Determination of the Party to Proceed on Foot.--Dreary
Deserts Between Snake River and the Columbia.--Distribution
of Effects Preparatory to a March--Division of the Party.--
Rugged March Along the River.--Wild and Broken Scenery.--
Shoshonies.--Alarm of a Snake Encampment--Intercourse with
the Snakes.--Horse Dealing.--Value of a Tin Kettle.--
Sufferings From Thirst--A Horse Reclaimed.--Fortitude of an
Indian Woman.--Scarcity of Food.--Dog’s Flesh a Dainty.--News
of Mr. Crooks and His Party.--Painful Travelling Among the
Mountains.--Snow Storms.--A Dreary Mountain Prospect.--A
Bivouac During a Wintry Night.--Return to the River Bank.
THE resolution of Mr. Hunt and his companions was now taken to set out
immediately on foot. As to the other detachments that had in a manner
gone forth to seek their fortunes, there was little chance of their
return; they would probably make their own way through the wilderness.
At any rate, to linger in the vague hope of relief from them would be to
run the risk of perishing with hunger. Besides, the winter was rapidly
advancing, and they had a long journey to make through an unknown
country, where all kinds of perils might await them. They were yet, in
fact, a thousand miles from Astoria, but the distance was unknown
to them at the time: everything before and around them was vague and
conjectural, and wore an aspect calculated to inspire despondency.
In abandoning the river, they would have to launch forth upon vast
trackless plains destitute of all means of subsistence, where they might
perish of hunger and thirst. A dreary desert of sand and gravel extends
from Snake River almost to the Columbia. Here and there is a thin and
scanty herbage, insufficient for the pasturage of horse or buffalo.
Indeed, these treeless wastes between the Rocky Mountains and the
Pacific are even more desolate and barren than the naked, upper prairies
on the Atlantic side; they present vast desert tracts that must ever
defy cultivation, and interpose dreary and thirsty wilds between the
habitations of man, in traversing which the wanderer will often be in
danger of perishing.
Seeing the hopeless character of these wastes, Mr. Hunt and his
companions determined to keep along the course of the river, where
they would always have water at hand, and would be able occasionally
to procure fish and beaver, and might perchance meet with Indians, from
whom they could obtain provisions.
They now made their final preparations for the march. All their
remaining stock of provisions consisted of forty pounds of Indian corn,
twenty pounds of grease, about five pounds of portable soup, and a
sufficient quantity of dried meat to allow each man a pittance of
five pounds and a quarter, to be reserved for emergencies. This being
properly distributed, they deposited all their goods and superfluous
articles in the caches, taking nothing with them but what was
indispensable to the journey. With all their management, each man had to
carry twenty pounds’ weight besides his own articles and equipments.
That they might have the better chance of procuring subsistence in the
scanty region they were to traverse, they divided their party into
two bands. Mr. Hunt, with eighteen men, besides Pierre Dorion and his
family, was to proceed down the north side of the river, while Mr.
Crooks, with eighteen men, kept along the south side.
On the morning of the 9th of October, the two parties separated and set
forth on their several courses. Mr. Hunt and his companions followed
along the right bank of the river, which made its way far below them,
brawling at the foot of perpendicular precipices of solid rock, two and
three hundred feet high. For twenty-eight miles that they travelled this
day, they found it impossible to get down to the margin of the stream.
At the end of this distance they encamped for the night at a place which
admitted a scrambling descent. It was with the greatest difficulty,
however, that they succeeded in getting up a kettle of water from the
river for the use of the camp. As some rain had fallen in the afternoon,
they passed the night under the shelter of the rocks.
The next day they continued thirty-two miles to the northwest, keeping
along the river, which still ran in its deep-cut channel. Here and there
a shady beach or a narrow strip of soil, fringed with dwarf willows,
would extend for a little distance along the foot of the cliffs, and
sometimes a reach of still water would intervene like a smooth mirror
between the foaming rapids.
As through the preceding day, they journeyed on without finding, except
in one instance, any place where they could get down to the river’s
edge, and they were fain to allay the thirst caused by hard travelling,
with the water collected in the hollow of the rocks.
In the course of their march on the following morning, they fell into a
beaten horse path leading along the river, which showed that they were
in the neighborhood of some Indian village or encampment. They had not
proceeded far along it, when they met with two Shoshonies, or Snakes.
They approached with some appearance of uneasiness, and accosting
Mr. Hunt, held up a knife, which by signs they let him know they had
received from some of the white men of the advance parties. It was with
some difficulties that Mr. Hunt prevailed upon one of the savages to
conduct him to the lodges of his people. Striking into a trail or path
which led up from the river, he guided them for some distance in the
prairie, until they came in sight of a number of lodges made of straw,
and shaped like hay-stacks. Their approach, as on former occasions,
caused the wildest affright among the inhabitants. The women hid such
of their children as were too large to be carried, and too small to take
care of themselves, under straw, and, clasping their infants to their
breasts, fled across the prairie. The men awaited the approach of the
strangers, but evidently in great alarm.
Mr. Hunt entered the lodges, and, as he was looking about, observed
where the children were concealed; their black eyes glistening like
those of snakes, from beneath the straw. He lifted up the covering to
look at them; the poor little beings were horribly frightened, and their
fathers stood trembling, as if a beast of prey were about to pounce upon
their brood.
The friendly manner of Mr. Hunt soon dispelled these apprehensions;
he succeeded in purchasing some excellent dried salmon, and a dog, an
animal much esteemed as food by the natives; and when he returned to
the river one of the Indians accompanied him. He now came to where the
lodges were frequent along the banks, and, after a day’s journey of
twenty-six miles to the northwest, encamped in a populous neighborhood.
Forty or fifty of the natives soon visited the camp, conducting
themselves in a very amicable manner. They were well clad, and all had
buffalo robes, which they procured from some of the hunting tribes in
exchange for salmon. Their habitations were very comfortable; each had
its pile of wormwood at the door for fuel, and within was abundance
of salmon, some fresh, but the greater part cured. When the white men
visited the lodges, however, the women and children hid themselves
through fear. Among the supplies obtained here were two dogs, on
which our travellers breakfasted, and found them to be very excellent,
well-flavored, and hearty food.
In the course of the three following days they made about sixty-three
miles, generally in a northwest direction. They met with many of the
natives in their straw-built cabins, who received them without alarm.
About their dwellings were immense quantities of the heads and skins of
salmon, the best part of which had been cured, and hidden in the ground.
The women were badly clad; the children worse; their garments were
buffalo robes, or the skins of foxes, hares, and badgers, and sometimes
the skins of ducks, sewed together, with the plumage on. Most of the
skins must have been procured by traffic with other tribes, or in
distant hunting excursions, for the naked prairies in the neighborhood
afforded few animals, excepting horses, which were abundant. There were
signs of buffaloes having been there, but a long time before.
On the 15th of November they made twenty-eight miles along the river,
which was entirely free from rapids. The shores were lined with dead
salmon, which tainted the whole atmosphere. The natives whom they met
spoke of Mr. Reed’s party having passed through that neighborhood. In
the course of the day Mr. Hunt saw a few horses, but the owners of them
took care to hurry them out of the way. All the provisions they were
able to procure were two dogs and a salmon. On the following day they
were still worse off, having to subsist on parched corn and the remains
of their dried meat. The river this day had resumed its turbulent
character, forcing its way through a narrow channel between steep rocks
and down violent rapids. They made twenty miles over a rugged road,
gradually approaching a mountain in the northwest, covered with snow,
which had been in sight for three days past.
On the 17th they met with several Indians, one of whom had a horse. Mr.
Hunt was extremely desirous of obtaining it as a pack-horse; for the
men, worn down by fatigue and hunger, found the loads of twenty pounds’
weight which they had to carry, daily growing heavier and more galling.
The Indians, however, along this river, were never willing to part with
their horses, having none to spare. The owner of the steed in question
seemed proof against all temptation; article after article of great
value in Indian eyes was offered and refused. The charms of an old
tin-kettle, however, were irresistible, and a bargain was concluded.
A great part of the following morning was consumed in lightening the
packages of the men and arranging the load for the horse. At this
encampment there was no wood for fuel, even the wormwood on which they
had frequently depended having disappeared. For the two last days they
had made thirty miles to the northwest.
On the 19th of November, Mr. Hunt was lucky enough to purchase another
horse for his own use, giving in exchange a tomahawk, a knife, a fire
steel, and some beads and gartering. In an evil hour, however, he took
the advice of the Indians to abandon the river, and follow a road or
trail leading into the prairies. He soon had cause to regret the change.
The road led across a dreary waste, without verdure; and where there
was neither fountain, nor pool, nor running stream. The men now began
to experience the torments of thirst, aggravated by their diet of dried
fish. The thirst of the Canadian voyageurs became so insupportable as to
drive them to the most revolting means of allaying it. For twenty-five
miles did they toll on across this dismal desert, and laid themselves
down at night, parched and disconsolate, beside their wormwood fires;
looking forward to still greater sufferings on the following day.
Fortunately it began to rain in the night, to their infinite relief; the
water soon collected in puddles and afforded them delicious draughts.
Refreshed in this manner, they resumed their wayfaring as soon as the
first streaks of dawn gave light enough for them to see their path. The
rain continued all day, so that they no longer suffered from thirst, but
hunger took its place, for after travelling thirty-three miles they had
nothing to sup on but a little parched corn.
The next day brought them to the banks of a beautiful little stream,
running to the west, and fringed with groves of cottonwood and willow.
On its borders was an Indian camp, with a great many horses grazing
around it. The inhabitants, too, appeared to be better clad than usual.
The scene was altogether a cheering one to the poor half-famished
wanderers. They hastened to their lodges, but on arriving at them
met with a check that at first dampened their cheerfulness. An Indian
immediately laid claim to the horse of Mr. Hunt, saying that it had been
stolen from him. There was no disproving a fact supported by numerous
bystanders, and which the horse stealing habits of the Indians rendered
but too probable; so Mr. Hunt relinquished his steed to the claimant;
not being able to retain him by a second purchase.
At this place they encamped for the night, and made a sumptuous repast
upon fish and a couple of dogs, procured from their Indian neighbors.
The next day they kept along the river, but came to a halt after ten
miles’ march, on account of the rain. Here they again got a supply of
fish and dogs from the natives; and two of the men were fortunate enough
each to get a horse in exchange for a buffalo robe. One of these men was
Pierre Dorion, the half-breed interpreter, to whose suffering family
the horse was a timely acquisition. And here we cannot but notice the
wonderful patience, perseverance, and hardihood of the Indian women, as
exemplified in the conduct of the poor squaw of the interpreter. She was
now far advanced in her pregnancy, and had two children to take care of;
one four, and the other two years of age. The latter of course she
had frequently to carry on her back, in addition to the burden usually
imposed upon the squaw, yet she had borne all her hardships without a
murmur, and throughout this weary and painful journey had kept pace with
the best of the pedestrians. Indeed on various occasions in the course
of this enterprise, she displayed a force of character that won the
respect and applause of the white men.
Mr. Hunt endeavored to gather some information from these Indians
concerning the country and the course of the rivers. His communications
with them had to be by signs, and a few words which he had learnt, and
of course were extremely vague. All that he could learn from them was
that the great river, the Columbia, was still far distant, but he could
ascertain nothing as to the route he ought to take to arrive at it. For
the two following days they continued westward upwards of forty miles
along the little stream, until they crossed it just before its junction
with Snake River, which they found still running to the north. Before
them was a wintry-looking mountain covered with snow on all sides.
In three days more they made about seventy miles; fording two small
rivers, the waters of which were very cold. Provisions were extremely
scarce; their chief sustenance was portable soup; a meagre diet for
weary pedestrians.
On the 27th of November the river led them into the mountains through a
rocky defile where there was scarcely room to pass. They were frequently
obliged to unload the horses to get them by the narrow places; and
sometimes to wade through the water in getting round rocks and butting
cliffs. All their food this day was a beaver which they had caught the
night before; by evening, the cravings of hunger were so sharp, and the
prospect of any supply among the mountains so faint, that they had to
kill one of the horses. “The men,” says Mr. Hunt in his journal, “find
the meat very good, and, indeed, so should I, were it not for the
attachment I have to the animal.”
Early the following day, after proceeding ten miles to the north,
they came to two lodges of Shoshonies, who seemed in nearly as great
extremity as themselves, having just killed two horses for food. They
had no other provisions excepting the seed of a weed which they gather
in great quantities, and pound fine. It resembles hemp-seed. Mr. Hunt
purchased a bag of it, and also some small pieces of horse flesh, which
he began to relish, pronouncing them “fat and tender.”
From these Indians he received information that several white men had
gone down the river, some one side, and a good many on the other; these
last he concluded to be Mr. Crooks and his party. He was thus released
from much anxiety about their safety, especially as the Indians spoke
about Mr. Crooks having one of his dogs yet, which showed that he and
his men had not been reduced to extremity of hunger.
As Mr. Hunt feared that he might be several days in passing through
this mountain defile, and run the risk of famine, he encamped in the
neighborhood of the Indians, for the purpose of bartering with them for
a horse. The evening was expended in ineffectual trials. He offered a
gun, a buffalo robe, and various other articles. The poor fellows had,
probably, like himself, the fear of starvation before their eyes. At
length the women, learning the object of his pressing solicitations and
tempting offers, set up such a terrible hue and cry that he was fairly
howled and scolded from the ground.
The next morning early, the Indians seemed very desirous to get rid of
their visitors, fearing, probably, for the safety of their horses. In
reply to Mr. Hunt’s inquiries about the mountains, they told him that he
would have to sleep but three nights more among them; and that six days’
travelling would take him to the falls of the Columbia; information in
which he put no faith, believing it was only given to induce him to set
forward. These, he was told, were the last Snakes he would meet with,
and that he would soon come to a nation called Sciatogas.
Forward then did he proceed on his tedious journey, which, at every
step, grew more painful. The road continued for two days through narrow
defiles, where they were repeatedly obliged to unload the horses.
Sometimes the river passed through such rocky chasms and under such
steep precipices that they had to leave it, and make their way, with
excessive labor, over immense hills, almost impassable for horses.
On some of these hills were a few pine trees, and their summits were
covered with snow. On the second day of this scramble one of the hunters
killed a black-tailed deer, which afforded the half-starved travellers a
sumptuous repast. Their progress these two days was twenty-eight miles,
a little to the northward of east.
The month of December set in drearily, with rain in the valleys and snow
upon the hills. They had to climb a mountain with snow to the midleg,
which increased their painful toil. A small beaver supplied them with
a scanty meal, which they eked out with frozen blackberries, haws, and
choke-cherries, which they found in the course of their scramble. Their
journey this day, though excessively fatiguing, was but thirteen miles;
and all the next day they had to remain encamped, not being able to see
half a mile ahead, on account of a snow-storm. Having nothing else to
eat, they were compelled to kill another of their horses. The next day
they resumed their march in snow and rain, but with all their efforts
could only get forward nine miles, having for a part of the distance
to unload the horses and carry the packs themselves. On the succeeding
morning they were obliged to leave the river and scramble up the hills.
From the summit of these, they got a wide view of the surrounding
country, and it was a prospect almost sufficient to make them despair.
In every direction they beheld snowy mountains, partially sprinkled with
pines and other evergreens, and spreading a desert and toilsome world
around them. The wind howled over the bleak and wintry landscape, and
seemed to penetrate to the marrow of their bones. They waded on through
the snow, which at every step was more than knee deep.
After tolling in this way all day, they had the mortification to
find that they were but four miles distant from the encampment of the
preceding night, such was the meandering of the river among these
dismal hills. Pinched with famine, exhausted with fatigue, with evening
approaching, and a wintry wild still lengthening as they advanced, they
began to look forward with sad forebodings to the night’s exposure upon
this frightful waste. Fortunately they succeeded in reaching a cluster
of pines about sunset. Their axes were immediately at work; they cut
down trees, piled them in great heaps, and soon had huge fires “to cheer
their cold and hungry hearts.”
About three o’clock in the morning it again began to snow, and at
daybreak they found themselves, as it were, in a cloud, scarcely being
able to distinguish objects at the distance of a hundred yards. Guarding
themselves by the sound of running water, they set out for the river,
and by slipping and sliding contrived to get down to its bank. One of
the horses, missing his footing, rolled down several hundred yards with
his load, but sustained no injury. The weather in the valley was less
rigorous than on the hills. The snow lay but ankle deep, and there was
a quiet rain now falling. After creeping along for six miles, they
encamped on the border of the river. Being utterly destitute of
provisions, they were again compelled to kill one of their horses to
appease their famishing hunger.