Route of Mr. Stuart--Dreary Wilds.--Thirsty Travelling.-A
Grove and Streamlet.--The Blue Mountains.--A Fertile Plain
With Rivulets.--Sulphur Spring--Route Along Snake River--
Rumors of White Men.--The Snake and His Horse.--A Snake
Guide.-A Midnight Decampment.--Unexpected Meeting With Old
Comrades--Story of Trappers’ Hardships--Salmon Falls--A
Great Fishery.--Mode of Spearing Salmon.--Arrival at the
Caldron Linn.--State of the Caches.--New Resolution of the
Three Kentucky Trappers.
IN retracing the route which had proved so disastrous to Mr. Hunt’s
party during the preceding winter, Mr. Stuart had trusted, in the
present more favorable season, to find easy travelling and abundant
supplies. On these great wastes and wilds, however, each season has its
peculiar hardships. The travellers had not proceeded far, before they
found themselves among naked and arid hills, with a soil composed of
sand and clay, baked and brittle, that to all appearance had never been
visited by the dews of heaven.
Not a spring, or pool, or running stream was to be seen; the sunburnt
country was seamed and cut up by dry ravines, the beds of winter
torrents, serving only to balk the hopes of man and beast with the sight
of dusty channels, where water had once poured along in floods.
For a long summer day they continued onward without halting, a burning
sky above their heads, a parched desert beneath their feet, with just
wind enough to raise the light sand from the knolls, and envelop them in
stifling clouds. The sufferings from thirst became intense; a fine young
dog, their only companion of the kind, gave out, and expired. Evening
drew on without any prospect of relief, and they were almost reduced
to despair, when they descried something that looked like a fringe of
forest along the horizon. All were inspired with new hope, for they knew
that on these arid wastes, in the neighborhood of trees, there is always
water.
They now quickened their pace; the horses seemed to understand their
motives, and to partake of their anticipations; for, though before
almost ready to give out, they now required neither whip nor spur. With
all their exertions, it was late in the night before they drew near to
the trees. As they approached, they heard, with transport, the rippling
of a shallow stream. No sooner did the refreshing sound reach the ears
of the horse, than the poor animals snuffed the air, rushed forward with
ungovernable eagerness, and plunging their muzzles into the water, drank
until they seemed in danger of bursting. Their riders had but little
more discretion, and required repeated draughts to quench their
excessive thirst. Their weary march that day had been forty-five miles,
over a tract that might rival the deserts of Africa for aridity. Indeed,
the sufferings of the traveller on these American deserts is frequently
more severe than in the wastes of Africa or Asia, from being less
habituated and prepared to cope with them.
On the banks of this blessed stream the travellers encamped for the
night; and so great had been their fatigue, and so sound and sweet was
their sleep, that it was a late hour the next morning before they awoke.
They now recognized the little river to be the Umatilla, the same on
the banks of which Mr. Hunt and his followers had arrived after their
painful struggle through the Blue Mountains, and experienced such a kind
relief in the friendly camp of the Sciatogas.
That range of Blue Mountains now extended in the distance before them;
they were the same among which poor Michael Carriere had perished. They
form the southeast boundary of the great plains along the Columbia,
dividing the waters of its main stream from those of Lewis River. They
are, in fact, a part of a long chain, which stretches over a great
extent of country, and includes in its links the Snake River Mountains.
The day was somewhat advanced before the travellers left the shady
banks of the Umatilla. Their route gradually took them among the Blue
Mountains, which assumed the most rugged aspect on a near approach.
They were shagged with dense and gloomy forests, and cut up by deep and
precipitous ravines, extremely toilsome to the horses. Sometimes the
travellers had to follow the course of some brawling stream, with a
broken, rocky bed, which the shouldering cliffs and promontories on
either side obliged them frequently to cross and recross. For some miles
they struggled forward through these savage and darkly wooded defiles,
when all at once the whole landscape changed, as if by magic. The
rude mountains and rugged ravines softened into beautiful hills, and
intervening meadows, with rivulets winding through fresh herbage, and
sparkling and murmuring over gravelly beds, the whole forming a verdant
and pastoral scene, which derived additional charms from being locked up
in the bosom of such a hard-hearted region.
Emerging from the chain of Blue Mountains, they descended upon a vast
plain, almost a dead level, sixty miles in circumference, Of excellent
soil, with fine streams meandering through it in every direction,
their courses marked out in the wide landscape by serpentine lines of
cotton-wood trees, and willows, which fringed their banks, and afforded
sustenance to great numbers of beavers and otters.
In traversing this plain, they passed, close to the skirts of the hills,
a great pool of water, three hundred yards in circumference, fed by a
sulphur spring, about ten feet in diameter, boiling up in one corner.
The vapor from this pool was extremely noisome, and tainted the air for
a considerable distance. The place was much frequented by elk, which
were found in considerable numbers in the adjacent mountains, and their
horns, shed in the spring-time, were strewed in every direction around
the pond.
On the 10th of August, they reached the main body of Woodvile Creek, the
same stream which Mr. Hunt had ascended in the preceding year, shortly
after his separation from Mr. Crooks.
On the banks of this stream they saw a herd of nineteen antelopes; a
sight so unusual in that part of the country, that at first they doubted
the evidence of their senses. They tried by every means to get within
shot of them, but they were too shy and fleet, and after alternately
bounding to a distance, and then stopping to gaze with capricious
curiosity at the hunter, they at length scampered out of sight.
On the 12th of August, the travellers arrived on the banks of Snake
River, the scene of so many trials and mishaps to all of the present
party excepting Mr. Stuart. They struck the river just above the place
where it entered the mountains, through which Messrs. Stuart and Crooks
had vainly endeavored to find a passage. The river was here a rapid
stream, four hundred yards in width, with high sandy banks, and here and
there a scanty growth of willow. Up the southern side of the river they
now bent their course, intending to visit the caches made by Mr. Hunt at
the Caldron Linn.
On the second evening, a solitary Snake Indian visited their camp, at a
late hour, and informed them that there was a white man residing at one
of the cantonments of his tribe, about a day’s journey higher up the
river. It was immediately concluded that he must be one of the poor
fellows of Mr. Hunt’s party, who had given out, exhausted by hunger and
fatigue, in the wretched journey of the preceding winter. All present
who had borne a part in the sufferings of that journey, were eager now
to press forward, and bring relief to a lost comrade. Early the next
morning, therefore, they pushed forward with unusual alacrity. For two
days, however, did they travel without being able to find any trace of
such a straggler.
On the evening of the second day, they arrived at a place where a large
river came in from the east, which was renowned among all the wandering
hordes of the Snake nation for its salmon fishery, that fish being taken
in incredible quantities in this neighborhood. Here, therefore, during
the fishing season, the Snake Indians resort from far and near, to
lay in their stock of salmon, which, with esculent roots, forms the
principal food of the inhabitants of these barren regions.
On the bank of a small stream emptying into Snake River at this place,
Mr. Stuart found an encampment of Shoshonies. He made the usual inquiry
of them concerning the white man of whom he had received intelligence.
No such person was dwelling among them, but they said there were white
men residing with some of their nation on the opposite side of the
river. This was still more animating information. Mr. Crooks now hoped
that these might be the men of his party, who, disheartened by perils
and hardships, had preferred to remain among the Indians. Others thought
they might be Mr. Miller and the hunters who had left the main body at
Henry’s Fort, to trap among the mountain streams. Mr. Stuart halted,
therefore, in the neighborhood of the Shoshonie lodges, and sent an
Indian across the river to seek out the white men in question, and bring
them to his camp.
The travellers passed a restless, miserable night. The place swarmed
with myriads of mosquitoes, which, with their stings and their music,
set all sleep at defiance. The morning dawn found them in a feverish,
irritable mood, and their spleen was completely aroused by the return
of the Indian without any intelligence of the white men. They now
considered themselves the dupes of Indian falsehoods, and resolved
to put no more confidence in Snakes. They soon, however, forgot this
resolution. In the course of the morning, an Indian came galloping after
them; Mr. Stuart waited to receive him; no sooner had he come up, than,
dismounting and throwing his arms around the neck of Mr. Stuart’s horse,
he began to kiss and caress the animal, who, on his part, seemed by
no means surprised or displeased with his salutation. Mr. Stuart, who
valued his horse highly, was somewhat annoyed by these transports; the
cause of them was soon explained. The Snake said the horse had belonged
to him, and been the best in his possession, and that it had been stolen
by the Wallah-Wallahs. Mr. Stuart was by no means pleased with this
recognition of his steed, nor disposed to admit any claim on the part of
its ancient owner. In fact, it was a noble animal, admirably shaped,
of free and generous spirit, graceful in movement, and fleet as an
antelope. It was his intention, if possible, to take the horse to New
York, and present him to Mr. Astor.
In the meantime, some of the party came up, and immediately recognized
in the Snake an old friend and ally. He was, in fact, one of the two
guides who had conducted Mr. Hunt’s party, in the preceding autumn,
across Mad River Mountain to Fort Henry, and who subsequently departed
with Mr. Miller and his fellow trappers, to conduct them to a good
trapping ground. The reader may recollect that these two trusty Snakes
were engaged by Mr. Hunt to return and take charge of the horses which
the party intended to leave at Fort Henry, when they should embark in
canoes.
The party now crowded round the Snake, and began to question him
with eagerness. His replies were somewhat vague, and but partially
understood. He told a long story about the horses, from which it
appeared that they had been stolen by various wandering bands, and
scattered in different directions. The cache, too, had been plundered,
and the saddles and other equipments carried off. His information
concerning Mr. Miller and his comrades was not more satisfactory. They
had trapped for some time about the upper streams, but had fallen into
the hands of a marauding party of Crows, who had robbed them of horses,
weapons, and everything.
Further questioning brought forth further intelligence, but all of a
disastrous kind. About ten days previously, he had met with three other
white men, in very miserable plight, having one horse each, and but one
rifle among them. They also had been plundered and maltreated by the
Crows, those universal freebooters. The Snake endeavored to pronounce
the names of these three men, and as far as his imperfect sounds could
be understood, they were supposed to be three of the party of four
hunters, namely, Carson, St. Michael, Detaye, and Delaunay, who were
detached from Mr. Hunt’s party on the 28th of September, to trap beaver
on the head waters of the Columbia.
In the course of conversation, the Indian informed them that the route
by which Mr. Hunt had crossed the Rocky Mountains was very bad and
circuitous, and that he knew one much shorter and easier. Mr. Stuart
urged him to accompany them as guide, promising to reward him with
a pistol with powder and ball, a knife, an awl, some blue beads,
a blanket, and a looking-glass. Such a catalogue of riches was too
tempting to be resisted; besides the poor Snake languished after the
prairies; he was tired, he said, of salmon, and longed for buffalo meat,
and to have a grand buffalo hunt beyond the mountains. He departed,
therefore, with all speed, to get his arms and equipments for the
journey, promising to rejoin the party the next day. He kept his word,
and, as he no longer said anything to Mr. Stuart on the subject of the
pet horse, they journeyed very harmoniously together; though now and
then, the Snake would regard his quondam steed with a wistful eye.
They had not travelled many miles, when they came to a great bend in the
river. Here the Snake informed them that, by cutting across the hills
they would save many miles of distance. The route across, however, would
be a good day’s journey. He advised them, therefore, to encamp here
for the night, and set off early in the morning. They took his advice,
though they had come but nine miles that day.
On the following morning they rose, bright and early, to ascend the
hills. On mustering their little party, the guide was missing. They
supposed him to be somewhere in the neighborhood, and proceeded to
collect the horses. The vaunted steed of Mr. Stuart was not to be found.
A suspicion flashed upon his mind. Search for the horse of the Snake! He
likewise was gone--the tracks of two horses, one after the other, were
found, making off from the camp. They appeared as if one horse had been
mounted, and the other led. They were traced for a few miles above the
camp, until they both crossed the river. It was plain the Snake had
taken an Indian mode of recovering his horse, having quietly decamped
with him in the night.
New vows were made never more to trust in Snakes, or any other Indians.
It was determined, also, to maintain, hereafter, the strictest vigilance
over their horses, dividing the night into three watches, and one person
mounting guard at a time. They resolved, also, to keep along the river,
instead of taking the short cut recommended by the fugitive Snake, whom
they now set down for a thorough deceiver. The heat of the weather was
oppressive, and their horses were, at times, rendered almost frantic by
the stings of the prairie flies. The nights were suffocating, and it was
almost impossible to sleep, from the swarms of mosquitoes.
On the 20th of August they resumed their march, keeping along the
prairie parallel to Snake River. The day was sultry, and some of the
party, being parched with thirst, left the line of march, and scrambled
down the bank of the river to drink. The bank was overhung with willows,
beneath which, to their surprise, they beheld a man fishing. No sooner
did he see them, than he uttered an exclamation of joy. It proved to
be John Hoback, one of their lost comrades. They had scarcely exchanged
greetings, when three other men came out from among the willows. They
were Joseph Miller, Jacob Rezner, and Robinson, the scalped Kentuckian,
the veteran of the Bloody Ground.
The reader will perhaps recollect the abrupt and willful manner in
which Mr. Miller threw up his interest as a partner of the company, and
departed from Fort Henry, in company with these three trappers, and a
fourth, named Cass. He may likewise recognize in Robinson, Rezner, and
Hoback, the trio of Kentucky hunters who had originally been in
the service of Mr. Henry, and whom Mr. Hunt found floating down the
Missouri, on their way homeward; and prevailed upon, once more, to cross
the mountains. The haggard looks and naked condition of these men proved
how much they had suffered. After leaving Mr. Hunt’s party, they had
made their way about two hundred miles to the southward, where they
trapped beaver on a river which, according to their account, discharged
itself into the ocean to the south of the Columbia, but which we
apprehend to be Bear River, a stream emptying itself into Lake
Bonneville, an immense body of salt water, west of the Rocky Mountains.
Having collected a considerable quantity of beaver skins, they made them
into packs, loaded their horses, and steered two hundred miles due
east. Here they came upon an encampment of sixty lodges of Arapahays, an
outlawed band of the Arrapahoes, and notorious robbers. These fell
upon the poor trappers; robbed them of their peltries, most of their
clothing, and several of their horses. They were glad to escape with
their lives, and without being entirely stripped, and after proceeding
about fifty miles further, made their halt for the winter.
Early in the spring they resumed their wayfaring, but were unluckily
overtaken by the same ruffian horde, who levied still further
contributions, and carried off the remainder of their horses, excepting
two. With these they continued on, suffering the greatest hardships.
They still retained rifles and ammunition, but were in a desert country,
where neither bird nor beast was to be found. Their only chance was to
keep along the rivers, and subsist by fishing; but at times no fish
were to be taken, and then their sufferings were horrible. One of their
horses was stolen among the mountains by the Snake Indians; the other,
they said, was carried off by Cass, who, according to their account,
“villainously left them in their extremities.” Certain dark doubts and
surmises were afterwards circulated concerning the fate of that poor
fellow, which, if true, showed to what a desperate state of famine his
comrades had been reduced.
Being now completely unhorsed, Mr. Miller and his three companions
wandered on foot for several hundred miles, enduring hunger, thirst,
and fatigue, while traversing the barren wastes which abound beyond the
Rocky Mountains. At the time they were discovered by Mr. Stuart’s party,
they were almost famished, and were fishing for a precarious meal. Had
Mr. Stuart made the short cut across the hills, avoiding this bend of
the river, or had not some of his party accidentally gone down to the
margin of the stream to drink, these poor wanderers might have remained
undiscovered, and have perished in the wilderness. Nothing could exceed
their joy on thus meeting with their old comrades, or the heartiness
with which they were welcomed. All hands immediately encamped; and the
slender stores of the party were ransacked to furnish out a suitable
regale.
The next morning they all set out together; Mr. Miller and his comrades
being resolved to give up the life of a trapper, and accompany Mr.
Stuart back to St. Louis.
For several days they kept along the course of Snake River, occasionally
making short cuts across hills and promontories, where there were bends
in the stream. In their way they passed several camps of Shoshonies,
from some of whom they procured salmon, but in general they were too
wretchedly poor to furnish anything. It was the wish of Mr. Stuart to
purchase horses for the recent recruits of his party; but the Indians
could not be prevailed upon to part with any, alleging that they had not
enough for their own use.
On the 25th of August they reached a great fishing place, to which they
gave the name of the Salmon Falls. Here there is a perpendicular fall
of twenty feet on the north side of the river, while on the south side
there is a succession of rapids. The salmon are taken here in incredible
quantities, as they attempt to shoot the falls. It was now a favorable
season, and there were about one hundred lodges of Shoshonies busily
engaged killing and drying fish. The salmon begin to leap shortly after
sunrise. At this time the Indians swim to the centre of the falls, where
some station themselves on rocks, and others stand to their waists in
the water, all armed with spears, with which they assail the salmon
as they attempt to leap, or fall back exhausted. It is an incessant
slaughter, so great is the throng of the fish.
The construction of the spears thus used is peculiar. The head is a
straight piece of elk horn, about seven inches long, on the point of
which an artificial barb is made fast, with twine well gummed. The head
is stuck on the end of the shaft, a very long pole of willow, to which
it is likewise connected by a strong cord, a few inches in length. When
the spearsman makes a sure blow, he often strikes the head of the spear
through the body of the fish. It comes off easily, and leaves the salmon
struggling with the string through its body, while the pole is still
held by the spearsman. Were it not for the precaution of the string,
the willow shaft would be snapped by the struggles and the weight of
the fish. Mr. Miller, in the course of his wanderings, had been at these
falls, and had seen several thousand salmon taken in the course of one
afternoon. He declared that he had seen a salmon leap a distance of
about thirty feet, from the commencement of the foam at the foot of the
falls, completely to the top.
Having purchased a good supply of salmon from the fishermen, the party
resumed their journey, and on the twenty-ninth, arrived at the Caldron
Linn, the eventful scene of the preceding autumn. Here, the first thing
that met their eyes was a memento of the perplexities of that period;
the wreck of a canoe lodged between two ledges of rocks. They endeavored
to get down to it, but the river banks were too high and precipitous.
They now proceeded to that part of the neighborhood where Mr. Hunt and
his party had made the caches, intending to take from them such articles
as belonged to Mr. Crooks, M’Lellan, and the Canadians. On reaching
the spot, they found, to their astonishment, six of the caches open
and rifled of their contents, excepting a few books which lay scattered
about the vicinity. They had the appearance of having been plundered
in the course of the summer. There were tracks of wolves in every
direction, to and from the holes, from which Mr. Stuart concluded that
these animals had first been attracted to the place by the smell of the
skins contained in the caches, which they had probably torn up, and that
their tracks had betrayed the secret to the Indians.
The three remaining caches had not been molested; they contained a few
dry goods, some ammunition, and a number of beaver traps. From these
Mr. Stuart took whatever was requisite for his party; he then deposited
within them all his superfluous baggage, and all the books and papers
scattered around; the holes were then carefully closed up, and all
traces of them effaced. And here we have to record another instance of
the indomitable spirit of the western trappers. No sooner did the trio
of Kentucky hunters, Robinson, Rezner, and Hoback, find that they could
once more be fitted out for a campaign of beaver-trapping, than they
forgot all that they had suffered, and determined upon another trial
of their fortunes; preferring to take their chance in the wilderness,
rather than return home ragged and penniless. As to Mr. Miller, he
declared his curiosity and his desire of travelling through the Indian
countries fully satisfied; he adhered to his determination, therefore,
to keep on with the party to St. Louis, and to return to the bosom of
civilized society.
The three hunters, therefore, Robinson, Rezner, and Hoback, were
furnished, as far as the caches and the means of Mr. Stuart’s party
afforded, with the requisite munitions and equipments for a “two years’
hunt;” but as their fitting out was yet incomplete, they resolved to
wait in this neighborhood until Mr. Reed should arrive; whose arrival
might soon be expected, as he was to set out for the caches about twenty
days after Mr. Stuart parted with him at the Wallah-Wallah River.
Mr. Stuart gave in charge to Robinson a letter to Mr. Reed, reporting
his safe journey thus far, and the state in which he had found the
caches. A duplicate of this letter he elevated on a pole, and set it up
near the place of deposit.
All things being thus arranged, Mr. Stuart and his little band, now
seven in number, took leave of the three hardy trappers, wishing
them all possible success in their lonely and perilous sojourn in the
wilderness; and we, in like manner, shall leave them to their fortunes,
promising to take them up again at some future page, and to close the
story of their persevering and ill-fated enterprise.