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.