The readers, I presume, will have felt some anxiety for me and the
fate of my little craft, after the close of my last Letter; and I have
the very great satisfaction of announcing to them that we escaped
_snags_ and _sawyers_, and every other danger, and arrived here safe
from the Upper Missouri, where my last letters were dated. We, (that
is, Ba’tiste, Bogard and I,) are comfortably quartered for awhile, in
the barracks of this hospitable Cantonment, which is now the extreme
Western military post on the frontier, and under the command of Colonel
Davenport, a gentleman of great urbanity of manners, with a Roman
head and a Grecian heart, restrained and tempered by the charms of an
American lady, who has elegantly pioneered the graces of civilized
refinements into these uncivilized regions.
This Cantonment, which is beautifully situated on the west bank of the
Missouri River, and six hundred miles above its mouth, was constructed
some years since by General Leavenworth, from whom it has taken its
name. Its location is very beautiful, and so is the country around
it. It is the concentration point of a number of hostile tribes in
the vicinity, and has its influence in restraining their warlike
propensities.
There is generally a regiment of men stationed here, for the purpose of
holding the Indians in check, and of preserving the peace amongst the
hostile tribes. I shall visit several tribes in this vicinity, and most
assuredly give you some further account of them, as fast as I get it.
Since the date of my last epistles, I succeeded in descending the river
to this place, in my little canoe, with my two men at the oars, and
myself at the helm, steering its course the whole way amongst snags and
sand-bars.
Before I give further account of this downward voyage, however, I
must recur back for a few moments, to the Teton River, from whence I
started, and from whence my last epistles were written, to record a
few more incidents which I then overlooked in my note-book. Whilst
painting my portraits amongst the Sioux, as I have described, I got the
portrait of a noble Shienne chief, by the name of Nee-hee-o-ee-woo-tis,
the wolf on the hill (+plate+ 115). The chief of a party of that
tribe, on a friendly visit to the Sioux, and the portrait also of a
woman, Tis-see-woo-na-tis (she who bathes her knees, +plate+ 116). The
Shiennes are a small tribe of about 3000 in numbers, living neighbours
to the Sioux, on the west of them, and between the Black Hills and the
Rocky Mountains. There is no finer race of men than these in North
America, and none superior in stature, excepting the Osages; scarcely
a man in the tribe, full grown, who is less than six feet in height.
The Shiennes are undoubtedly the richest in horses of any tribe on the
Continent, living in a country as they do, where the greatest herds
of wild horses are grazing on the prairies, which they catch in great
numbers and vend to the Sioux, Mandans and other tribes, as well as to
the Fur Traders.
These people are the most desperate set of horsemen, and warriors also,
having carried on almost unceasing wars with the Pawnees and Blackfeet,
“time out of mind.” The chief represented in the picture was clothed in
a handsome dress of deer skins, very neatly garnished with broad bands
of porcupine quill-work down the sleeves of his shirt and his leggings,
and all the way fringed with scalp-locks. His hair was very profuse,
and flowing over his shoulders; and in his hand he held a beautiful
Sioux pipe, which had just been presented to him by Mr. M‘Kenzie, the
Trader. This was one of the finest looking and most dignified men that
I have met in the Indian country; and from the account given of him
by the Traders a man of honour and strictest integrity. The woman was
comely, and beautifully dressed; her dress of the mountain-sheep skins,
tastefully ornamented with quills and beads, and her hair plaited in
large braids, that hung down on her breast.
After I had painted these and many more, whom I have not time at
present to name, I painted the portrait of a celebrated warrior of
the Sioux, by the name of Mah-to-chee-ga (the little bear), who was
unfortunately slain in a few moments after the picture was done, by
one of his own tribe; and which was very near costing me my life for
having painted a side view of his face, leaving one-half of it out of
the picture, which had been the cause of the affray; and supposed by
the whole tribe to have been intentionally left out by me, as “good for
nothing.” This was the last picture that I painted amongst the Sioux,
and the last, undoubtedly, that I ever shall paint in that place. So
tremendous and so alarming was the excitement about it, that my brushes
were instantly put away, and I embarked the next day on the steamer for
the sources of the Missouri, and was glad to get underweigh.
The man who slew this noble warrior was a troublesome fellow of the
same tribe, by the name of Shon-ka (the dog). A “hue and cry” has been
on his track for several months; and my life having been repeatedly
threatened during my absence up the river, I shall defer telling
the whole of this most extraordinary affair, until I see that my own
scalp is safe, and I am successfully out of the country. A few weeks or
months will decide how many are to fall victims to the vengeance of the
relatives of this murdered brave: and if I outlive the affair, I shall
certainly give some further account of it.[1]
[Illustration: 115]
[Illustration: 116]
My voyage from the mouth of the Teton River to this place has been
the most rugged, yet the most delightful, of my whole Tour. Our
canoe was generally landed at night on the point of some projecting
barren sand-bar, where we straightened our limbs on our buffalo
robes, secure from the annoyance of musquitoes, and out of the walks
of Indians and grizzly bears. In addition to the opportunity which
this descending Tour has afforded me, of visiting all the tribes of
Indians on the river, and leisurely filling my portfolio with the
beautiful scenery which its shores present—the sportsman’s fever was
roused and satisfied; the swan, ducks, geese, and pelicans—the deer,
antelope, elk, and buffaloes, were “_stretched_” by our rifles; and
some times—“pull boys! pull!! a war party! for your lives pull! or we
are gone!”
I often landed my skiff, and mounted the green carpeted bluffs, whose
soft grassy tops, invited me to recline, where I was at once lost in
contemplation. Soul melting scenery that was about me! A place where
the mind could think volumes; but the tongue must be silent that
would _speak_, and the hand palsied that would _write_. A place where
a Divine would confess that he never had fancied Paradise—where the
painter’s palette would lose its beautiful tints—the blood-stirring
notes of eloquence would die in their utterance—and even the soft
tones of sweet music would scarcely preserve a spark to light the
soul again that had passed this sweet delirium. I mean the prairie,
whose enamelled plains that lie beneath me, in distance soften into
sweetness, like an essence; whose thousand thousand velvet-covered
hills, (surely never formed by chance, but grouped in one of Nature’s
sportive moods)—tossing and leaping down with steep or graceful
declivities to the river’s edge, as if to grace its pictured shores,
and make it “a thing to look upon.” I mean the prairie at _sun-set_;
when the green hill-tops are turned into gold—and their long shadows of
melancholy are thrown over the valleys—when all the breathings of day
are hushed, and nought but the soft notes of the retiring dove can be
heard; or the still softer and more plaintive notes of the wolf, who
sneaks through these scenes of enchantment, and mournfully how—l——s, as
if lonesome, and lost in the too beautiful quiet and stillness about
him. I mean _this_ prairie; where Heaven sheds its purest light, and
lends its richest tints—_this round-topp’d bluff_, where the foot
treads soft and light—whose steep sides, and lofty head, rear me to
the skies, overlooking yonder pictured vale of beauty—this solitary
_cedar-post_, which tells a tale of grief—grief that was keenly felt,
and tenderly, but long since softened in the march of time and lost.
Oh, sad and tear-starting contemplation! sole tenant of this stately
mound, how solitary thy habitation! here Heaven wrested from thee thy
ambition, and made thee sleeping monarch of this land of silence.
Stranger! oh, how the mystic web of sympathy links my soul to thee
and thy afflictions! I knew thee not, but it was enough; thy tale was
told, and I a solitary wanderer through thy land, have stopped to drop
familiar tears upon thy grave. Pardon this gush from a stranger’s eyes,
for they are all that thou canst have in this strange land, where
friends and dear relations are not allowed to pluck a flower, and drop
a tear to freshen recollections of endearments past.
Stranger! adieu. With streaming eyes I leave thee again, and thy
fairy land, to peaceful solitude. My pencil has faithfully traced thy
beautiful habitation; and long shall live in the world, and familiar,
the name of “_Floyd’s Grave_.”
Readers, pardon this digression. I have seated myself down, not on a
prairie, but at my table, by a warm and cheering fire, with my journal
before me to cull from it a few pages, for your entertainment; and if
there are spots of loveliness and beauty, over which I have passed, and
whose images are occasionally beckoning me into digressions, you must
forgive me.
Such is the spot I have just named, and some others, on to which I am
instantly transferred when I cast my eyes back upon the enamelled and
beautiful shores of the Upper Missouri; and I am constrained to step
aside and give ear to their breathings, when their soft images, and
cherished associations, so earnestly prompt me. “Floyd’s Grave” is a
name given to one of the most lovely and imposing mounds or bluffs on
the Missouri River, about twelve hundred miles above St. Louis, from
the melancholy fate of Serjeant Floyd, who was of Lewis and Clark’s
expedition, in 1806; who died on the way, and whose body was taken to
this beautiful hill, and buried in its top, where now stands a cedar
post, hearing the initials of his name (+plate+ 118).
I landed my canoe in front of this grass-covered mound, and all hands
being fatigued, we encamped a couple of days at its base. I several
times ascended it and sat upon his grave, overgrown with grass and
the most delicate wild flowers, where I sat and contemplated the
solitude and stillness of this tenanted mound; and beheld from its
top, the windings infinite of the Missouri, and its thousand hills and
domes of green, vanishing into blue in distance, when nought but the
soft-breathing winds were heard, to break the stillness and quietude
of the scene. Where not the chirping of bird or sound of cricket, nor
soaring eagle’s scream, were internosed ’tween God and man; nor aught
to check man’s whole surrender of his soul to his Creator. I could
not _hunt_ upon this ground, but I roamed from hill-top to hill-top,
and culled wild flowers, and looked into the valley below me, both
up the river and down, and contemplated the thousand hills and dales
that are now carpeted with green, streaked as they _will_ be, with
the plough, and yellow with the harvest sheaf; spotted with lowing
kine—with houses and fences, and groups of hamlets and villas—and these
lovely hill-tops ringing with the giddy din and maze, or secret earnest
whispers of lovesick swains—of pristine simplicity and virtue—wholesome
and well-earned contentment and abundance—and again, of wealth and
refinements—of idleness and luxury—of vice and its deformities—of fire
and sword, and the vengeance of offended Heaven, wreaked in retributive
destruction!—and peace, and quiet, and loveliness, and silence,
dwelling _again_, over and through these scenes, and blending them into
futurity!
[Illustration: 117]
[Illustration: 118]
Many such scenes there are, and thousands, on the Missouri shores.
My canoe has been stopped, and I have clambered up their grassy and
flower-decked sides; and sighed all alone, as I have carefully traced
and fastened them in colours on my canvass.
This voyage in my little canoe, amid the thousand islands and
grass-covered bluffs that stud the shores of this mighty river,
afforded me infinite pleasure, mingled with pains and privations which
I never shall wish to forget. Gliding along from day to day, and tiring
our eyes on the varying landscapes that were continually opening to our
view, my merry _voyageurs_ were continually chaunting their cheerful
boat songs, and “every now and then,” taking up their unerring rifles
to bring down the stately elks or antelopes, which were often gazing at
us from the shores of the river.
But a few miles from “Floyd’s Bluff” we landed our canoe, and spent
a day in the vicinity of the “_Black Bird’s Grave_.” This is a
celebrated point on the Missouri, and a sort of telegraphic place,
which all the travellers in these realms, both white and red, are in
the habit of visiting: the one to pay respect to the bones of one of
their distinguished leaders; and the others, to indulge their eyes
on the lovely landscape that spreads out to an almost illimitable
extent in every direction about it. This elevated bluff, which may
be distinguished for several leagues in distance (+plate+ 117), has
received the name of the “Black Bird’s Grave,” from the fact, that
a famous chief of the O-ma-haws, by the name of the Black Bird, was
buried on its top, at his own peculiar request; over whose grave a
cedar post was erected by his tribe some thirty years ago, which is
still standing. The O-ma-haw village was about sixty miles above this
place; and this very noted chief, who had been on a visit to Washington
City, in company with the Indian agent, died of the small-pox, near
this spot, on his return home. And, whilst dying, enjoined on his
warriors who were about him, this singular request, which was literally
complied with. He requested them to take his body down the river to
this his favourite haunt, and on the pinnacle of this towering bluff,
to bury him on the back of his favourite war-horse, which was to be
buried alive, under him, from whence he could see, as he said, “the
Frenchmen passing up and down the river in their boats.” He owned,
amongst many horses, a noble white steed that was led to the top
of the grass-covered hill; and, with great pomp and ceremony, in
presence of the whole nation, and several of the Fur Traders and the
Indian agent, he was placed astride of his horse’s back, with his bow
in his hand, and his shield and quiver slung—with his pipe and his
_medicine-bag_—with his supply of dried meat, and his tobacco-pouch
replenished to last him through his journey to the “beautiful hunting
grounds of the shades of his fathers”—with his flint and steel, and
his tinder, to light his pipes by the way. The scalps that he had
taken from his enemies’ heads, could be trophies for nobody else, and
were hung to the bridle of his horse—he was in full dress and fully
equipped; and on his head waved, to the last moment, his beautiful
head-dress of the war-eagle’s plumes. In this plight, and the last
funeral honours having been performed by the _medicine-men_, every
warrior of his band painted the palm and fingers of his right hand with
vermilion; which was stamped, and perfectly impressed on the milk-white
sides of his devoted horse.
This all done, turfs were brought and placed around the feet and legs
of the horse, and gradually laid up to its sides; and at last, over the
back and head of the unsuspecting animal, and last of all, over the
head and even the eagle plumes of its valiant rider, where altogether
have smouldered and remained undisturbed to the present day.
This mound which is covered with a green turf, and spotted with wild
flowers, with its cedar post in its centre, can easily be seen at the
distance of fifteen miles, by the _voyageur_, and forms for him a
familiar and useful land-mark.
Whilst visiting this mound in company with Major Sanford, on our way up
the river, I discovered in a hole made in the mound, by a “ground hog”
or other animal, the skull of the horse; and by a little pains, also
came at the skull of the chief, which I carried to the river side, and
secreted till my return in my canoe, when I took it in, and brought
with me to this place, where I now have it, with others which I have
collected on my route.
There have been some very surprising tales told of this man, which
will render him famous in history, whether they be truth or matters of
fiction. Of the many, one of the most current is, that he gained his
celebrity and authority by the most diabolical series of murders in his
own tribe; by administering arsenic (with which he had been supplied
by the Fur Traders) to such of his enemies as he wished to get rid
of—and even to others in his tribe whom he was willing to sacrifice,
merely to establish his superhuman powers, and the most servile dread
of the tribe, from the certainty with which his victims fell around
him, precisely at the times he saw fit to predict their death! It has
been said that he administered this potent drug, and to them unknown
_medicine_, to many of his friends as well as to foes; and by such an
inhuman and unparalleled depravity, succeeded in exercising the most
despotic and absolute authority in his tribe, until the time of his
death!
This story may be true, and it may not. I cannot contradict it; and I
am sure the world will forgive me, if I say, I cannot believe it. If
it be true, two things are also true; the one, not much to the credit
of the Indian character; and the other, to the everlasting infamy of
the Fur Traders. If it be true, it furnishes an instance of Indian
depravity that I never have elsewhere heard of in my travels; and
carries the most conclusive proof of the incredible enormity of white
men’s dealings in this country; who, for some sinister purpose must
have introduced the poisonous drug into the country, and taught the
poor chief how to use it; whilst they were silent accessories to the
murders he was committing. This story is said to have been told by the
Fur Traders; and although I have not always the highest confidence in
their justice to the Indian, yet, I cannot for the honour of my own
species, believe them to be so depraved and so wicked, nor so weak, as
to reveal such iniquities of this chief, if they were true, which must
directly implicate themselves as accessories to his most wilful and
unprovoked murders.
Such he has been heralded, however, to future ages, as a murderer—like
hundreds and thousands of others, as “horse thieves”—as “drunkards”—as
“rogues of the first order,” &c. &c.—by the historian who catches but
a glaring story, (and perhaps fabrication) of their lives, and has
no time nor disposition to enquire into and record their long and
brilliant list of virtues, which must be lost in the shade of infamy,
for want of an historian.
I have learned much of this noble chieftain, and at a proper time shall
recount the modes of his civil and military life—how he exposed his
life, and shed his blood in rescuing the victims to horrid torture,
and abolished that savage custom in his tribe—-how he led on and
headed his brave warriors, against the Sacs and Foxes; and saved the
butchery of his women and children—how he received the Indian agent,
and entertained him in his hospitable wigwam, in his village—and how he
conducted and acquitted himself on his embassy to the civilized world.
So much I will take pains to say, of a man whom I never saw, because
other historians have taken equal pains just to mention his name, and a
solitary (and doubtful) act of his life, as they have said of hundreds
of others, for the purpose of consigning him to infamy.
How much more kind would it have been for the historian, who never saw
him, to have enumerated with this, other characteristic actions of his
life (for the verdict of the world); or to have allowed, in charity,
his bones and his name to have slept in silence, instead of calling
them up from the grave, to thrust a dagger through them, and throw them
back again.
Book-making now-a-days, is done for money-making; and he who takes the
Indian for his theme, and cannot go and see him, finds a poverty in
his matter that naturally begets error, by grasping at every little
tale that is brought or fabricated by their enemies. Such books are
standards, because they are made for white man’s reading only; and
herald the character of a people who never can disprove them. They
answer the purpose for which they are written; and the poor Indian who
has no redress, stands stigmatized and branded, as a murderous wretch
and beast.
If the system of book-making and newspaper printing were in operation
in the Indian country awhile, to herald the iniquities and horrible
barbarities of white men in these Western regions, which now are
sure to be overlooked; I venture to say, that chapters would soon be
printed, which would sicken the reader to his heart, and set up the
Indian, a fair and tolerable man.
There is no more beautiful prairie country in the world, than that
which is to be seen in this vicinity. In looking back from this bluff,
towards the West, there is, to an almost boundless extent, one of
the most beautiful scenes imaginable. The surface of the country is
gracefully and slightly undulating, like the swells of the retiring
ocean after a heavy storm. And everywhere covered with a beautiful
green turf, and with occasional patches and clusters of trees. The soil
in this region is also rich, and capable of making one of the most
beautiful and productive countries in the world.
Ba’tiste and Bogard used their rifles to some effect during the day
that we loitered here, and gathered great quantities of delicious
grapes. From this lovely spot we embarked the next morning, and glided
through constantly changing scenes of beauty, until we landed our canoe
at the base of a beautiful series of grass-covered bluffs, which, like
thousands and thousands of others on the banks of this river, are
designated by no name, that I know of; and I therefore introduce them
as fair specimens of the _grassy bluffs_ of the Missouri.
My canoe was landed at noon, at the base of these picturesque hills—and
there rested till the next morning. As soon as we were ashore, I
scrambled to their summits, and beheld, even to a line, what the reader
has before him in +plates+ 119 and 120. I took my easel, and canvass
and brushes, to the top of the bluff, and painted the two views from
the same spot; the one looking up, and the other down the river. The
reader, by imagining these hills to be five or six hundred feet high,
and every foot of them, as far as they can be discovered in distance,
covered with a vivid green turf, whilst the sun is gilding one side,
and throwing a cool shadow on the other, will be enabled to form
something like an adequate idea of the shores of the Missouri. From
this enchanting spot there was nothing to arrest the eye from ranging
over its waters for the distance of twenty or thirty miles, where it
quietly glides between its barriers, formed of thousands of green and
gracefully sloping hills, with its rich and alluvial meadows, and
woodlands—and its hundred islands, covered with stately cotton-wood.
In these two views, the reader has a fair account of the general
character of the Upper Missouri; and by turning back to +plate 39, Vol.
I.+, which I have already described, he will at once see the process by
which this wonderful formation has been produced. In that plate will be
seen the manner in which the rains are wearing down the clay-bluffs,
cutting gullies or sluices behind them, and leaving them at last to
stand out in relief, in these rounded and graceful forms, until in
time they get seeded over, and nourish a growth of green grass on their
sides, which forms a turf, and protects their surface, preserving them
for centuries, in the forms that are here seen. The tops of the highest
of these bluffs rise nearly up to the summit level of the prairies,
which is found as soon as one travels a mile or so from the river,
amongst these picturesque groups, and comes out at their top; from
whence the country goes off to the East and the West, with an almost
perfectly level surface.
[Illustration: 119]
[Illustration: 120]
These two views were taken about thirty miles above the village of
the Puncahs, and five miles above “the Tower;” the name given by the
travellers through the country, to a high and remarkable clay bluff,
rising to the height of some hundreds of feet from the water, and
having in distance, the castellated appearance of a fortification.
My canoe was not unmoored from the shores of this lovely spot for two
days, except for the purpose of crossing the river; which I several
times did, to ascend and examine the hills on the opposite side. I had
Ba’tiste and Bogard with me on the tops of these green carpeted bluffs,
and tried in vain to make them see the beauty of scenes that were
about us. They dropped asleep, and I strolled and contemplated alone;
clambering “_up one hill_” and sliding or running “_down another_,”
with no other living being in sight, save now and then a bristling
wolf, which, from my approach, was reluctantly retreating from his
shady lair—or sneaking behind me and smelling on my track.
Whilst strolling about on the western bank of the river at this place,
I found the ancient site of an Indian village, which from the character
of the marks, I am sure was once the residence of the Mandans. I said
in a former Letter, when speaking of the Mandans, that within the
recollection of some of their oldest men, they lived some sixty or
eighty miles down the river from the place of their present residence;
and that they then lived in nine villages. On my way down, I became
fully convinced of the fact; having landed my canoe, and examined the
ground where the foundation of every wigwam can yet be distinctly
seen. At that time, they must have been much more numerous than at
present, from the many marks they have left, as well as from their own
representations.
The Mandans have a peculiar way of building their wigwams, by digging
down a couple of feet in the earth, and there fixing the ends of the
poles which form the walls of their houses. There are other marks,
such as their caches—and also their mode of depositing their dead on
scaffolds—and of preserving the skulls in circles on the prairies;
which peculiar customs I have before described, and most of which
are distinctly to be recognized in each of these places, as well as
in several similar remains which I have met with on the banks of the
river, between here and the Mandans; which fully convince me, that
they have formerly occupied the lower parts of the Missouri, and have
gradually made their way quite through the heart of the great Sioux
country; and having been well fortified in all their locations, as in
their present one, by a regular stockade and ditch; they have been
able successfully to resist the continual assaults of the Sioux, that
numerous tribe, who have been, and still are, endeavouring to effect
their entire destruction. I have examined, at least fifteen or twenty
of their ancient locations on the banks of this river, and can easily
discover the regular differences in the ages of these antiquities; and
around them all I have found numerous bits of their broken pottery,
corresponding with that which they are now manufacturing in great
abundance; and which is certainly made by no other tribe in these
regions. These evidences, and others which I shall not take the time to
mention in this place, go a great way in my mind towards strengthening
the possibility of their having moved from the Ohio river, and of
their being a remnant of the followers of Madoc. I have much further
to trace them yet, however, and shall certainly have more to say on so
interesting a subject in future.
Almost every mile I have advanced on the banks of this river, I have
met evidences and marks of Indians in some form or other; and they have
generally been those of the Sioux, who occupy and own the greater part
of this immense region of country. In the latter part of my voyage,
however, and of which I have been speaking in the former part of this
Letter, I met the ancient sites of the O-ma-ha and Ot-to towns, which
are easily detected when they are met. In +plate+ 121 (letter +a+),
is seen the usual mode of the Omahas, of depositing their dead in the
crotches and on the branches of trees, enveloped in skins, and never
without a wooden dish hanging by the head of the corpse; probably for
the purpose of enabling it to dip up water to quench its thirst on the
long and tedious journey, which they generally expect to enter on after
death. These corpses are so frequent along the banks of the river, that
in some places a dozen or more of them may be seen at one view.
Letter +b+ in the same plate, shews the customs of the Sioux, which
are found in endless numbers on the river; and in fact, through every
part of this country. The wigwams of these people are only moveable
tents, and leave but a temporary mark to be discovered. Their burials,
however, are peculiar and lasting remains, which can be long detected.
They often deposit their dead on trees, and on scaffolds; but more
generally bury in the tops of bluffs, or near their villages; when they
often split out staves and drive in the ground around the grave, to
protect it from the trespass of dogs or wild animals.
Letter +c+ (same plate), shews the character of Mandan remains, that
are met with in numerous places on the river. Their mode of resting
their dead upon scaffolds is not so peculiar to them as positively to
distinguish them from Sioux, who sometimes bury in the same way; but
the excavations for their earth-covered wigwams, which I have said
are two feet deep in the ground, with the ends of the decayed timbers
remaining in them, are peculiar and conclusive evidence of their
being of Mandan construction; and the custom of leaving the skulls
bleached upon the ground in circles (as I have formerly described in
+plate 48, Vol. I.+), instead of burying them as the other tribes do,
forms also a strong evidence of the fact that they are Mandan remains.
[Illustration: 121]
[Illustration: 122]
In most of these sites of their ancient towns, however, I have been
unable to find about their burial places, these characteristic deposits
of the skulls; from which I conclude, that whenever they deliberately
moved to a different region, they buried the skulls out of respect to
the dead. I found, just back of one of these sites of their ancient
towns, however, and at least 500 miles below where they now live, the
same arrangement of skulls as that I described in +plate+ 48. They had
laid so long, however, exposed to the weather, that they were reduced
almost to a powder, except the teeth, which mostly seemed polished and
sound as ever. It seems that no human hands had dared to meddle with
the dead; and that even their enemies had respected them; for every
one, and there were at least two hundred in one circle, had mouldered
to chalk, in its exact relative position, as they had been placed in a
circle. In this case, I am of opinion that the village was besieged by
the Sioux, and entirely destroyed; or that the Mandans were driven off
without the power to stop and bury the bones of their dead.
_Belle Vue_ (+plate+ 122) is a lovely scene on the West bank of the
river, about nine miles above the mouth of the Platte, and is the
agency of Major Dougherty, one of the oldest and most effective agents
on our frontiers. This spot is, as I said, lovely in itself; but doubly
so to the eye of the weather-beaten _voyageur_ from the sources of
the Missouri, who steers his canoe in, to the shore, as I did, and
soon finds himself a welcome guest at the comfortable board of the
Major, with a table again to eat from—and that (not “_groaning_,” but)
_standing_ under the comfortable weight of meat and vegetable luxuries,
products of the labour of cultivating man. It was a pleasure to see
again, in this great wilderness, a civilized habitation; and still more
pleasant to find it surrounded with corn-fields, and potatoes, with
numerous fruit-trees, bending under the weight of their fruit—with
pigs and poultry, and kine; and what was best of all, to see the kind
and benevolent face, that never looked anything but welcome to the
half-starved guests, who throw themselves upon him from the North, from
the South, the East, or the West.
At this place I was in the country of the Pawnees, a numerous tribe,
whose villages are on the Platte river, and of whom I shall say more
anon. Major Dougherty has been for many years the agent for this
hostile tribe; and by his familiar knowledge of the Indian character,
and his strict honesty and integrity, he has been able to effect a
friendly intercourse with them, and also to attract the applause and
highest confidence of the world, as well as of the authorities who sent
him there.
An hundred miles above this, I passed a curious feature, called the
“Square Hills” (+plate+ 123). I landed my canoe, and went ashore, and
to their tops, to examine them. Though they appeared to be near the
river, I found it half a day’s journey to travel to and from them; they
being several miles from the river. On ascending them I found them to
be two or three hundred feet high, and rising on their sides at an
angle of 45 degrees; and on their tops, in some places, for half a
mile in length, perfectly level, with a green turf, and corresponding
exactly with the tabular hills spoken of above the Mandans, in +plate
39, Vol. I.+ I therein said, that I should visit these hills on my way
down the river; and I am fully convinced, from close examination, that
they are a part of the same original superstratum, which I therein
described, though seven or eight hundred miles separated from them.
They agree exactly in character, and also in the materials of which
they are composed; and I believe, that some unaccountable gorge of
waters has swept away the intervening earth, leaving these solitary
and isolated, though incontrovertible evidences, that the summit level
of all this great valley has at one time been where the level surface
of these hills now is, two or three hundred feet above what is now
generally denominated the summit level.
The mouth of the Platte (+plate+ 124), is a beautiful scene, and no
doubt will be the site of a large and flourishing town, soon after
Indian titles shall have been extinguished to the lands in these
regions, which will be done within a very few years. The Platte is
a long and powerful stream, pouring in from the Rocky Mountains and
joining with the Missouri at this place.
In this voyage, as in all others that I have performed, I kept my
journal, but I have not room, it will be seen, to insert more than an
occasional extract from it for my present purpose. In this voyage,
Ba’tiste and Bogard were my constant companions; and we all had our
rifles, and used them often. We often went ashore amongst the herds of
buffaloes, and were obliged to do so for our daily food. We lived the
whole way on buffaloes’ flesh and venison—we had no bread; but laid in
a good stock of coffee and sugar. These, however, from an unforeseen
accident availed us but little; as on the second or third day of our
voyage, after we had taken our coffee on the shore, and Ba’tiste and
Bogard had gone in pursuit of a herd of buffaloes, I took it in my
head to have an extra very fine dish of coffee to myself, as the fire
was fine. For this purpose, I added more coffee-grounds to the pot,
and placed it on the fire, which I sat watching, when I saw a fine
buffalo cow wending her way leisurely over the hills, but a little
distance from me, for whom I started at once, with my rifle trailed
in my hand; and after creeping, and running, and heading, and all
that, for half an hour, without getting a shot at her; I came back to
the encampment, where I found my two men with meat enough, but in the
most uncontroulable rage, for my coffee had all boiled out, and the
coffee-pot was melted to pieces!
This was truly a deplorable accident, and one that could in no
effectual way be remedied. We afterwards botched up a mess or two of
it in our frying-pan, but to little purpose, and then abandoned it to
Bogard alone, who thankfully received the dry coffee-grounds and
sugar, at his meals, which he soon entirely demolished.
[Illustration: 123]
[Illustration: 124]
We met immense numbers of buffaloes in the early part of our voyage and
used to land our canoe almost every hour in the day; and oftentimes all
together approach the unsuspecting herds, through some deep and hidden
ravine within a few rods of them, and at the word, “pull trigger,” each
of us bring down our victim (+plate+ 125).
In one instance, near the mouth of White River, we met the most immense
herd crossing the Missouri River—and from an imprudence got our boat
into imminent danger amongst them, from which we were highly delighted
to make our escape. It was in the midst of the “running season,” and
we had heard the “roaring” (as it is called) of the herd, when we
were several miles from them. When we came in sight, we were actually
terrified at the immense numbers that were streaming down the green
hills on one side of the river, and galloping up and over the bluffs
on the other. The river was filled, and in parts blackened, with their
heads and horns, as they were swimming about, following up their
objects, and making desperate battle whilst they were swimming.
I deemed it imprudent for our canoe to be dodging amongst them,
and ran it ashore for a few hours, where we laid, waiting for the
opportunity of seeing the river clear; but we waited in vain. Their
numbers, however, got somewhat diminished at last, and we pushed off,
and successfully made our way amongst them. From the immense numbers
that had passed the river at that place, they had torn down the prairie
bank of fifteen feet in height, so as to form a sort of road or
landing-place, where they all in succession clambered up. Many in their
turmoil had been wafted below this landing, and unable to regain it
against the swiftness of the current, had fastened themselves along in
crowds, hugging close to the high bank under which they were standing.
As we were drifting by these, and supposing ourselves out of danger, I
drew up my rifle and shot one of them in the head, which tumbled into
the water, and brought with him a hundred others, which plunged in,
and in a moment were swimming about our canoe, and placing it in great
danger (+plate+ 126). No attack was made upon us, and in the confusion
the poor beasts knew not, perhaps, the enemy that was amongst them; but
we were liable to be sunk by them, as they were furiously hooking and
climbing on to each other. I rose in my canoe, and by my gestures and
hallooing, kept them from coming in contact with us, until we were out
of their reach.
This was one of the instances that I formerly spoke of, where thousands
and tens of thousands of these animals congregate in the _running
season_, and move about from East and West, or wherever accident or
circumstances may lead them. In this grand crusade, no one can know the
numbers that may have made the ford within a few days; nor in their
blinded fury in such scenes, would feeble man be much respected.
During the remainder of that day we paddled onward, and passed many
of their carcasses floating on the current, or lodged on the heads of
islands and sand-bars. And, in the vicinity of, and not far below the
grand turmoil, we passed several that were mired in the quicksand near
the shores; some were standing fast and half immersed; whilst others
were nearly out of sight, and gasping for the last breath; others were
standing with all legs fast, and one half of their bodies above the
water, and their heads sunk under it, where they had evidently remained
several days; and flocks of ravens and crows were covering their backs,
and picking the flesh from their dead bodies.
So much of the Upper Missouri and its modes, at present; though I have
much more in store for some future occasion.
Fort Leavenworth, which is on the Lower Missouri, being below the mouth
of the Platte, is the nucleus of another neighbourhood of Indians,
amongst whom I am to commence my labours, and of whom I shall soon be
enabled to give some account. So, for the present, Adieu.
[Illustration: 125]
[Illustration: 126]
[1] Some months after writing the above, and after I had arrived
safe in St. Louis, the news reached there that the Dog had been
overtaken and killed, and a brother of his also, and the affair
thus settled. The portraits are in Vol. II. (+plates+ 273, 274, and
275), and the story there told.
LETTER—No. 33.