DISCOVERY OF THE GREAT BASIN, WITH THE SALT LAKE OF UTAH,
AND JOURNEY ACROSS THE SIERRA NEVADA TO CALIFORNIA.
DURING the first years of the present century, the tide alike of
emigration and exploration had set toward the northern territories
of the United States. The discovery of the sources of the Mississippi
and of those of its chief affluents, however, left little more to be
done in that direction, and, in 1838, a new chapter in the history
of modern American geography was ushered in by the sending out of a
naval exploring expedition, under Captain Wilkes, with orders to make
surveys along the western coast, especially of the bay now known as
that of San Francisco.
On the arrival of Wilkes at Yerba Buena, as what has since become the
gate of the Pacific was then called, the town consisted merely of a
large frame building occupied by an agent of the Hudson’s Bay Company,
a store kept by an American, a billiard room and bar, a poop cabin of
a ship used as a residence by a captain, a blacksmith’s shop, and a
few sheds, all of which had sprung up at intervals since California,
deserted, as related above, by its early colonists, had become
the prey of trappers, miners, and other adventurers of various
nationalities.
The most prominent man then in California was a Swiss named Sutter,
who had bought of the Mexican Government a tract of land thirty
leagues square, and was now employed in laying it out under the
imposing name of New Helvetia. He had already built a fort near the
junction of the Sacramento and American rivers to which he had given
his own name, little dreaming that the discovery of gold close at
hand would shortly make that name world-famous, as the most powerful
emigration magnet of the day.
Equally unconscious of the approaching, almost miraculous change in
the aspect of affairs on the south-western coast of North America,
Wilkes completed his survey, and returned home to report the harbor
of Yerba Buena to be one of the finest, if not the very best in the
world; and, a little later, the Government sent out an expedition,
under Lieutenant John C. Fremont, to explore the southern half of the
Rocky Mountain Range, with a view to the discovery of a good route to
California.
Illustration: JOHN C. FREMONT.
Fremont left the mouth of the Kansas, at the head of a party of about
twenty, about the 2d of May, and followed its course across the state
of the same name, till he reached the barren banks of the Platte,
or Nebraska. Here he decided to follow the southern fork of that
important tributary of the Mississippi, and a march of a few miles
brought the party into the districts occupied by the Arapaho and
Cheyenne Indians, the former of whom at first appeared disposed to
dispute the passage of the white men.
One encounter, which threatened to be serious, took place on the
8th July. The excitement of watching a fight between some eighteen
or twenty buffaloes, which the explorers had at the last moment
decided in favor of the weaker party by a few well-directed shots,
had but just subsided, when some dark objects appeared on the horizon
among the hills. More buffaloes, of course, thought every one; but,
presently, Maxwell, a trader who knew the neighborhood and its people
well, happened to look behind him, and saw crowds of mounted natives
furiously urging on their horses.
At first there seemed to be no more than twenty warriors, but behind
them came others, and soon the hills and plains were darkened by the
dusky figures. The explorers halted, drew together, and determined
to sell their lives as dearly as they could, prepared to meet the
onslaught with a volley of bullets. Another moment, and many of the
Indians would have been rolling in the dust, when Maxwell suddenly
recognized their leader as a man with whom he had often traded. “Don’t
you know me?” he shouted in the Arapaho language; and, astonished at
the sound of his own tongue, the chief wheeled his horse round. Then,
dashing forward, he extended his hand to Fremont with the one word
“Arapaho,” meaning that, as a member of that nation, he was the friend
of Maxwell’s friend.
Escorted by the now courteous savages, the expedition pressed on, and,
without further adventures of consequence, followed the south fork
of the Platte to St. Vram’s Fort, a trading outpost, situated just
under the most easterly buttresses of the Rocky Mountain Range, about
seventeen miles from Long’s Peak. Pike’s Peak could also be seen about
one hundred miles to the south, and but little of actual exploration
remained to be done in the immediate neighborhood. Fremont resolved,
therefore, to alter his course, and follow the north fork of the
Platte to Fort Laramie, a second remote outpost in the wilderness,
whence he hoped to make his way to the head of the Sweet Water River,
an affluent of the Nebraska issuing from the South Pass of the Rocky
Mountains.
Crossing the fertile, garden-like valley of the Platte, with the low
line of the frowning Black Hills on the left, the expedition reached
Fort Laramie in safety on the 13th July, and were there detained a
few days on account of difficulties between the white settlers and
the Gros-Ventre, Cheyenne, Sioux, and other tribes, who were scouring
the country between the Platte and the Rocky Mountains, rendering it
unsafe for travelers.
Imagining the dangers to have been overrated, however, Fremont and
his colleagues resolved not to allow them to prevent the completion
of their task. On the 18th, therefore, when the men had had time
to recover from the fatigues of their long march, they were called
together, and Fremont told them of his intention to proceed, adding
that he was willing to release any one of them from his engagement who
was desirous to retire from the service. Only one man availed himself
of this privilege, and when he had been dismissed, amidst the ridicule
of his comrades, active preparations were made for the continuation of
the journey.
The tents were struck, the horses saddled, and the “stirrup-cup” was
being enjoyed, when four chiefs made their way into the midst of the
white men, and one of them having handed a letter to Fremont, they
seated themselves in silence to watch him read it. The letter, which
was in French, ran as follows:――
“Fort Platte, July 1st, 1842.
“Mr. Fremont,――The chiefs, having assembled in council, have
just told me to warn you not to set out before the party of
young men which is now out shall have returned. Furthermore,
they tell me that they are very sure to fire upon you as soon
as they meet you. They are expected back in seven or eight days.
Excuse me for making these observations, but it seems my duty
to warn you of danger. Moreover, the chiefs who prohibit your
setting out before the return of the warriors are the bearers
of this note.
“I am your obedient servant,
“JOSEPH BISSOUETTE.”
This Joseph Bissouette was the interpreter engaged for the passage
of the country between Fort Laramie and the Rocky Mountains, and the
warning was therefore not to be neglected. The chiefs, whose names
were given as Otter Hat, Breaker of Arrows, Black Night, and Bull’s
Tail, maintained silence while Fremont read and explained the letter
to his men. Then one of them advanced, and, having shaken hands――a
ceremony all Indians who have had any thing to do with white men are
careful not to neglect――he made a speech to the effect that he and
his people were glad to see their white brothers ... they looked upon
their coming as the light which goes before the sun, for they would
tell their great father (so they called the President of the United
States) that they had seen them, and that they were naked and poor.
But these dear white brothers had come at a bad time. Some of the
Indians had been killed by emigrants from the great father’s lands far
away in the East, and the young warriors in the mountains would avenge
the blood of their relations, etc., etc.
To this harangue, which from the point of view of the poor
dispossessed owners of the soil was really very moderate, Fremont,
after a few general remarks, made answer――“We have thrown away our
bodies, and will not turn back. When you told us that your young men
would kill us, you did not know that our hearts were strong, and you
did not see the rifles which my young men carry in their hands. We
are few, and you are many, and may kill us all; but there will be much
crying in your villages, for many of your young men will stay behind,
and forget to return with your warriors from the mountains. Do you
think that our great chief will let his soldiers die, and forget to
cover their graves? Before the snows melt again, his warriors will
sweep away your villages, as the fire does the prairie in the autumn.
See! I have pulled down my white houses, and my people are ready; when
the sun is ten paces higher, we shall be on the march. If you have any
thing to tell us, you will say it soon.”
The chiefs withdrew in sullen silence, the preparations for the march
were resumed, and the expedition was again just starting, when Bull’s
Tail came back with a message that a young man should be sent as guide
to the first stopping place. This apparently slight concession meant
every thing. The presence of one warrior would, as all knew, protect
the whole of the whites from the savages out on the hills; and, naming
the place for the pitching of the camp that evening, Fremont cordially
thanked the emissary, who returned at once to his comrades.
Following the north fork of the Platte, the explorers soon entered a
desolate country, laid waste by the combined evils of drought and war.
The interpreter urged Fremont to turn back, assuring him that death
from starvation was all but inevitable. Again calling his men together,
the leader once more gave them their choice of pushing on or returning,
and all but six decided for the latter course. These six cried with
one voice, “We’ll eat the mules if buffalo are not to be had;” and,
shaking hands with their comrades, the brave little remnant pressed on.
On the 31st July the Platte was left behind, and a short march brought
the expedition to the banks of its affluent, the Sweet Water River,
which flows in a gentle descent from the most picturesque gorge of
the Rocky Mountains, now called the South Pass, but then practically
unknown to the white man. Now climbing some rugged height, now pausing
to rest on the banks of the river, the gigantic ridge called the
Devil’s Gate was left behind, and on the 7th August the South Pass
itself was entered.
Instead of the arduous climb associated as a matter of course with the
scaling of the Rocky Mountains, Fremont now found himself ascending
a sandy plain, which brought him, imperceptibly as it were, to the
primal home of many a river flowing into the Pacific. The watershed
――as unique in its character as the swamps which nurse the infancy
of the Mississippi and the St. Lawrence――left behind, Fremont led his
little band up a long and beautiful ravine, discovering, a few miles
further on, a lake “set like a gem in the mountains.”
The newly-found sheet of water, which was ascertained to be the source
of one branch of the Colorado of the West, was named Mountain Lake;
and the instructions of the Government having now been fully carried
out, it was resolved to return eastward. Before sounding the retreat,
however, Fremont noticed a lofty mountain peak in the vicinity of
the South Pass, and resolved to ascend it. This turned out to be a
matter of considerable difficulty. First the mules were left behind,
then boots and stockings were discarded, the use of the toes being
absolutely necessary to the advance of the climbers.
Fremont himself was the first to reach the summit. Availing himself of
a kind of comb of the mountain, he gained a point with an overhanging
buttress, round which he crept, putting hands and feet in the crevices
between the blocks, and often hanging over a vertical precipice
several hundred feet deep, where a moment’s giddiness would have
been fatal. At last he stood, to quote his own words, “on a narrow
crest about three feet in width, with an inclination of about 20°
N., 51° E.;” and though he did not know it then, he had reached the
highest point of the great Rocky Mountain Range, 13,590 feet above
the sea-level――a point still known, in honor of its discoverer, as
Fremont’s Peak.
As he paused to rest, and gazed down upon the lovely view at his feet,
stretching away to the shores of the Pacific, Fremont relates that a
solitary bee came flying up from the eastern valley, and settled on
the knee of one of the men, “A moment’s thought,” he adds, “would
have made us let this solitary pioneer of the advance of civilization
continue his way unharmed; but we carried out the law of this country,
where all animated nature seems at war.” The bee was caught, killed,
and placed among the flowers collected on the way up; and in this
slight incident we read a melancholy prophecy of the fate awaiting the
human inhabitants of the lands now for the first time brought within
the limits of that civilization which has never yet proved itself wide
enough to contain the red man and the white.
From the summit of Fremont’s Peak the explorers could see on the one
side the innumerable lakes and streams among which sprang the Colorado
of the Gulf of California, while on the other lay the romantic Wind
River Valley, whence flows the Yellowstone branch of the Missouri;
while far away on the north rose the snow-crowned heads of the Trois
Tetons, the first homes of the Missouri and Columbia, with the less
lofty peaks at the southern extremity of the range which witnessed
the birth of the Nebraska. Of the whole scene, the most remarkable
characteristic was, and is, the traces of terrible convulsions of
nature. The chain is split from end to end into ridges and chasms,
alternated with thin walls of rock, broken at their terminations into
natural minarets and columns, producing an effect of weird, unearthly
beauty peculiarly striking.
Noting, however, but the main features of a district now associated
with so many scenes of adventure in the great rush of emigration
westward so soon to follow, Fremont hastened back to his camp in the
South Pass, and thence returned to Fort Laramie, which he reached
in safety without the loss of a single man, all the prophecies as to
the dangers awaiting him being unfulfilled. A few weeks later, his
report was in the hands of his Government, who marked their sense of
their services by at once appointing him to the command of a second
expedition; this time with orders to connect the work he had already
done with that of Wilkes, by examining the country between the
southern half of the Rocky Mountains and the shores of the Pacific.
With this end in view, Fremont, accompanied by some thirty-nine
men――Canadians, Creoles, and Americans――started from Kansas, near
the junction of that river with the Missouri, early in June, 1843.
Following the now well-beaten emigrant tracks for the West, the
expedition reached the Rocky Mountains considerably to the south of
the pass discovered on the previous trip, and near the connecting
ridge between the Utah or Bear River Mountains and the Wind River
chain. This ridge separated the waters flowing to the Gulf of
California on the east, and those on the west which run more directly
to the Pacific, from that vast inland basin of lakes with no outlet
to the ocean.
Crossing the Rocky Mountains, the party entered the fertile and
picturesque valley of the Bear or Utah River, the chief tributary of
the Great Salt Lake, first alluded to by Baron La Hontan in 1689, but
never before visited by any white man except wandering trappers, whose
eyes had been blind to the wonderful nature of the phenomenon now to
be examined.
Slowly descending the lovely valley, tenanted only by a few Shoshone
Indians, Fremont reached the now famous Beer Springs, situated in a
mountain-locked basin of mineral waters, on the 25th August. These
springs burst from openings in the rocks, and give off an effervescing
gas, which produces an effect of great beauty, the water rising
in trembling column to a considerable height, accompanied by a
subterranean noise, accounted for by the natives in many a weird
legend.
Beyond the Beer Springs the cavalcade pressed on to the wild western
region between them and Salt Lake inhabited by the scattered Root
Indians, who live almost entirely on roots and seeds, and on the 1st
September reached the junction of the Bear and Roseaux Rivers, where
an india-rubber boat provided for river navigation was inflated and
launched on the waters of the united streams. A little further on,
however, the river, which Fremont had hoped would carry him down to
the lake, itself suddenly divided into a number of shallow branches,
and the land journey had to be resumed.
Through low flats, across salt marshes, or the salt incrusted beds
of dried-up lakes, the weary travelers plodded. On the 6th September
their perseverance was at last rewarded by reaching the summit of a
kind of ridge, from which they beheld, immediately at their feet, the
waters of the long-sought inland sea, stretching in silent grandeur
far beyond their range of vision, and receiving in its cold and
lifeless bosom all the rivers of the vast basin of Utah, except the
head branches of the Colorado and Humboldt.
From the center of the lake rose several islands, some of them 3,250
feet above its level, but no sign of animal or vegetable life could
be detected on any of them. Equally lonely and deserted were the wild,
weird heights and dreary stretches of briny wastes shutting in the
shores of the “still innocent Dead Sea” itself, and it was with a
feeling almost akin to shrinking that Fremont made preparations for
launching his boat upon its waters.
After a somewhat perilous voyage, during which the clothes of the
explorers became incrusted with salt, the boat was brought within
wading distance of one of the smaller islands, and, landing, Fremont
carefully examined its strange cliffs and masses, finding them also
covered with the apparently omnipresent salt. A few temporary tents
were then constructed of the driftwood scattered on the shores, and
after kindling large fires to excite the wonder of any straggling
savage on the lake shore, the successful explorers――the first of their
race to spend a night near the site of the now world-famous Salt Lake
City――lay down to sleep.
In the morning, to the surprise of all, the noise of huge waves
breaking on the rocks was the first sound to greet their ears, and
no time was lost in making their way back to the mainland. The “still
and lifeless bosom” of the lake had changed its character, and, though
powerless to give or nourish vitality, proved its capacity to destroy.
The fragile india-rubber bark was more than once nearly swallowed up
in its treacherous waters, but late in the day all landed from it in
safety, and on the 12th September the journey was resumed.
Following much the same route as that taken on the way to the lake,
our hero now led his men back to the Bear River, and thence through
the great basin bearing his name, and inclosing the vast system of
rivers and creeks belonging to the newly discovered Dead Sea, to a
ravine commanding a pass in the dividing ridge between the waters of
the Bear River and the Snake or Lewis fork of the Columbia; thus, so
to speak, throwing a bridge of connection across from his own work to
that of his predecessors.
On the 19th September the expedition arrived in safety at Fort Hall,
a trading post situated in a low and fertile valley, some twenty miles
long, formed by the confluence of the Portneuf and Snake Rivers. The
winter was now rapidly approaching, yet Fremont resolved to push on
first to the Columbia River, and from thence home by a new route,
making what he characterizes as a “great circuit to the south and
south-east,” with a view to the exploration of the Great Basin between
the Rocky Mountains and the Sierra Nevada. No persuasions could induce
him to alter this determination, although the task he had set himself
was pronounced absolutely impracticable. He arrived in safety at Fort
Vancouver, about ninety miles from the mouth of the Columbia, on the
16th November, and almost immediately commenced the return journey;
but he had not proceeded far, when he found himself in a pathless
wilderness haunted by bands of wandering Indians, from whom scarcely
any guidance and no food could be obtained.
On the 10th December, a lake, to which the name of Tlamath was given,
was discovered; and on the 14th a stream was struck, which Fremont,
from astronomical observations taken, concluded to be the principal
branch of the Sacramento. He now hoped to find an opening in the
mountains through which he could reach the districts explored in
the early part of his trip; but in this he was unsuccessful. Three
weeks of exhausting wandering brought the weary travelers to another
remarkable mountain lake, to which, on account of a tapering rock
rising from its center, the name of Pyramid was given.
Illustration: TEMPLE BLOCK, SALT LAKE CITY.
While the indefatigable hero was ascertaining the exact position of
the newly-found sheet of water, a few half-naked Indians, speaking a
dialect of the Snake language, made their appearance, and said they
lived in the rocks hard by, and that there was a river at the end of
the lake. Cheered by being again in a country where human beings could
live, Fremont led his party round the lake to the so-called river, and
found it to be merely a fresh-water stream flowing into, not out of,
the Pyramid. This at once convinced him that he had discovered, not
the head-waters of any river, but a vast interior lake without outlet.
The last of the cattle brought for provisions for the party had
been killed a day or two previously, and it was now a question of
the utmost moment whether an attempt should be made to pierce the
mountains on the east or go down through those on the west to the sea,
when a number of Indians came out of a neighboring thicket who said
their water was full of fish. The camp was at once pitched, and a
little later the hungry explorers were enjoying a hearty meal of
salmon trout. The natives, however, could give but little information
about their country. They made a drawing of their river on the ground,
representing it as issuing from another lake in the mountains three or
four days distant, beyond which was a single mountain, and further
away still were two rivers, on one of which white people like their
guests traveled.
Whether these white people were settlers on the Sacramento, or
travelers from the United States, there was no evidence to show; and
after a long and eager discussion with his followers, Fremont resolved
finally to abandon all idea of returning to the United States for
the present, and to cross the Sierra Nevada into the valley of the
Sacramento. This decision was greeted with eager acclamation by all
concerned; and although the Indians assured him that the mountains
were altogether impassable in the winter, not a moment was lost in
preparing for the arduous undertaking.
The first peak of the most easterly range of the mighty rocky barrier
was scaled on the 20th January; but a violent snowstorm coming
on compelled the travelers to turn southward, and encamp on the
eastern side of the mountains. A little further on a large stream was
discovered, which was followed to its outlet from the mountains, where
the ascent of the ridge was again commenced. A wild and narrow pass,
through which ran an Indian trail, with mountains on either side cased
in snow and ice, led up to a lofty height, looking down from which,
several natives were seen skimming and circling about on snow-shoes.
The shouts of the whites, who were eager to obtain guides, only
frightened the natives, who scudded rapidly away; but the next day a
number of Indians were surprised in a little valley, and the travelers
succeeded in reassuring them by signs of friendship. With great
difficulty――the language spoken by these children of the desert being
quite unintelligible――Fremont made out that the waters along which he
had been traveling belonged to the system of the Great Basin, on the
edge of which he had been since early in December, and that the great
ridge on the left must still be crossed before the Pacific Ocean could
be reached.
Explaining to the Indians that he was endeavoring to find a passage
through the mountains into the country of the whites, which he
was going to see, Fremont begged them to find him a guide, to whom
presents of scarlet cloth and other articles should be given. The
redskins looked at the rewards offered, consulted together, and then,
first pointing to the snow on the mountains, drew their hands across
their necks to show how deep it was. It was impossible, they implied
by their gestures, to go through this barrier of solid water; the
white men must turn southward to begin with, and not westward, until
after a long tramp in that direction.
Illustration: SAN FRANCISCO IN 1849.
To this compromise Fremont was obliged to consent, and, escorted
by a young Indian guide, he led his weary followers ten miles in a
south-easterly direction, reaching, on the 31st January, a gap in
the Sierra Nevada, through which he hoped to penetrate to the fertile
plains beyond. Again he was disappointed; the pass scaled, he still
had before him a great continuous range, which he felt satisfied was
the central ridge of the Sierra Nevada, the great Californian Mountain.
He now knew, however, that the Bay of San Francisco, or Yerba Buena,
as it was still called, lay on the other side of this great mass, and
resolved, at whatever cost, to traverse it without delay.
The camp was pitched in the eastern side, and the fires had scarcely
been lighted, when crowds of almost naked Indians rushed in, bringing
with them long nets and bows greatly resembling those in use on the
Sacramento River, which, as Fremont knew, drains the great central
valley of California. Here was an incidental proof of the approaching
end of the long and terrible journey, for in nothing are local
influences in America more distinctly reflected than in the arms and
utensils of the natives.
Very eager were the questions put to the new-comers, who were, so to
speak, links between the east and the west of the mighty barrier to be
crossed, and having heard all that they could tell, Fremont informed
his men of the resolution he had already long before come to himself,
of crossing the Californian Mountain. Again a young man was induced
by a large present to act as guide, and on the 1st February the great
enterprise was begun.
Silently――for they knew how hazardous was the task before them――the
explorers commenced the ascent of the mountain, along the valley of a
tributary stream of the Salmon-trout River. Deeper and deeper became
the snow, and it was soon necessary to break a road. Ten men were
told off for this service, mounted on the strongest surviving horses,
each man in succession opening a path until he and his steed became
exhausted, when he drew aside and let his comrade pass him. Sixteen
miles were thus traversed; a height of 6,750 feet above the sea-level
was attained, and still the icy peaks reared their heads with no
sensible diminution in their lofty inaccessibility.
On the 4th February, two Indians joined the party, and one of them, an
old man, made a harangue, much of which was understood by Fremont, who
had now learned something of the language of the mountaineers. “Rock
upon rock, rock upon rock, snow upon snow, snow upon snow lies before
you,” said the speaker, “and even if you get over the snow, you will
not be able to get down from the mountains.” The guide, on whom no
word was lost, was so overcome by the apparent hopelessness of the
situation, that he covered his face with his blanket and wept bitterly.
“I wanted to see the whites,” he moaned; “I came away from my own
people to see the whites, and I wouldn’t care to die among them, but
here....” Sobs checked his voice; “and,” as Fremont adds with the
quaint humor which runs throughout much of his narrative, “seated
round the tree, the fire illuminating the rocks and the tall boles of
the pines round about, and the old Indian haranguing, we presented a
group of very serious faces.”
The next morning, the guide, overcome by the horror awakened by the
Indian’s prophecy of disaster, ran away, and Fremont, rallying his men
about him, offered to go forward on snow-shoes, with one companion,
a Mr. Fitzpatrick, and make a reconnaissance. The result won by this
prompt measure imbued the whole party with fresh energy. From the
summit of a peak ten miles from the camp, a view was obtained of a low
range of mountains, which could be none other than those of the coast
of California. Between the explorers, then, and this seaboard chain
lay the valley of the Sacramento, and, when they eagerly scanned the
intervening space with glasses, the course of a river could be made
out, with dots of prairie land on either side.
Another six days of struggle with ice and snow, and the camp was
pitched on the summit of the pass, 2,000 feet higher than that of the
South Pass of the Rocky Mountains, in the dividing ridge of the Sierra
Nevada, and in N. lat. 38° 44′, W. long. 120° 28′. Thus, for the first
time, was revealed to the white man of modern days the phenomenon of
a range of mountains at the extremity of the continent higher than the
great Rocky Mountains themselves. The existence of the Great Basin was
accounted for, and it was evident that here too there must be a system
of small, land-locked lakes and rivers which the Sierra Nevada forever
prevents from escaping to the Pacific Ocean.
The mountain barrier was conquered at last, and, descending the
western slopes, with hearts beating high with hope and triumph, the
heroes soon struck the waters of a river which turned out to be the
American fork of the Sacramento. Following it through a beautiful
and fertile country, they came, on the 6th March, to Sutter’s Fort,
outside which they were met by its owner and founder, who, as will
readily be imagined, gave them an enthusiastic welcome.
Thus ended one of the most romantic and perilous journeys ever made
in the United States. For the first time, the Sierra Nevada had been
crossed by white men, and for the first time, the existence of an
overland route between the East and the West had been proved.
The remainder of the trip to the sea, through the beautiful valley of
the San Joaquin, though interesting, was tame in comparison with the
transit of the mountains. After approaching the now well known Bay of
San Francisco, Fremont made his way back by a more southerly and less
difficult route than in his westward journey to the Great Basin, again
visiting the Salt Lake of Utah, and making acquaintance with many a
fine specimen of the southern branch of the great Shoshone family.
Toward the close of May, the Great Salt Lake was left behind, and a
fort-night’s journey, through the comparatively familiar districts
overlooked by the mountains dividing the Pacific from the Mississippi
rivers, brought the party once more to the South Pass of the Rocky
Mountains, first scaled by Fremont three years before. A slight detour
southward, to examine three peaks well known to the hunter and trapper,
but hitherto unnamed, was succeeded by a journey across the Rocky
Mountains, rendered somewhat exciting by a struggle going on between
the Arapahoes and the Utahs, but on the 18th June the summit of the
ridge, 11, 200 feet above the sea-level, overlooking the head-waters
of the Arkansas, was reached in safety. The Arkansas was now followed
to its junction with the Mississippi, on the broad waters of which the
explorers embarked on the 18th July, arriving at St. Louis on the 6th
August.
Illustration: CAMPED IN THE DESERT.
In 1848, the indefatigable Fremont made another journey to California,
this time at his own expense; but in attempting to cross the mountains
between the Rio Grande and the Colorado in the depth of winter,
his guide lost his way, and nearly all the men and animals died a
miserable death. Fremont himself escaped, but we have been unable
to obtain any record of his adventures, or of the geographical
discoveries made on this last trip, which, however, took place
after the discovery of gold near Sutter’s Fort and the admission
of California to the Union had completely revolutionized the aspect
of affairs.