FREMONT
II
At Fort Laramie, Fremont heard much about the hostilities of the Sioux
and Cheyennes, who, the year before, had had a severe fight with a
party of sixty men, under the command of Mr. Frapp, of St. Louis.
The Indians had lost eight or ten men, and the whites half as many,
including their leader. This left the Indians in a bad frame of mind,
and many of the young men had gone off on a war-path, threatening to
kill emigrants, and, in fact, any whites passing through the country.
One or two parties had already been saved, through the efforts of
Fitzpatrick, of the Broken Hand; but the Indians were clearly in a bad
temper. A large village of Sioux was camped here, and Fremont had many
savage visitors who were very much interested in him and his curious
actions. His astronomical observations and instruments especially
excited their awe and admiration; but the chiefs were careful to
keep the younger men and the women and children from annoying the
astronomer. Here the services of Joseph Bissonette as interpreter
were secured, and the party prepared to start. Before this was done,
however, a delegation of chiefs warned Fremont not to go farther.
He, however, explained to them that he must obey his orders, and was
finally allowed to go at his own risk.
The party proceeded up the North Platte River, and the first night out
were joined by Bissonette, the interpreter, and by his Indian wife and
a young Sioux sent forward by the chiefs at Fort Laramie, partly as
guide and partly to vouch for the explorers in case they should meet
with hostile Sioux. Fremont imagined, from Bissonette’s long residence
in the country, that he was a guide, and followed his advice as to
the route to be pursued. He afterward learned that Bissonette had
seldom been out of sight of the fort, and his suggestions obliged the
party to travel over a very rough road. They met a party of Indians
who gave very discouraging accounts of the country ahead, saying that
buffalo were scarce, that there was no grass to support the horses,
partly because of the excessive drought, and partly on account of the
grasshoppers, which were unusually numerous. The next day they killed
five or six cows and made dried meat of them. Buffalo continued plenty
and they pushed forward, meeting Indians, who again gave them bad
accounts of the country ahead, so that Bissonette strongly advised
Fremont to turn about. This he declined to do, but told his men what he
had heard and left it to each man to say whether he would go on or turn
back. Fremont had absolute confidence in a number of the best men, and
felt sure that they would stay with him, and to his great satisfaction
all agreed to go forward. Here, however, the interpreter and his Indian
left him, and with them Fremont sent back one of his men, who, from
the effect of an old wound, was unable to travel on foot and his horse
seemed on the point of giving out. The carts were taken to pieces and
cached in some willow brush, while everything that could be spared
was buried in the ground. Pack-saddles were arranged and from here
the animals were to carry their loads, not to haul them. Carson was
appointed guide, for the region they were now entering had long been
his residence.
Instead of following the emigrant trail, which left the Platte and
crossed over to the Sweetwater, Fremont determined to keep on up the
Platte until he reached the Sweetwater, thinking that in this way he
would find better feed for his animals. The decision proved a wise one.
The day after leaving their cache they found abundant grass as well as
some buffalo, and although when they passed the ford where the Indian
village had crossed the river they found there the skeletons of horses
lying all about, they had no trouble in finding grass for their animals.
On August 1 they camped near Independence Rock, an isolated granite
rock about six hundred and fifty yards long and forty in height.
“Everywhere within six or eight feet of the ground, where the surface
is sufficiently smooth, and in some places sixty or eighty feet above,”
he relates, “the rock is inscribed with the names of travellers. Many
a name famous in the history of this country, and some well known
to science, are to be found mixed among those of the traders and of
travellers for pleasure and curiosity, and of missionaries among the
savages.”
It was on August 3 that the party had their first sight of the Wind
River Mountains, distant then about seventy miles, and appearing as a
low, dark, mountainous region. Soon after this they came to the canyon
where the Sweetwater comes out of the mountains, and they followed the
river up for some distance, but finally left it and turned up a ravine
leading to the high prairie above. For some time they had found fuel
very scarce, and had been obliged to burn buffalo chips and sage brush
as they did here. The rain, which from time to time had been falling
upon them down in the valley, now showed as snow on the white peaks
that they had approached, for they were within a short distance of the
South Pass, which was the objective point for the expedition. Soon they
reached the highest point of the Pass, which Fremont estimates at about
seven thousand feet, passed over it and camped on the Little Sandy, a
tributary of Green River.
The explorer felt a natural longing to push northward from this point,
wishing to cross the heads of the Yellowstone, which he justly supposed
arose among the mountains which lay to the north of him, but the party
were in no condition to make such a journey; the men were more or less
exhausted by the difficulties of past travel, provisions were almost
gone, and game was scarce. He, however, built a stout corral and felled
timber on the margin of a lake not far off, where there was abundant
food for the animals; and, dividing his party, left some of the men and
the weakest animals here, and taking fourteen men with fifteen of the
best mules, set out to penetrate farther into the mountains. Travel
through the mountains was slow and difficult, but attractive; it was
down one steep slope and then up another and then down again. Every
hilltop showed some deep and beautiful valley, often occupied by lakes,
always showing the course of some pure and rapid mountain torrent.
The vegetation was fresh and green, as different as possible from the
parched grass and juiceless wormwood through which they had so long
been travelling.
At their camp of August 13 the upward way became so steep and rough
that it was determined to leave the animals here and to continue
the journey on foot. The men carried with them nothing but arms and
instruments; and as the day was warm many of them left their coats
in camp. They climbed and climbed, finding, as always happens in the
mountains, that the distances were much greater than they supposed. At
night they were still far from their objective point, and they lay down
without anything to eat. The next morning, however, starting early, and
of course without food, they got among the snow-fields. The elevation
was now great, and several of the men, Fremont among the number, were
taken ill and were unable to proceed. From here Basil Lajeunesse, with
four men, was sent back to the place where the mules had been left,
with instructions to bring on, if possible, four or five animals, with
provisions and blankets. Soon after this Fremont and the remaining
men returned to their camp, and that night the men sent back for the
animals returned with food and bedding. The next day, encouraged
by rest and a couple of hearty meals, they determined once more to
essay the peaks. They rode their animals well up on to the mountains,
and then turning them loose, again began to climb. Their previous
experience stood them in good stead; they climbed slowly, and at last
reached the summit of the mountains, presumably the peak now known
as Fremont’s Peak. From this point the Three Tetons bore north fifty
degrees west, and Fremont’s elevation he gives as thirteen thousand
five hundred and seventy feet. He says, with reasonable pride, “We had
climbed the loftiest peak of the Rocky Mountains and looked down upon
the snow a thousand feet below, and, standing where never human foot
had stood before, felt the exultation of first explorers.”
They returned to the camp, where they had left their animals, and
travelled rapidly eastward, through South Pass, and down on to the
Sweetwater and the Platte. An effort was made to run this river with
the india-rubber boat, which for daring and hardihood really deserved
success. However, although they ran some distance and passed a number
of threatening places, they did not get through. “We pushed off again,
but after making a little distance the force of the current became
too great for the men on shore, and two of them let go the rope.
Lajeunesse, the third man, hung on and was jerked headforemost into the
river from a rock about twelve feet high, and down the boat shot like
an arrow. Basil following us in the rapid current and exerting all his
strength to keep in mid-channel--his head only seen occasionally like
a black spot in the white foam. How far we went I do not exactly know,
but we succeeded in turning the boat into an eddy below. ‘_Cré Dieu_’
said Basil Lajeunesse, as he arrived immediately after us. ‘_Je crois
bien que j’ai nagé un demi mile._’ (‘Good Lord! I believe I have swum
half a mile.’) He had owed his life to his skill as a swimmer, and I
determined to take him and the two others on board and trust to skill
and fortune to reach the other end in safety. We placed ourselves on
our knees and with the short paddles in our hands, the most skilful
boatman being at the bow, and again we commenced our rapid descent.
We cleared rock after rock and shot past fall after fall, our little
boat seeming to play with the cataract. We became flushed with success
and familiar with the danger, and, yielding to the excitement of the
occasion, broke forth together into a Canadian boat song. Singing, or
rather shouting, we dashed along, and were, I believe, in the midst
of the chorus when the boat struck a concealed rock immediately at
the foot of a fall which whirled her over in an instant. Three of my
men could not swim and my first feeling was to assist them and save
some of our effects; but a sharp concussion or two convinced me that
I had not yet saved myself. A few strokes brought me into an eddy,
and I landed on a pile of rocks on the left side. Looking around I
saw that Mr. Preuss had gained the shore on the same side, about
twenty yards below, and a little climbing and swimming soon brought
him to my side. On the opposite side, against the wall, lay the boat
bottom up, and Lambert was in the act of saving Descoteaux, whom he
had grasped by the hair, and who could not swim. ‘_Lache pas_,’ said
he, as I afterward learned, ‘_lache pas, cher frère_.’ (‘Don’t let
go; don’t let go, dear brother.’) ‘_Crains pas_,’ was the reply, ‘_Je
m’en vais mourir avant que de te lâcher_.’ (‘Don’t fear, I will die
before I let you go.’) Such was the reply of courage and generosity in
this danger. For a hundred yards below the current was covered with
floating books and boxes, bales of blankets and scattered articles
of clothing; and so strong and boiling was the stream that even our
heavy instruments--which were all in cases--kept on the surface, and
the sextant, circle and the long black box of the telescope were in
view at once. For a moment I felt somewhat disheartened. All our
books--almost every record of the journey--our journals and registers
of astronomical and barometrical observations--had been lost in a
moment. But it was no time to indulge in regrets, and I immediately set
about endeavoring to save something from the wreck. Making ourselves
understood as well as possible by signs--for nothing could be heard in
the roar of the waters--we commenced our operations. Of everything on
board the only article that had been saved was my double-barrelled gun,
which Descoteaux had caught and clung to with drowning tenacity. The
men continued down the river on the left bank. Mr. Preuss and myself
descended on the side we were on, and Lajeunesse, with a paddle in his
hand, jumped on the boat alone and continued down the cañon. She was
now light and cleared every bad place with much less difficulty. In a
short time he was joined by Lambert, and the search was continued for
about a mile and a half, which was as far as the boat could proceed in
the pass.
“Here the walls were about five hundred feet high, and the fragments of
rock from above had choked the river into a hollow pass but one or two
feet above the surface. Through this and the interstices of the rock
the water found its way. Favored beyond our expectations, all of our
registers had been recovered with the exception of one of my journals,
which contained the notes and incidents of travel, and topographical
descriptions, a number of scattered astronomical observations,
principally meridian altitudes of the sun, and our barometrical
register west of Laramie. Fortunately, our other journals contained
duplicates of the most important barometrical observations which had
been taken in the mountains. These, with a few scattered notes were
all that had been preserved of our meteorological observations. In
addition to these we saved the circle, and these, with a few blankets,
constituted everything that had been rescued from the waters.”
Having gathered up the things which they left on the shore, the members
of the party, half naked, started on foot for the camp below where the
other men had been sent. They reached there that night and found the
much-needed food and clothing.
After passing Fort Laramie, Fremont made another effort to navigate the
Platte River, trying to descend it in a bull boat; but this descent,
instead of being a trip by water, resolved itself into dragging
the vessel over the sands and finally abandoning it. On the 22d of
September, Fremont reached the village of the Grand Pawnees, about
thirty miles above the mouth of the Loup fork, on the Platte River, and
on October 1 he found himself at the settlements on the Missouri River.
From here the river was descended in a boat and St. Louis was reached
October 17.
[Illustration: AN OTO COUNCIL.
From James’s _An Expedition from Pittsburgh to the Rocky Mountains by
Major Stephen H. Long_.]