistence, they collect great quantities

of seed, of various kinds, beaten with one hand out of the tops of the

plants into wooden bowls held for that purpose. The seed thus collected

is winnowed and parched, and ground between two stones into a kind of

meal or flour; which, when mixed with water, forms a very palatable

paste or gruel.

Some of these people, more provident and industrious than the rest, lay

up a stock of dried salmon, and other fish, for winter: with these, they

were ready to traffic with the travellers for any objects of utility in

Indian life; giving a large quantity in exchange for an awl, a knife,

or a fish-hook. Others were in the most abject state of want and

starvation; and would even gather up the fish-bones which the travellers

threw away after a repast, warm them over again at the fire, and pick

them with the greatest avidity.

The farther Captain Bonneville advanced into the country of these

Root Diggers, the more evidence he perceived of their rude and forlorn

condition. “They were destitute,” says he, “of the necessary covering

to protect them from the weather; and seemed to be in the most

unsophisticated ignorance of any other propriety or advantage in the

use of clothing. One old dame had absolutely nothing on her person but a

thread round her neck, from which was pendant a solitary bead.”

What stage of human destitution, however, is too destitute for vanity!

Though these naked and forlorn-looking beings had neither toilet to

arrange, nor beauty to contemplate, their greatest passion was for a

mirror. It was a “great medicine,” in their eyes. The sight of one was

sufficient, at any time, to throw them into a paroxysm of eagerness and

delight; and they were ready to give anything they had for the smallest

fragment in which they might behold their squalid features. With this

simple instance of vanity, in its primitive but vigorous state, we shall

close our remarks on the Root Diggers.

30.

Temperature of the climate--Root Diggers on horseback--An

Indian guide--Mountain prospects--The Grand Rond--

Difficulties on Snake River--A scramble over the Blue

Mountains--Sufferings from hunger--Prospect of the Immahah

Valley--The exhausted traveller

THE TEMPERATURE of the regions west of the Rocky Mountains is much

milder than in the same latitudes on the Atlantic side; the upper

plains, however, which lie at a distance from the sea-coast, are

subject in winter to considerable vicissitude; being traversed by lofty

“sierras,” crowned with perpetual snow, which often produce flaws and

streaks of intense cold This was experienced by Captain Bonneville and

his companions in their progress westward. At the time when they left

the Bannacks Snake River was frozen hard: as they proceeded, the ice

became broken and floating; it gradually disappeared, and the weather

became warm and pleasant, as they approached a tributary stream called

the Little Wyer; and the soil, which was generally of a watery clay,

with occasional intervals of sand, was soft to the tread of the horses.

After a time, however, the mountains approached and flanked the

river; the snow lay deep in the valleys, and the current was once more

icebound.

Here they were visited by a party of Root Diggers, who were apparently

rising in the world, for they had “horse to ride and weapon to wear,”

and were altogether better clad and equipped than any of the tribe that

Captain Bonneville had met with. They were just from the plain of Boisee

River, where they had left a number of their tribe, all as well provided

as themselves; having guns, horses, and comfortable clothing. All these

they obtained from the Lower Nez Perces, with whom they were in habits

[sic] of frequent traffic. They appeared to have imbibed from that

tribe their non-combative principles, being mild and inoffensive in their

manners. Like them, also, they had something of religious feelings;

for Captain Bonneville observed that, before eating, they washed their

hands, and made a short prayer; which he understood was their invariable

custom. From these Indians, he obtained a considerable supply of fish,

and an excellent and well-conditioned horse, to replace one which had

become too weak for the journey.

The travellers now moved forward with renovated spirits; the snow, it

is true, lay deeper and deeper as they advanced, but they trudged on

merrily, considering themselves well provided for the journey, which

could not be of much longer duration.

They had intended to proceed up the banks of Gun Creek, a stream which

flows into Snake River from the west; but were assured by the natives

that the route in that direction was impracticable. The latter advised

them to keep along Snake River, where they would not be impeded by the

snow. Taking one of the Diggers for a guide, they set off along the

river, and to their joy soon found the country free from snow, as

had been predicted, so that their horses once more had the benefit of

tolerable pasturage. Their Digger proved an excellent guide, trudging

cheerily in the advance. He made an unsuccessful shot or two at a deer

and a beaver; but at night found a rabbit hole, whence he extracted

the occupant, upon which, with the addition of a fish given him by the

travellers, he made a hearty supper, and retired to rest, filled with

good cheer and good humor.

The next day the travellers came to where the hills closed upon the

river, leaving here and there intervals of undulating meadow land. The

river was sheeted with ice, broken into hills at long intervals. The

Digger kept on ahead of the party, crossing and recrossing the river

in pursuit of game, until, unluckily, encountering a brother Digger, he

stole off with him, without the ceremony of leave-taking.

Being now left to themselves, they proceeded until they came to some

Indian huts, the inhabitants of which spoke a language totally different

from any they had yet heard. One, however, understood the Nez Perce

language, and through him they made inquiries as to their route. These

Indians were extremely kind and honest, and furnished them with a small

quantity of meat; but none of them could be induced to act as guides.

Immediately in the route of the travellers lay a high mountain, which

they ascended with some difficulty. The prospect from the summit was

grand but disheartening. Directly before them towered the loftiest peaks

of Immahah, rising far higher than the elevated ground on which they

stood: on the other hand, they were enabled to scan the course of the

river, dashing along through deep chasms, between rocks and precipices,

until lost in a distant wilderness of mountains, which closed the savage

landscape.

They remained for a long time contemplating, with perplexed and anxious

eye, this wild congregation of mountain barriers, and seeking to

discover some practicable passage. The approach of evening obliged them

to give up the task, and to seek some camping ground for the night.

Moving briskly forward, and plunging and tossing through a succession of

deep snow-drifts, they at length reached a valley known among trappers

as the “Grand Rond,” which they found entirely free from snow.

This is a beautiful and very fertile valley, about twenty miles long and

five or six broad; a bright cold stream called the Fourche de Glace,

or Ice River, runs through it. Its sheltered situation, embosomed in

mountains, renders it good pasturaging ground in the winter time; when

the elk come down to it in great numbers, driven out of the mountains by

the snow. The Indians then resort to it to hunt. They likewise come

to it in the summer time to dig the camash root, of which it produces

immense quantities. When this plant is in blossom, the whole valley is

tinted by its blue flowers, and looks like the ocean when overcast by a

cloud.

After passing a night in this valley, the travellers in the morning

scaled the neighboring hills, to look out for a more eligible route

than that upon which they had unluckily fallen; and, after much

reconnoitring, determined to make their way once more to the river, and

to travel upon the ice when the banks should prove impassable.

On the second day after this determination, they were again upon Snake

River, but, contrary to their expectations, it was nearly free from ice.

A narrow riband ran along the shore, and sometimes there was a kind of

bridge across the stream, formed of old ice and snow. For a short time,

they jogged along the bank, with tolerable facility, but at length

came to where the river forced its way into the heart of the

mountains, winding between tremendous walls of basaltic rock, that rose

perpendicularly from the water’s edge, frowning in bleak and gloomy

grandeur. Here difficulties of all kinds beset their path. The snow was

from two to three feet deep, but soft and yielding, so that the horses

had no foothold, but kept plunging forward, straining themselves by

perpetual efforts. Sometimes the crags and promontories forced them upon

the narrow riband of ice that bordered the shore; sometimes they had to

scramble over vast masses of rock which had tumbled from the impending

precipices; sometimes they had to cross the stream upon the hazardous

bridges of ice and snow, sinking to the knee at every step; sometimes

they had to scale slippery acclivities, and to pass along narrow

cornices, glazed with ice and sleet, a shouldering wall of rock on one

side, a yawning precipice on the other, where a single false step would

have been fatal. In a lower and less dangerous pass, two of their horses

actually fell into the river; one was saved with much difficulty, but

the boldness of the shore prevented their rescuing the other, and he was

swept away by the rapid current.

In this way they struggled forward, manfully braving difficulties and

dangers, until they came to where the bed of the river was narrowed to

a mere chasm, with perpendicular walls of rock that defied all further

progress. Turning their faces now to the mountain, they endeavored to

cross directly over it; but, after clambering nearly to the summit,

found their path closed by insurmountable barriers.

Nothing now remained but to retrace their steps. To descend a cragged

mountain, however, was more difficult and dangerous than to ascend it.

They had to lower themselves cautiously and slowly, from steep to steep;

and, while they managed with difficulty to maintain their own footing,

to aid their horses by holding on firmly to the rope halters, as

the poor animals stumbled among slippery rocks, or slid down icy

declivities. Thus, after a day of intense cold, and severe and incessant

toil, amidst the wildest of scenery, they managed, about nightfall, to

reach the camping ground, from which they had started in the morning,

and for the first time in the course of their rugged and perilous

expedition, felt their hearts quailing under their multiplied hardships.

A hearty supper, a tranquillizing pipe, and a sound night’s sleep, put

them all in better mood, and in the morning they held a consultation as

to their future movements. About four miles behind, they had remarked

a small ridge of mountains approaching closely to the river. It was

determined to scale this ridge, and seek a passage into the valley which

must lie beyond. Should they fail in this, but one alternative remained.

To kill their horses, dry the flesh for provisions, make boats of

the hides, and, in these, commit themselves to the stream--a measure

hazardous in the extreme.

A short march brought them to the foot of the mountain, but its steep

and cragged sides almost discouraged hope. The only chance of scaling

it was by broken masses of rock, piled one upon another, which formed

a succession of crags, reaching nearly to the summit. Up these they

wrought their way with indescribable difficulty and peril, in a zigzag

course, climbing from rock to rock, and helping their horses up after

them; which scrambled among the crags like mountain goats; now and then

dislodging some huge stone, which, the moment they had left it, would

roll down the mountain, crashing and rebounding with terrific din. It

was some time after dark before they reached a kind of platform on the

summit of the mountain, where they could venture to encamp. The winds,

which swept this naked height, had whirled all the snow into the valley

beneath, so that the horses found tolerable winter pasturage on the

dry grass which remained exposed. The travellers, though hungry in the

extreme, were fain to make a very frugal supper; for they saw their

journey was likely to be prolonged much beyond the anticipated term.

In fact, on the following day they discerned that, although already at

a great elevation, they were only as yet upon the shoulder of the

mountain. It proved to be a great sierra, or ridge, of immense height,

running parallel to the course of the river, swelling by degrees to

lofty peaks, but the outline gashed by deep and precipitous ravines.

This, in fact, was a part of the chain of Blue Mountains, in which the

first adventurers to Astoria experienced such hardships.

We will not pretend to accompany the travellers step by step in this

tremendous mountain scramble, into which they had unconsciously betrayed

themselves. Day after day did their toil continue; peak after peak had

they to traverse, struggling with difficulties and hardships known only

to the mountain trapper. As their course lay north, they had to ascend

the southern faces of the heights, where the sun had melted the snow,

so as to render the ascent wet and slippery, and to keep both men and

horses continually on the strain; while on the northern sides, the snow

lay in such heavy masses, that it was necessary to beat a track down

which the horses might be led. Every now and then, also, their way was

impeded by tall and numerous pines, some of which had fallen, and lay in

every direction.

In the midst of these toils and hardships, their provisions gave out.

For three days they were without food, and so reduced that they could

scarcely drag themselves along. At length one of the mules, being about

to give out from fatigue and famine, they hastened to dispatch him.

Husbanding this miserable supply, they dried the flesh, and for three

days subsisted upon the nutriment extracted from the bones. As to the

meat, it was packed and preserved as long as they could do without it,

not knowing how long they might remain bewildered in these desolate

regions.

One of the men was now dispatched ahead, to reconnoitre the country, and

to discover, if possible, some more practicable route. In the meantime,

the rest of the party moved on slowly. After a lapse of three days, the

scout rejoined them. He informed them that Snake River ran immediately

below the sierra or mountainous ridge, upon which they were travelling;

that it was free from precipices, and was at no great distance from them

in a direct line; but that it would be impossible for them to reach it

without making a weary circuit. Their only course would be to cross the

mountain ridge to the left.

Up this mountain, therefore, the weary travellers directed their steps;

and the ascent, in their present weak and exhausted state, was one of

the severest parts of this most painful journey. For two days were they

toiling slowly from cliff to cliff, beating at every step a path through

the snow for their faltering horses. At length they reached the summit,

where the snow was blown off; but in descending on the opposite side,

they were often plunging through deep drifts, piled in the hollows and

ravines.

Their provisions were now exhausted, and they and their horses almost

ready to give out with fatigue and hunger; when one afternoon, just as

the sun was sinking behind a blue line of distant mountain, they came

to the brow of a height from which they beheld the smooth valley of the

Immahah stretched out in smiling verdure below them.

The sight inspired almost a frenzy of delight. Roused to new ardor,

they forgot, for a time, their fatigues, and hurried down the mountain,

dragging their jaded horses after them, and sometimes compelling them

to slide a distance of thirty or forty feet at a time. At length they

reached the banks of the Immahah. The young grass was just beginning to

sprout, and the whole valley wore an aspect of softness, verdure, and

repose, heightened by the contrast of the frightful region from which

they had just descended. To add to their joy, they observed Indian

trails along the margin of the stream, and other signs, which gave them

reason to believe that there was an encampment of the Lower Nez Perces

in the neighborhood, as it was within the accustomed range of that

pacific and hospitable tribe.

The prospect of a supply of food stimulated them to new exertion, and

they continued on as fast as the enfeebled state of themselves and their

steeds would permit. At length, one of the men, more exhausted than the

rest, threw himself upon the grass, and declared he could go no further.

It was in vain to attempt to rouse him; his spirit had given out, and

his replies only showed the dogged apathy of despair. His companions,

therefore, encamped on the spot, kindled a blazing fire, and searched

about for roots with which to strengthen and revive him. They all then

made a starveling repast; but gathering round the fire, talked over past

dangers and troubles, soothed themselves with the persuasion that all

were now at an end, and went to sleep with the comforting hope that the

morrow would bring them into plentiful quarters.

31.

Progress in the valley--An Indian cavalier--The captain

falls into a lethargy--A Nez-Perce patriarch--Hospitable

treatment--The bald head--Bargaining--Value of an old plaid

cloak--The family horse--The cost of an Indian present

A TRANQUIL NIGHT’S REST had sufficiently restored the broken down

traveller to enable him to resume his wayfaring, and all hands set

forward on the Indian trail. With all their eagerness to arrive within

reach of succor, such was their feeble and emaciated condition, that

they advanced but slowly. Nor is it a matter of surprise that they

should almost have lost heart, as well as strength. It was now (the 16th

of February) fifty-three days that they had been travelling in the midst

of winter, exposed to all kinds of privations and hardships: and for

the last twenty days, they had been entangled in the wild and desolate

labyrinths of the snowy mountains; climbing and descending icy

precipices, and nearly starved with cold and hunger.

All the morning they continued following the Indian trail, without

seeing a human being, and were beginning to be discouraged, when, about

noon, they discovered a horseman at a distance. He was coming directly

toward them; but on discovering them, suddenly reined up his steed,

came to a halt, and, after reconnoitring them for a time with great

earnestness, seemed about to make a cautious retreat. They eagerly made

signs of peace, and endeavored, with the utmost anxiety, to induce him

to approach. He remained for some time in doubt; but at length, having

satisfied himself that they were not enemies, came galloping up to them.

He was a fine, haughty-looking savage, fancifully decorated, and mounted

on a high-mettled steed, with gaudy trappings and equipments. It was

evident that he was a warrior of some consequence among his tribe.

His whole deportment had something in it of barbaric dignity; he felt,

perhaps, his temporary superiority in personal array, and in the spirit

of his steed, to the poor, ragged, travel-worn trappers and their

half-starved horses. Approaching them with an air of protection, he gave

them his hand, and, in the Nez Perce language, invited them to his camp,

which was only a few miles distant; where he had plenty to eat, and

plenty of horses, and would cheerfully share his good things with them.

His hospitable invitation was joyfully accepted: he lingered but a

moment, to give directions by which they might find his camp, and then,

wheeling round, and giving the reins to his mettlesome steed, was soon

out of sight. The travellers followed, with gladdened hearts, but at a

snail’s pace; for their poor horses could scarcely drag one leg after

the other. Captain Bonneville, however, experienced a sudden and

singular change of feeling. Hitherto, the necessity of conducting his

party, and of providing against every emergency, had kept his mind upon

the stretch, and his whole system braced and excited. In no one instance

had he flagged in spirit, or felt disposed to succumb. Now, however,

that all danger was over, and the march of a few miles would bring them

to repose and abundance, his energies suddenly deserted him; and every

faculty, mental and physical, was totally relaxed. He had not proceeded

two miles from the point where he had had the interview with the Nez

Perce chief, when he threw himself upon the earth, without the power

or will to move a muscle, or exert a thought, and sank almost instantly

into a profound and dreamless sleep. His companions again came to a

halt, and encamped beside him, and there they passed the night.

The next morning, Captain Bonneville awakened from his long and heavy

sleep, much refreshed; and they all resumed their creeping progress.

They had not long been on the march, when eight or ten of the Nez Perce

tribe came galloping to meet them, leading fresh horses to bear them

to their camp. Thus gallantly mounted, they felt new life infused into

their languid frames, and dashing forward, were soon at the lodges of

the Nez Perces. Here they found about twelve families living together,

under the patriarchal sway of an ancient and venerable chief. He

received them with the hospitality of the golden age, and with something

of the same kind of fare; for, while he opened his arms to make them

welcome, the only repast he set before them consisted of roots. They

could have wished for something more hearty and substantial; but, for

want of better, made a voracious meal on these humble viands. The repast

being over, the best pipe was lighted and sent round: and this was a

most welcome luxury, having lost their smoking apparatus twelve days

before, among the mountains.

While they were thus enjoying themselves, their poor horses were led to

the best pastures in the neighborhood, where they were turned loose to

revel on the fresh sprouting grass; so that they had better fare than

their masters.

Captain Bonneville soon felt himself quite at home among these quiet,

inoffensive people. His long residence among their cousins, the Upper

Nez Perces, had made him conversant with their language, modes of

expression, and all their habitudes. He soon found, too, that he

was well known among them, by report, at least, from the constant

interchange of visits and messages between the two branches of the

tribe. They at first addressed him by his name; giving him his title of

captain, with a French accent: but they soon gave him a title of their

own; which, as usual with Indian titles, had a peculiar signification.

In the case of the captain, it had somewhat of a whimsical origin.

As he sat chatting and smoking in the midst of them, he would

occasionally take off his cap. Whenever he did so, there was a sensation

in the surrounding circle. The Indians would half rise from their

recumbent posture, and gaze upon his uncovered head, with their usual

exclamation of astonishment. The worthy captain was completely bald; a

phenomenon very surprising in their eyes. They were at a loss to know

whether he had been scalped in battle, or enjoyed a natural immunity

from that belligerent infliction. In a little while, he became

known among them by an Indian name, signifying “the bald chief.” “A

sobriquet,” observes the captain, “for which I can find no parallel in

history since the days of ‘Charles the Bald.’”

Although the travellers had banqueted on roots, and been regaled

with tobacco smoke, yet their stomachs craved more generous fare. In

approaching the lodges of the Nez Perces, they had indulged in fond

anticipations of venison and dried salmon; and dreams of the kind still

haunted their imaginations, and could not be conjured down. The keen

appetites of mountain trappers, quickened by a fortnight’s fasting, at

length got the better of all scruples of pride, and they fairly begged

some fish or flesh from the hospitable savages. The latter, however,

were slow to break in upon their winter store, which was very limited;

but were ready to furnish roots in abundance, which they pronounced

excellent food. At length, Captain Bonneville thought of a means of

attaining the much-coveted gratification.

He had about him, he says, a trusty plaid; an old and valued travelling

companion and comforter; upon which the rains had descended, and the

snows and winds beaten, without further effect than somewhat to

tarnish its primitive lustre. This coat of many colors had excited the

admiration, and inflamed the covetousness of both warriors and squaws,

to an extravagant degree. An idea now occurred to Captain Bonneville,

to convert this rainbow garment into the savory viands so much desired.

There was a momentary struggle in his mind, between old associations and

projected indulgence; and his decision in favor of the latter was

made, he says, with a greater promptness, perhaps, than true taste and

sentiment might have required. In a few moments, his plaid cloak was

cut into numerous strips. “Of these,” continues he, “with the newly

developed talent of a man-milliner, I speedily constructed turbans a

la Turque, and fanciful head-gears of divers conformations. These,

judiciously distributed among such of the womenkind as seemed of most

consequence and interest in the eyes of the patres conscripti, brought

us, in a little while, abundance of dried salmon and deers’ hearts; on

which we made a sumptuous supper. Another, and a more satisfactory

smoke, succeeded this repast, and sweet slumbers answering the peaceful

invocation of our pipes, wrapped us in that delicious rest, which is

only won by toil and travail.” As to Captain Bonneville, he slept in

the lodge of the venerable patriarch, who had evidently conceived a most

disinterested affection for him; as was shown on the following morning.

The travellers, invigorated by a good supper, and “fresh from the bath

of repose,” were about to resume their journey, when this affectionate

old chief took the captain aside, to let him know how much he loved him.

As a proof of his regard, he had determined to give him a fine horse,

which would go further than words, and put his good will beyond all

question. So saying, he made a signal, and forthwith a beautiful young

horse, of a brown color, was led, prancing and snorting, to the place.

Captain Bonneville was suitably affected by this mark of friendship; but

his experience in what is proverbially called “Indian giving,” made him

aware that a parting pledge was necessary on his own part, to prove that

his friendship was reciprocated. He accordingly placed a handsome

rifle in the hands of the venerable chief, whose benevolent heart was

evidently touched and gratified by this outward and visible sign of

amity.

Having now, as he thought, balanced this little account of friendship,

the captain was about to shift his saddle to this noble gift-horse when

the affectionate patriarch plucked him by the sleeve, and introduced to

him a whimpering, whining, leathern-skinned old squaw, that might have

passed for an Egyptian mummy, without drying. “This,” said he, “is

my wife; she is a good wife--I love her very much.--She loves the

horse--she loves him a great deal--she will cry very much at losing

him.--I do not know how I shall comfort her--and that makes my heart

very sore.”

What could the worthy captain do, to console the tender-hearted old

squaw, and, peradventure, to save the venerable patriarch from a curtain

lecture? He bethought himself of a pair of ear-bobs: it was true, the

patriarch’s better-half was of an age and appearance that seemed to

put personal vanity out of the question, but when is personal vanity

extinct? The moment he produced the glittering earbobs, the whimpering

and whining of the sempiternal beldame was at an end. She eagerly placed

the precious baubles in her ears, and, though as ugly as the Witch of

Endor, went off with a sideling gait and coquettish air, as though she

had been a perfect Semiramis.

The captain had now saddled his newly acquired steed, and his foot was

in the stirrup, when the affectionate patriarch again stepped forward,

and presented to him a young Pierced-nose, who had a peculiarly sulky

look. “This,” said the venerable chief, “is my son: he is very good; a

great horseman--he always took care of this very fine horse--he brought

him up from a colt, and made him what he is.--He is very fond of this

fine horse--he loves him like a brother--his heart will be very heavy

when this fine horse leaves the camp.”

What could the captain do, to reward the youthful hope of this venerable

pair, and comfort him for the loss of his foster-brother, the horse?

He bethought him of a hatchet, which might be spared from his slender

stores. No sooner did he place the implement into the hands of the young

hopeful, than his countenance brightened up, and he went off rejoicing

in his hatchet, to the full as much as did his respectable mother in her

ear-bobs.

The captain was now in the saddle, and about to start, when the

affectionate old patriarch stepped forward, for the third time, and,

while he laid one hand gently on the mane of the horse, held up the

rifle in the other. “This rifle,” said he, “shall be my great medicine.

I will hug it to my heart--I will always love it, for the sake of my

good friend, the bald-headed chief.--But a rifle, by itself, is dumb--I

cannot make it speak. If I had a little powder and ball, I would take it

out with me, and would now and then shoot a deer; and when I brought the

meat home to my hungry family, I would say--This was killed by the

rifle of my friend, the bald-headed chief, to whom I gave that very fine

horse.”

There was no resisting this appeal; the captain, forthwith, furnished

the coveted supply of powder and ball; but at the same time, put spurs

to his very fine gift-horse, and the first trial of his speed was to

get out of all further manifestation of friendship, on the part of the

affectionate old patriarch and his insinuating family.

32.

Nez-Perce camp--A chief with a hard name--The Big Hearts of

the East--Hospitable treatment--The Indian guides--

Mysterious councils--The loquacious chief--Indian tomb--

Grand Indian reception--An Indian feast--Town-criers--

Honesty of the Nez-Perces--The captain’s attempt at

healing.

FOLLOWING THE COURSE of the Immahah, Captain Bonneville and his three

companions soon reached the vicinity of Snake River. Their route now lay

over a succession of steep and isolated hills, with profound valleys. On

the second day, after taking leave of the affectionate old patriarch, as

they were descending into one of those deep and abrupt intervals,

they descried a smoke, and shortly afterward came in sight of a small

encampment of Nez Perces.

The Indians, when they ascertained that it was a party of white men

approaching, greeted them with a salute of firearms, and invited them to

encamp. This band was likewise under the sway of a venerable chief

named Yo-mus-ro-y-e-cut; a name which we shall be careful not to inflict

oftener than is necessary upon the reader This ancient and hard-named

chieftain welcomed Captain Bonneville to his camp with the same

hospitality and loving kindness that he had experienced from his

predecessor. He told the captain he had often heard of the Americans

and their generous deeds, and that his buffalo brethren (the Upper Nez

Perces) had always spoken of them as the Big-hearted whites of the East,

the very good friends of the Nez Perces.

Captain Bonneville felt somewhat uneasy under the responsibility of

this magnanimous but costly appellation; and began to fear he might be

involved in a second interchange of pledges of friendship. He hastened,

therefore, to let the old chief know his poverty-stricken state, and how

little there was to be expected from him.

He informed him that he and his comrades had long resided among the

Upper Nez Perces, and loved them so much, that they had thrown their

arms around them, and now held them close to their hearts. That he had

received such good accounts from the Upper Nez Perces of their cousins,

the Lower Nez Perces, that he had become desirous of knowing them as

friends and brothers. That he and his companions had accordingly loaded

a mule with presents and set off for the country of the Lower Nez

Perces; but, unfortunately, had been entrapped for many days among the

snowy mountains; and that the mule with all the presents had fallen into

Snake River, and been swept away by the rapid current. That instead,

therefore, of arriving among their friends, the Nez Perces, with light

hearts and full hands, they came naked, hungry, and broken down; and

instead of making them presents, must depend upon them even for food.

“But,” concluded he, “we are going to the white men’s fort on the

Wallah-Wallah, and will soon return; and then we will meet our Nez Perce

friends like the true Big Hearts of the East.”

Whether the hint thrown out in the latter part of the speech had any

effect, or whether the old chief acted from the hospitable feelings

which, according to the captain, are really inherent in the Nez Perce

tribe, he certainly showed no disposition to relax his friendship on

learning the destitute circumstances of his guests. On the contrary, he

urged the captain to remain with them until the following day, when he

would accompany him on his journey, and make him acquainted with all

his people. In the meantime, he would have a colt killed, and cut up for

travelling provisions. This, he carefully explained, was intended not

as an article of traffic, but as a gift; for he saw that his guests were

hungry and in need of food.

Captain Bonneville gladly assented to this hospitable arrangement.

The carcass of the colt was forthcoming in due season, but the captain

insisted that one half of it should be set apart for the use of the

chieftain’s family.

At an early hour of the following morning, the little party resumed

their journey, accompanied by the old chief and an Indian guide.

Their route was over a rugged and broken country; where the hills were

slippery with ice and snow. Their horses, too, were so weak and jaded,

that they could scarcely climb the steep ascents, or maintain their

foothold on the frozen declivities. Throughout the whole of the journey,

the old chief and the guide were unremitting in their good offices,

and continually on the alert to select the best roads, and assist them

through all difficulties. Indeed, the captain and his comrades had to be

dependent on their Indian friends for almost every thing, for they had

lost their tobacco and pipes, those great comforts of the trapper, and

had but a few charges of powder left, which it was necessary to husband

for the purpose of lighting their fires.

In the course of the day the old chief had several private consultations

with the guide, and showed evident signs of being occupied with some

mysterious matter of mighty import. What it was, Captain Bonneville

could not fathom, nor did he make much effort to do so. From some casual

sentences that he overheard, he perceived that it was something from

which the old man promised himself much satisfaction, and to which he

attached a little vainglory but which he wished to keep a secret; so he

suffered him to spin out his petty plans unmolested.

In the evening when they encamped, the old chief and his privy

counsellor, the guide, had another mysterious colloquy, after which the

guide mounted his horse and departed on some secret mission, while the

chief resumed his seat at the fire, and sat humming to himself in a

pleasing but mystic reverie.

The next morning, the travellers descended into the valley of the

Way-lee-way, a considerable tributary of Snake River. Here they met the

guide returning from his secret errand. Another private conference

was held between him and the old managing chief, who now seemed more

inflated than ever with mystery and self-importance. Numerous fresh

trails, and various other signs, persuaded Captain Bonneville that there

must be a considerable village of Nez Perces in the neighborhood; but as

his worthy companion, the old chief, said nothing on the subject, and as

it appeared to be in some way connected with his secret operations,

he asked no questions, but patiently awaited the development of his

mystery.

As they journeyed on, they came to where two or three Indians were

bathing in a small stream. The good old chief immediately came to a

halt, and had a long conversation with them, in the course of which he

repeated to them the whole history which Captain Bonneville had related

to him. In fact, he seems to have been a very sociable, communicative

old man; by no means afflicted with that taciturnity generally charged

upon the Indians. On the contrary, he was fond of long talks and long

smokings, and evidently was proud of his new friend, the bald-headed

chief, and took a pleasure in sounding his praises, and setting forth

the power and glory of the Big Hearts of the East.

Having disburdened himself of everything he had to relate to his bathing

friends, he left them to their aquatic disports, and proceeded onward

with the captain and his companions. As they approached the Way-lee-way,

however, the communicative old chief met with another and a very

different occasion to exert his colloquial powers. On the banks of the

river stood an isolated mound covered with grass. He pointed to it with

some emotion. “The big heart and the strong arm,” said he, “lie buried

beneath that sod.”

It was, in fact, the grave of one of his friends; a chosen warrior of

the tribe; who had been slain on this spot when in pursuit of a war

party of Shoshokoes, who had stolen the horses of the village. The enemy

bore off his scalp as a trophy; but his friends found his body in

this lonely place, and committed it to the earth with ceremonials

characteristic of their pious and reverential feelings. They gathered

round the grave and mourned; the warriors were silent in their grief;

but the women and children bewailed their loss with loud lamentations.

“For three days,” said the old man, “we performed the solemn dances for

the dead, and prayed the Great Spirit that our brother might be happy

in the land of brave warriors and hunters. Then we killed at his grave

fifteen of our best and strongest horses, to serve him when he should

arrive at the happy hunting grounds; and having done all this, we

returned sorrowfully to our homes.”

While the chief was still talking, an Indian scout came galloping up,

and, presenting him with a powder-horn, wheeled round, and was speedily

out of sight. The eyes of the old chief now brightened; and all his

self-importance returned. His petty mystery was about to explode.

Turning to Captain Bonneville, he pointed to a hill hard by, and

informed him, that behind it was a village governed by a little chief,

whom he had notified of the approach of the bald-headed chief, and a

party of the Big Hearts of the East, and that he was prepared to receive

them in becoming style. As, among other ceremonials, he intended to

salute them with a discharge of firearms, he had sent the horn of

gunpowder that they might return the salute in a manner correspondent to

his dignity.

They now proceeded on until they doubled the point of the hill, when the

whole population of the village broke upon their view, drawn out in the

most imposing style, and arrayed in all their finery. The effect of the

whole was wild and fantastic, yet singularly striking. In the front rank

were the chiefs and principal warriors, glaringly painted and decorated;

behind them were arranged the rest of the people, men, women, and

children.

Captain Bonneville and his party advanced slowly, exchanging salutes of

firearms. When arrived within a respectful distance, they dismounted.

The chiefs then came forward successively, according to their respective

characters and consequence, to offer the hand of good fellowship; each

filing off when he had shaken hands, to make way for his successor.

Those in the next rank followed in the same order, and so on, until all

had given the pledge of friendship. During all this time, the chief,

according to custom, took his stand beside the guests. If any of his

people advanced whom he judged unworthy of the friendship or confidence

of the white men, he motioned them off by a wave of the hand, and they

would submissively walk away. When Captain Bonneville turned upon him an

inquiring look, he would observe, “he was a bad man,” or something quite

as concise, and there was an end of the matter.

Mats, poles, and other materials were now brought, and a comfortable

lodge was soon erected for the strangers, where they were kept

constantly supplied with wood and water, and other necessaries; and

all their effects were placed in safe keeping. Their horses, too, were

unsaddled, and turned loose to graze, and a guard set to keep watch upon

them.

All this being adjusted, they were conducted to the main building or

council house of the village, where an ample repast, or rather banquet,

was spread, which seemed to realize all the gastronomical dreams that

had tantalized them during their long starvation; for here they beheld

not merely fish and roots in abundance, but the flesh of deer and elk,

and the choicest pieces of buffalo meat. It is needless to say

how vigorously they acquitted themselves on this occasion, and how

unnecessary it was for their hosts to practice the usual cramming

principle of Indian hospitality.

When the repast was over, a long talk ensued. The chief showed the

same curiosity evinced by his tribe generally, to obtain information

concerning the United States, of which they knew little but what they

derived through their cousins, the Upper Nez Perces; as their traffic is

almost exclusively with the British traders of the Hudson’s Bay Company.

Captain Bonneville did his best to set forth the merits of his nation,

and the importance of their friendship to the red men, in which he was

ably seconded by his worthy friend, the old chief with the hard name,

who did all that he could to glorify the Big Hearts of the East.

The chief, and all present, listened with profound attention, and

evidently with great interest; nor were the important facts thus

set forth, confined to the audience in the lodge; for sentence after

sentence was loudly repeated by a crier for the benefit of the whole

village.

This custom of promulgating everything by criers, is not confined to the

Nez Perces, but prevails among many other tribes. It has its advantage

where there are no gazettes to publish the news of the day, or to report

the proceedings of important meetings. And in fact, reports of this

kind, viva voce, made in the hearing of all parties, and liable to

be contradicted or corrected on the spot, are more likely to convey

accurate information to the public mind than those circulated through

the press. The office of crier is generally filled by some old man,

who is good for little else. A village has generally several of these

walking newspapers, as they are termed by the whites, who go about

proclaiming the news of the day, giving notice of public councils,

expeditions, dances, feasts, and other ceremonials, and advertising

anything lost. While Captain Bonneville remained among the Nez Perces,

if a glove, handkerchief, or anything of similar value, was lost or

mislaid, it was carried by the finder to the lodge of the chief, and

proclamation was made by one of their criers, for the owner to come and

claim his property.

How difficult it is to get at the true character of these wandering

tribes of the wilderness! In a recent work, we have had to speak of this

tribe of Indians from the experience of other traders who had casually

been among them, and who represented them as selfish, inhospitable,

exorbitant in their dealings, and much addicted to thieving; Captain

Bonneville, on the contrary, who resided much among them, and had

repeated opportunities of ascertaining their real character, invariably

speaks of them as kind and hospitable, scrupulously honest, and

remarkable, above all other Indians that he had met with, for a strong

feeling of religion. In fact, so enthusiastic is he in their praise,

that he pronounces them, all ignorant and barbarous as they are by their

condition, one of the purest hearted people on the face of the earth.

Some cures which Captain Bonneville had effected in simple cases, among

the Upper Nez Perces, had reached the ears of their cousins here, and

gained for him the reputation of a great medicine man. He had not been

long in the village, therefore, before his lodge began to be the resort

of the sick and the infirm. The captain felt the value of the reputation

thus accidentally and cheaply acquired, and endeavored to sustain it. As

he had arrived at that age when every man is, experimentally, something

of a physician, he was enabled to turn to advantage the little knowledge

in the healing art which he had casually picked up; and was sufficiently

successful in two or three cases, to convince the simple Indians that

report had not exaggerated his medical talents. The only patient that

effectually baffled his skill, or rather discouraged any attempt at

relief, was an antiquated squaw with a churchyard cough, and one leg

in the grave; it being shrunk and rendered useless by a rheumatic

affection. This was a case beyond his mark; however, he comforted the

old woman with a promise that he would endeavor to procure something to

relieve her, at the fort on the Wallah-Wallah, and would bring it on his

return; with which assurance her husband was so well satisfied, that he

presented the captain with a colt, to be killed as provisions for the

journey: a medical fee which was thankfully accepted.

While among these Indians, Captain Bonneville unexpectedly found an

owner for the horse which he had purchased from a Root Digger at the Big

Wyer. The Indian satisfactorily proved that the horse had been stolen

from him some time previous, by some unknown thief. “However,” said the

considerate savage, “you got him in fair trade--you are more in want

of horses than I am: keep him; he is yours--he is a good horse; use him

well.”

Thus, in the continued experience of acts of kindness and generosity,

which his destitute condition did not allow him to reciprocate, Captain

Bonneville passed some short time among these good people, more and more

impressed with the general excellence of their character.

33.

Scenery of the Way-lee-way--A substitute for tobacco--

Sublime scenery of--Snake River--The garrulous old chief and

his cousin--A Nez-Perce meeting--A stolen skin--The

scapegoat dog--Mysterious conferences--The little chief--His

hospitality--The captain’s account of the United States--His

healing skill

IN RESUMING HIS JOURNEY, Captain Bonneville was conducted by the

same Nez Perce guide, whose knowledge of the country was important

in choosing the routes and resting places. He also continued to be

accompanied by the worthy old chief with the hard name, who seemed

bent upon doing the honors of the country, and introducing him to every

branch of his tribe. The Way-lee-way, down the banks of which Captain

Bonneville and his companions were now travelling, is a considerable

stream winding through a succession of bold and beautiful scenes.

Sometimes the landscape towered into bold and mountainous heights that

partook of sublimity; at other times, it stretched along the water side

in fresh smiling meadows, and graceful undulating valleys.

Frequently in their route they encountered small parties of the Nez

Perces, with whom they invariably stopped to shake hands; and who,

generally, evinced great curiosity concerning them and their adventures;

a curiosity which never failed to be thoroughly satisfied by the replies

of the worthy Yo-mus-ro-y-e-cut, who kindly took upon himself to be

spokesman of the party.

The incessant smoking of pipes incident to the long talks of this

excellent, but somewhat garrulous old chief, at length exhausted all his

stock of tobacco, so that he had no longer a whiff with which to regale

his white companions. In this emergency, he cut up the stem of his

pipe into fine shavings, which he mixed with certain herbs, and thus

manufactured a temporary succedaneum to enable him to accompany his long

colloquies and harangues with the customary fragrant cloud.

If the scenery of the Way-lee-way had charmed the travellers with its

mingled amenity and grandeur, that which broke upon them on once more

reaching Snake River, filled them with admiration and astonishment. At

times, the river was overhung by dark and stupendous rocks, rising like

gigantic walls and battlements; these would be rent by wide and yawning

chasms, that seemed to speak of past convulsions of nature. Sometimes

the river was of a glassy smoothness and placidity; at other times it

roared along in impetuous rapids and foaming cascades. Here, the rocks

were piled in the most fantastic crags and precipices; and in another

place, they were succeeded by delightful valleys carpeted with

green-award. The whole of this wild and varied scenery was dominated

by immense mountains rearing their distant peaks into the clouds. “The

grandeur and originality of the views, presented on every side,” says

Captain Bonneville, “beggar both the pencil and the pen. Nothing we had

ever gazed upon in any other region could for a moment compare in wild

majesty and impressive sternness, with the series of scenes which

here at every turn astonished our senses, and filled us with awe and

delight.”

Indeed, from all that we can gather from the journal before us, and the

accounts of other travellers, who passed through these regions in the

memorable enterprise of Astoria, we are inclined to think that Snake

River must be one of the most remarkable for varied and striking scenery

of all the rivers of this continent. From its head waters in the Rocky

Mountains, to its junction with the Columbia, its windings are upward

of six hundred miles through every variety of landscape. Rising in a

volcanic region, amid extinguished craters, and mountains awful with the

traces of ancient fires, it makes its way through great plains of lava

and sandy deserts, penetrates vast sierras or mountainous chains, broken

into romantic and often frightful precipices, and crowned with eternal

snows; and at other times, careers through green and smiling meadows,

and wide landscapes of Italian grace and beauty. Wildness and sublimity,

however, appear to be its prevailing characteristics.

Captain Bonneville and his companions had pursued their journey a

considerable distance down the course of Snake River, when the old chief

halted on the bank, and dismounting, recommended that they should turn

their horses loose to graze, while he summoned a cousin of his from

a group of lodges on the opposite side of the stream. His summons was

quickly answered. An Indian, of an active elastic form, leaped into a

light canoe of cotton-wood, and vigorously plying the paddle, soon shot

across the river. Bounding on shore, he advanced with a buoyant air and

frank demeanor, and gave his right hand to each of the party in turn.

The old chief, whose hard name we forbear to repeat, now presented

Captain Bonneville, in form, to his cousin, whose name, we regret to

say, was no less hard being nothing less than Hay-she-in-cow-cow. The

latter evinced the usual curiosity to know all about the strangers,

whence they came whither they were going, the object of their journey,

and the adventures they had experienced. All these, of course, were

ample and eloquently set forth by the communicative old chief. To all

his grandiloquent account of the bald-headed chief and his countrymen,

the Big Hearts of the East, his cousin listened with great attention,

and replied in the customary style of Indian welcome. He then desired

the party to await his return, and, springing into his canoe, darted

across the river. In a little while he returned, bringing a most

welcome supply of tobacco, and a small stock of provisions for the road,

declaring his intention of accompanying the party. Having no horse, he

mounted behind one of the men, observing that he should procure a steed

for himself on the following day.

They all now jogged on very sociably and cheerily together. Not many

miles beyond, they met others of the tribe, among whom was one, whom

Captain Bonneville and his comrades had known during their residence

among the Upper Nez Perces, and who welcomed them with open arms. In

this neighborhood was the home of their guide, who took leave of them

with a profusion of good wishes for their safety and happiness. That

night they put up in the hut of a Nez Perce, where they were visited by

several warriors from the other side of the river, friends of the old

chief and his cousin, who came to have a talk and a smoke with the white

men. The heart of the good old chief was overflowing with good will at

thus being surrounded by his new and old friends, and he talked with

more spirit and vivacity than ever. The evening passed away in perfect

harmony and good-humor, and it was not until a late hour that the

visitors took their leave and recrossed the river.

After this constant picture of worth and virtue on the part of the Nez

Perce tribe, we grieve to have to record a circumstance calculated to

throw a temporary shade upon the name. In the course of the social

and harmonious evening just mentioned, one of the captain’s men,

who happened to be something of a virtuoso in his way, and fond of

collecting curiosities, produced a small skin, a great rarity in the

eyes of men conversant in peltries. It attracted much attention among

the visitors from beyond the river, who passed it from one to the other,

examined it with looks of lively admiration, and pronounced it a great

medicine.

In the morning, when the captain and his party were about to set off,

the precious skin was missing. Search was made for it in the hut, but it

was nowhere to be found; and it was strongly suspected that it had been

purloined by some of the connoisseurs from the other side of the river.

The old chief and his cousin were indignant at the supposed delinquency

of their friends across the water, and called out for them to come over

and answer for their shameful conduct. The others answered to the call

with all the promptitude of perfect innocence, and spurned at the idea

of their being capable of such outrage upon any of the Big-hearted

nation. All were at a loss on whom to fix the crime of abstracting the

invaluable skin, when by chance the eyes of the worthies from beyond the

water fell upon an unhappy cur, belonging to the owner of the hut. He

was a gallows-looking dog, but not more so than most Indian dogs, who,

take them in the mass, are little better than a generation of vipers. Be

that as it may, he was instantly accused of having devoured the skin

in question. A dog accused is generally a dog condemned; and a dog

condemned is generally a dog executed. So was it in the present

instance. The unfortunate cur was arraigned; his thievish looks

substantiated his guilt, and he was condemned by his judges from across

the river to be hanged. In vain the Indians of the hut, with whom he was

a great favorite, interceded in his behalf. In vain Captain Bonneville

and his comrades petitioned that his life might be spared. His judges

were inexorable. He was doubly guilty: first, in having robbed their

good friends, the Big Hearts of the East; secondly, in having brought

a doubt on the honor of the Nez Perce tribe. He was, accordingly,

swung aloft, and pelted with stones to make his death more certain.

The sentence of the judges being thoroughly executed, a post mortem

examination of the body of the dog was held, to establish his

delinquency beyond all doubt, and to leave the Nez Perces without a

shadow of suspicion. Great interest, of course, was manifested by all

present, during this operation. The body of the dog was opened, the

intestines rigorously scrutinized, but, to the horror of all concerned,

not a particle of the skin was to be found--the dog had been unjustly

executed!

A great clamor now ensued, but the most clamorous was the party from

across the river, whose jealousy of their good name now prompted them

to the most vociferous vindications of their innocence. It was with the

utmost difficulty that the captain and his comrades could calm their

lively sensibilities, by accounting for the disappearance of the skin

in a dozen different ways, until all idea of its having been stolen was

entirely out of the question.

The meeting now broke up. The warriors returned across the river, the

captain and his comrades proceeded on their journey; but the spirits

of the communicative old chief, Yo-mus-ro-y-e-cut, were for a time

completely dampened, and he evinced great mortification at what had just

occurred. He rode on in silence, except, that now and then he would give

way to a burst of indignation, and exclaim, with a shake of the head

and a toss of the hand toward the opposite shore--“bad men, very bad

men across the river”; to each of which brief exclamations, his worthy

cousin, Hay-she-in-cow-cow, would respond by a guttural sound of

acquiescence, equivalent to an amen.

After some time, the countenance of the-old chief again cleared up, and

he fell into repeated conferences, in an under tone, with his cousin,

which ended in the departure of the latter, who, applying the lash to

his horse, dashed forward and was soon out of sight. In fact, they were

drawing near to the village of another chief, likewise distinguished by

an appellation of some longitude, O-pushy-e-cut; but commonly known as

the great chief. The cousin had been sent ahead to give notice of their

approach; a herald appeared as before, bearing a powder-horn, to

enable them to respond to the intended salute. A scene ensued, on their

approach to the village, similar to that which had occurred at the

village of the little chief. The whole population appeared in the

field, drawn up in lines, arrayed with the customary regard to rank and

dignity. Then came on the firing of salutes, and the shaking of hands,

in which last ceremonial every individual, man, woman, and child,

participated; for the Indians have an idea that it is as indispensable

an overture of friendship among the whites as smoking of the pipe is

among the red men. The travellers were next ushered to the banquet,

where all the choicest viands that the village could furnish, were

served up in rich profusion. They were afterwards entertained by feats

of agility and horseraces; indeed, their visit to the village seemed the

signal for complete festivity. In the meantime, a skin lodge had been

spread for their accommodation, their horses and baggage were taken care

of, and wood and water supplied in abundance. At night, therefore, they

retired to their quarters, to enjoy, as they supposed, the repose of

which they stood in need. No such thing, however, was in store for them.

A crowd of visitors awaited their appearance, all eager for a smoke and

a talk. The pipe was immediately lighted, and constantly replenished

and kept alive until the night was far advanced. As usual, the utmost

eagerness was evinced by the guests to learn everything within the scope

of their comprehension respecting the Americans, for whom they professed

the most fraternal regard. The captain, in his replies, made use of

familiar illustrations, calculated to strike their minds, and impress

them with such an idea of the might of his nation, as would induce them

to treat with kindness and respect all stragglers that might fall in

their path. To their inquiries as to the numbers of the people of the

United States, he assured them that they were as countless as the blades

of grass in the prairies, and that, great as Snake River was, if they

were all encamped upon its banks, they would drink it dry in a single

day. To these and similar statistics, they listened with profound

attention, and apparently, implicit belief. It was, indeed, a striking

scene: the captain, with his hunter’s dress and bald head in the midst,

holding forth, and his wild auditors seated around like so many statues,

the fire lighting up their painted faces and muscular figures, all

fixed and motionless, excepting when the pipe was passed, a question

propounded, or a startling fact in statistics received with a movement

of surprise and a half-suppressed ejaculation of wonder and delight.

The fame of the captain as a healer of diseases, had accompanied him to

this village, and the great chief, O-push-y-e-cut, now entreated him to

exert his skill on his daughter, who had been for three days racked with

pains, for which the Pierced-nose doctors could devise no alleviation.

The captain found her extended on a pallet of mats in excruciating pain.

Her father manifested the strongest paternal affection for her, and

assured the captain that if he would but cure her, he would place the

Americans near his heart. The worthy captain needed no such inducement.

His kind heart was already touched by the sufferings of the poor girl,

and his sympathies quickened by her appearance; for she was but about

sixteen years of age, and uncommonly beautiful in form and feature.

The only difficulty with the captain was, that he knew nothing of her

malady, and that his medical science was of a most haphazard kind. After

considering and cogitating for some time, as a man is apt to do when

in a maze of vague ideas, he made a desperate dash at a remedy. By his

directions, the girl was placed in a sort of rude vapor bath, much used

by the Nez Perces, where she was kept until near fainting. He then gave

her a dose of gunpowder dissolved in cold water, and ordered her to

be wrapped in buffalo robes and put to sleep under a load of furs and

blankets. The remedy succeeded: the next morning she was free from pain,

though extremely languid; whereupon, the captain prescribed for her a

bowl of colt’s head broth, and that she should be kept for a time on

simple diet.

The great chief was unbounded in his expressions of gratitude for the

recovery of his daughter. He would fain have detained the captain a

long time as his guest, but the time for departure had arrived. When the

captain’s horse was brought for him to mount, the chief declared that

the steed was not worthy of him, and sent for one of his best horses,

which he presented in its stead; declaring that it made his heart glad

to see his friend so well mounted. He then appointed a young Nez Perce

to accompany his guest to the next village, and “to carry his talk”

concerning them; and the two parties separated with mutual expressions

of good will.

The vapor bath of which we have made mention is in frequent use among

the Nez Perce tribe, chiefly for cleanliness. Their sweating houses, as

they call them, are small and close lodges, and the vapor is produced by

water poured slowly upon red-hot stones.

On passing the limits of O-push-y-e-cut’s domains, the travellers left

the elevated table-lands, and all the wild and romantic scenery which

has just been described. They now traversed a gently undulating country,

of such fertility that it excited the rapturous admiration of two of the

captain’s followers, a Kentuckian and a native of Ohio. They declared

that it surpassed any land that they had ever seen, and often exclaimed

what a delight it would be just to run a plough through such a rich and

teeming soil, and see it open its bountiful promise before the share.

Another halt and sojourn of a night was made at the village of a

chief named He-mim-el-pilp, where similar ceremonies were observed and

hospitality experienced, as at the preceding villages. They now pursued

a west-southwest course through a beautiful and fertile region, better

wooded than most of the tracts through which they had passed. In their

progress, they met with several bands of Nez Perces, by whom they were