Life in the Wilderness.
A Surgical Operation.--A Winter with Kin Cade.--Study of the
Languages and Geography.--Return towards Missouri.--Engagement
with a new Company and Strange Adventures.--The
Rattlesnake.--Anecdote of Kit Carson.--The Sahara.--New
Engagements.--Trip to El Paso.--Trapping and Hunting.--Prairie
Scenery.--The Trapper's Outfit.--Night Encampment.--Testimony of
an Amateur Hunter.
The company of traders which Kit had joined enjoyed, on the whole, a
prosperous expedition. They met with no hostile Indians and, with one
exception, encountered nothing which they could deem a hardship. There was
one exception, which most persons would deem a terrible one. The
accidental discharge of a gun, incautiously handled, shattered a man's
arm, shivering the bone to splinters. The arm rapidly grew inflamed,
became terribly painful, and must be amputated or the life lost. There was
no one in the party who knew anything of surgery. But they had a razor, a
handsaw and a bar of iron.
It shows the estimation in which the firm, gentle, and yet almost womanly
Kit Carson was held, that he was chosen to perform the operation. Two
others were to assist him. The sufferer took his seat, and was held
firmly, that in his anguish his struggles might not interfere with the
progress of the knife. This boy of but eighteen years then, with great
apparent coolness, undertook this formidable act of surgery.
He bound a ligature around the arm very tightly, to arrest, as far as
possible the flow of blood. With the razor he cut through the quivering
muscles, tendons and nerves. With the handsaw he severed the bone. With
the bar of iron, at almost a white heat, he cauterized the wound. The
cruel operation was successful. And the patient, under the influence of
the pure mountain air, found his wound almost healed before he reached
Santa Fe.
Having arrived at his journey's end, Kit's love of adventure led him not
to return with the traders, by the route over which he had just passed,
but to push on still further in his explorations. About eighty miles
northeast of Santa Fe there was another Spanish settlement, weird-like in
its semi-barbarous, semi-civilized aspects, with its huts of sun-baked
clay, its Catholic priests, its Mexican Indians and its half-breeds. It
was a small, lonely settlement, whose population lived mainly, like the
Indians, upon corn-meal and the chase. Kit ever kept his trusty rifle
with him. His gun and hatchet constituted his purse, furnishing him with
food and lodging.
It was a mountainous region; here in one of the dells, Kit came across the
solitary hut of a mountaineer by the name of Kin Cade. They took a mutual
liking to each other. As Kit could at any day, with his rifle bring in
food enough to last a week, the question of board did not come into
consideration. It was in the latter part of November that Kit first
entered the cabin of this hunter. Here he spent the winter. His bed
consisted probably of husks of corn covered with a buffalo robe, a
luxurious couch for a healthy and weary man. Pitch pine knots brilliantly
illumined the hut in the evening. Traps were set to catch animals for
their furs. Deer skins were softly tanned and colored for clothing, with
ornamental fringes for coats and leggins and moccasins. Kit and his
companion Kin were their own tailors.
Thus passed the winter of 1826. Both of the men were very good-natured,
and of congenial tastes. They wanted for nothing. When the wind howled
amid the crags of the mountains and the storm beat upon their lonely
habitation, with fuel in abundance and a well filled larder, and with no
intoxicating drinks or desire for them, they worked upon their garments
and other conveniences in the warmth of their cheerful fireside. It is
not hazarding too much to say that these two gentle men, in their solitary
cabin, passed a far more happy winter than many families who were
occupying, in splendid misery, the palatial residences of London, Paris
and New York.
Kin Cade was perhaps a Spaniard. He certainly spoke the Spanish language
with correctness and fluency. The intelligence of Kit is manifest from the
fact that he devoted himself assiduously during the winter to the
acquisition of the Spanish language. And his strong natural abilities are
evidenced in his having attained, in that short time, quite the mastery of
the Spanish tongue. It is often said that Kit Carson was entirely an
uneducated man. This is, in one respect, a mistake. The cabin of Kin Cade
was his academy, where he pursued his studies vigorously and successfully
for a whole winter, graduating in the spring with the highest honors that
academy could confer.
We ought not to forget that, in addition to the study of the languages, he
also devoted much attention to the study of geography. They had no books,
no maps. It is doubtful indeed, whether either Kit or his teacher could
read or write. But Kin had been a renowned explorer. He had traversed the
prairies, climbed the mountains, followed the courses of the rivers, and
paddled over the lakes. With his stick he could draw upon the smoothly
trodden floor of his hut, everything that was needful of a chart. There
were probably many idle students in Harvard and Yale, who during those
winter months did not make as much intellectual progress as Kit Carson
made.
In the spring of 1827, Kit again went forth from his winter's retreat into
the wilderness world, which has its active life and engrossing
excitements, often even far greater than are to be found on the city's
crowded pavements. Not finding in these remote regions any congenial
employment, Kit decided to retrace his steps to Missouri. Most persons
would have thought that the journey of some thousand miles on foot,
through a trackless wilderness where he was exposed every step of the way,
to howling wolves and merciless savages, a pretty serious undertaking. Kit
appears to have regarded it but as an every-day occurrence.
He joined a party of returning traders. Much of the region they traversed
may be aptly described in the language which Irving applies to Spain. "It
is a stern melancholy country, with rugged mountains and long sweeping
plains, indescribably lonesome, solitary, savage." After travelling nearly
five hundred miles, about half the distance back to Missouri, they
reached a ford of the Arkansas river. Here they met another party of
traders bound to Santa Fe. Kit, who with great reluctance had decided to
return home, eagerly joined them. His services were deemed very valuable,
and they offered him a rich reward. His knowledge of the Spanish language
became now a valuable investment to him, and as he had already twice
traversed the route, he was at once invested with the dignity of guide as
well as interpreter.
The following incident, related by a traveller who was passing over this
same plain under the guidance of Kit Carson, shows that there are other
dangers to be encountered besides the prowling savage and the wolf:
"It was a bright moonlight night. I had, as was my custom, spread my
saddle leathers for a bed, and had drawn my blanket closely around me.
Weary with the day's march, I had been sleeping soundly for several hours,
when about midnight I awoke suddenly with an unaccountable feeling of
dread. It must have been a sort of instinct which prompted me, for in a
moment I was upon my feet, and then, upon removing my blanket, I found a
rattlesnake, swollen with rage and poison, coiled and ready to strike.
"I drew away the blanket which served as a mattress, intending to kill the
reptile, when to my astonishment it glided away making its escape into a
small opening in the ground directly beneath my bed. The whole matter was
explained at once. The snake had probably been out to see a neighbor; and
getting home after I was asleep, felt a gentlemanly unwillingness to
disturb me. And, as I had taken possession of his dwelling he took part of
my sleeping place, crawling under the blanket where he must have lain
quietly by my side until I rolled over and disturbed him. I can scarcely
say that I slept much more that night, and even Carson admitted that it
made him a little nervous."
Kit Carson was not a garrulous man. He was much more given to reflection
than to talk, and he was never known to speak boastfully of any of his
achievements. It is the invariable testimony of all who knew him, that he
was mild, gentle and unassuming, one of Nature's noblemen. While
travelling he scarcely ever spoke. Nothing escaped his keen eye. His whole
appearance was that of a man deeply impressed with a sense of the
responsibility of his office. He knew full well the treacherous character
of the Indians, and that "the better part of valor is discretion."
He had often seen men killed at night by an invisible foe. From the
impenetrable darkness which surrounded the camp fire, an arrow would come
winged with death, piercing the heart of some mountaineer whose body was
clearly revealed by the firelight. Kit Carson would never thus expose
himself. He would always spread his blanket where the firelight would not
reveal him.
"No, no boys," he would say to his often reckless comrades, "you may hang
around the fire if you will. It may do for you, if you like it. But I do
not wish to have a Digger Indian slip an arrow into me when I cannot see
him."
A gentleman, who was guided over the plains by Kit, writes, "During this
journey I have often watched Carson's preparation for the night. A braver
man than Kit perhaps never lived. In fact, I doubt if he ever knew what
fear was. But with all this he exercised great caution. While arranging
his bed, his saddle, which he always used as a pillow, was disposed in
such a manner as to form a barricade for his head. His pistols half cocked
were placed above it, and his trusty rifle reposed beneath the blanket by
his side, where it was not only ready for instant use but perfectly
protected from the damp. Except now and then to light his pipe, you never
caught Kit, at night, exposing himself to the full glare of the camp
fire."
When on the march everything was conducted with military precision. At the
early dawn as Kit gave the signal to prepare to start, all were instantly
in motion. The mules were brought up; their packs were fastened firmly
upon their backs, an operation which required much labor and skill. The
mules have a strange instinct which leads them to follow with a sort of
fascination a white horse. Thus generally a white horse or mare leads the
cavalcade.
At times it was necessary to march long distances without meeting water.
One of these dreary stretches was eighty miles long. It was necessary to
pass over it as rapidly as possible, day and night almost without resting.
In accomplishing one of these arduous journeys across a desert almost as
bare as that of Sahara, the party set out one afternoon at three o'clock.
One of the travellers writes:
"I shall never forget the impression which that night's journey left upon
my mind. Sometimes the trail led us over large basins of deep sand, where
the trampling of the mules' feet gave forth no sound. This, added to the
almost terrible silence which ever reigns in the solitude of the desert,
rendered our transit more like the passage of some airy spectacle where
the actors were shadows instead of men. Nor is this comparison a strained
one, for our way-worn voyagers, with their tangled locks and unshorn
beards, rendered white as snow by the fine sand with which the air in
these regions is often filled, had a weird and ghost-like look, which the
gloomy scene around, with its frowning rocks and moonlit sands, tended to
enhance and heighten."
It is said, as illustrative of Kit's promptness of action, that one night
an inexperienced guard shouted "Indians." In an instant Kit was on his
feet, pistol in hand. A dark object was approaching him. The loss of a
second of time might enable a savage to bury his arrow-head deep in his
side and to disappear in the darkness. Like a flash of lightning Kit fired
and shot _his mule_. It was a false alarm.
The traders arrived safely in Santa Fe. Kit Carson, having faithfully
performed his contract, began to look around for new adventures. Three
hundred and fifty miles south of Santa Fe, there was the Mexican province
of Chihuahua. It was a very rich mining district, and many adventurers had
flocked to it from Spain. There was here a narrow valley of the Rio Grande
about ten miles in extent, and quite well filled with the rude settlements
of the miners. It is said that at one time there were nearly seventy
thousand Spaniards and Indians scattered along the river banks in search
of the precious metals.
A trading party was bound from Santa Fe to this region. Colonel Trammel
was the leader of this party, and he eagerly secured the services of Kit
Carson, who, in addition to his experience as a traveller, could also
perform the functions of an interpreter. We have no record of the
incidents which occurred on this journey. As the route was well known, and
there were no hostile Indians to be encountered, it was probably
uneventful.
In this valley of El Paso, as it was called, Carson found about five
thousand people, mostly on the right bank of the river. The rudeness of
the style in which they lived painfully impressed him. There was far more
comfort in the cabins he had left in Missouri.
The houses were of clay baked in the sun, with earthen floors. Window
glass was a luxury unknown. It seems almost incredible that they should
have had neither chairs, tables, knives nor forks. These Mexicans were
scarcely one remove from the untamed savages of the wilderness. Young
Carson found nothing to interest him or to invite his stay. He returned to
Santa Fe. The summer had now passed and another winter come.
About a hundred and fifty miles north of Santa Fe there was a small
collection of huts called Taos, inhabited by trappers and hunters. This
pursuit of game for food and fur was the employment which was congenial to
him above all others. He directed his steps to Taos and at once entered
into an engagement with Mr. Ewing Young, making his cabin headquarters.
Hunting and trapping were somewhat different employments, though perhaps
equally exciting. The hunter depended upon his rifle, and was mainly in
search of food. Still the robe of the buffalo and the coat of the grizzly
bear were very useful in various ways, in the cabin of the hunter, and the
softly tanned skin of the deer was invaluable, furnishing every article of
clothing, shirt, leggins and moccasins. The skins of these animals had
also a market value.
But the trapper was in pursuit of furs only. Though the men engaged in
this pursuit were occasionally exposed to great hardship and suffering,
still, in general they probably had, in the gratification of congenial
tastes, a full share of such happiness as this world can furnish.
Young Carson, at the age of nineteen, had no taste for the scholarly
seclusion of Yale or Harvard, no desire to stand all day behind the
counter of the dry-goods store, or to work amid the crowd and the hum of
the factory; he had no wish for what is called society, or to saunter down
Broadway with his cigar and his cane, to exhibit his tightly-fitting
garments; but he did love to set out on a hunting and trapping expedition.
Let us follow him in one of these adventures.
It is a bright morning of the Indian summer, far along in November. There
is a small log cabin on a mound of the wilderness. A dense forest breaks
the northern winds. A rippling stream runs by the door. Beyond lies the
prairie rich in verdure and enamelled with gorgeous autumnal flowers.
Herds of buffalo are grazing in groups of hundreds, sometimes of
thousands, on the broad expanse. Gangs of deer are seen, graceful,
beautiful, following in the train of the antlered bucks, and with scent so
keen and eyes so piercing that it requires the utmost skill of the hunter
to approach them within rifle shot. Clouds of prairie chickens and quails
are floating here and there in their short flight. It is the paradise of
the hunter. Let no one think this description overdrawn. It would be
difficult to exaggerate the loveliness of the flower-spangled prairie on a
bright autumnal day. Eden could scarcely have presented scenes more
attractive.
Young Carson stands at the door of the cabin with a stout mule before him.
The animal is strong and plump, having been feasting upon the wild oats
growing luxuriantly around. Carson is packing his mule. His outfit
consists of a Mexican blanket, rough, thick and warm; a supply of
ammunition; a kettle; possibly a coffee-pot and some coffee, which have
been obtained at Santa Fe; several iron traps; some dressed deerskin for
replacing clothing and moccasins, a hatchet and a few other similar
articles. In addition to his mule he may also take a pony to bear him on
the way. Thus, if by accident, one give out, he has another animal to rely
upon. And if very successful he may have furs enough to load them both on
his return.
His costume consists of a hunting shirt of the soft and pliable deerskin,
ornamented with long fringes and often dyed with bright vermilion.
Pantaloons of the same material are also ornamented with fringes and
porcupine's quills of various colors. Many a tranquil hour has been
beguiled, in the long evenings and when the storm has beaten upon the hut,
in fashioning these garments with artistic taste, learned of the Indians.
A flexible cap, often of rich fur, covers his head, and moccasins, upon
which all the resources of barbaric embroidery have been expended, cover
his feet.
His rifle is borne on his left shoulder. His powder horn and bullet pouch
hang under his right arm. In his bullet pouch he also carries spare
flints, steel and various odds and ends. Beneath the broad belt which
encircles his waist there is a large butcher knife in a sheath of buffalo
hide. There is a whetstone in a buckskin case made fast to the belt, and
also a small hatchet or tomahawk.
Thus accoutred, our young hunter and trapper sets out in search of the
most lonely ravine which he can find among the mountains. He would reach
if possible, some solitary stream which no white man's eye had ever
beheld. He has no road, no trail to guide him. He rides his pony and leads
his mule. Over the prairie, through the forest, across the streams, in
silence and in a solitude which to him is not lonely, he passes on his
way.
Night comes. If pleasant, he unburdens his horse and mule; drives his iron
pickets into the ground, to which his animals are attached by ropes about
thirty feet long, generally in pastures of rich grass or wild oats; builds
a fire, cooks his supper, rolls himself in his blanket and sleeps soundly
till morning. If the weather is unpleasant it makes but little difference.
He knows exactly what to do. In a short time he constructs a frail but
ample shelter; and then, with his feet towards the fire, sleeps sweetly
regardless of the storm. His animals have no more need of shelter than
have the bears and the buffaloes.
This is the _ordinary_ life of the hunter. There are, of course,
exceptions when calamity and woe come. A joint may be sprained, a limb
broken. Fire may burn, or Indians may come, bringing captivity and
torture. But the ordinary life of the hunter, gratifying his natural
taste, has many fascinations. This is evidenced by the eagerness with
which our annual tourists leave their ceiled chambers, in the luxurious
cities, to encamp in the wilderness of the Adirondacks or the Rocky
mountains. There is not a restaurant in the Palais Royal, or on the
Boulevards which can furnish such a repast as these men often find, from
trout which they have taken from the brook, and game which their own
rifles shot, have cooked at the fires which their own hands have kindled.
A gentleman who spent a winter in this way, in the green and sheltered
valleys of the Rocky mountains, writes:
"There was something inexpressibly exhilarating in the sensation of
positive freedom from all worldly care, and a consequent expansion of the
sinews, as it were, of mind and body, which made me feel as elastic as a
ball of India rubber, and in such a state of perfect ease that no more
dread of scalping Indians entered my mind, than if I had been sitting in
Broadway, in one of the windows of the Astor House. The very happiest
moments of my life have been spent in the wilderness of the Far West, with
no friend near me more faithful than my rifle, and no companion more
sociable than my horse and mules.
"With a plentiful supply of pine logs on the fire, and its cheerful blaze
streaming far up into the sky, illuminating the valley far and near, and
exhibiting the animals, with well filled bellies, standing contentedly
over their picket-pins, I would sit enjoying the genial warmth, building
castles in the air. Scarcely ever did I wish to exchange such hours of
freedom for all the luxuries of civilized life. Such are the fascinations
of the life of the mountain hunter that I believe that not one instance
could be adduced of even the most polished and civilized of men, who had
once tasted the sweets of its attendant liberty and freedom from every
worldly care, not sighing once more to partake of its pleasures and
allurements.
"A hunter's camp in the Rocky mountains is quite a picture. It is
invariably made in a picturesque locality. Nothing can be more social and
cheering than the welcome blaze of the camp fire on a cold winter's
night."
Young Carson, alone with his horse and mule, would journey from fifty to a
hundred miles, examining every creek and stream, keeping a sharp lookout
for signs of beaver. Having selected his location, generally in some
valley eight or ten miles in extent, with a winding stream circling
through the centre, which he had reason to believe was well stocked with
beaver, he would choose a position for his camp. This would be more or
less elaborate in its construction, according to the time he intended to
spend there. But he would always find some sunny nook, with a southern
exposure and a pleasing prospect, near the brook or some spring of sweet
water, and, if possible, with forest or rock sheltering from the north
winds.
In a few hours young Carson would construct his half-faced cabin, as the
hunting-camp was called. A large log generally furnished the foundation of
the back part of the hut. Four stout stakes were then planted in the
ground so as to inclose a space about eight feet square. These stakes were
crotched at the ends, so as to support others for the roof. The front was
about five feet high, the back not more than four. The whole slope of the
roof was from the front to the back. The covering was made of bark or
slabs and sometimes of skins. The sides were covered in a similar way. The
whole of the front was open. The smooth ground floor was strewed with
fragrant hemlock branches, over which were spread blankets or buffalo
robes. In front of the opening the camp fire could be built, or on the one
side or the other, in accordance with the wind.
Thus in a few hours young Carson would erect him a home, so cosey and
cheerful in its aspect as to be attractive to every eye. Reclining upon
mattresses really luxurious in their softness, he could bask in the beams
of the sun, circling low in its winter revolutions, or gaze at night upon
the brilliant stars, and not unfrequently have spread out before him an
extended prospect of as rich natural scenery as ever cheered the eye. He
had no anxiety about food. His hook or his rifle supplied him abundantly
with what he deemed the richest viands. He knew where were the tender
cuts. He knew how to cook them deliciously. And he had an appetite to
relish them.
Having thus provided himself with a habitation, he took his traps and,
either on foot or on horseback, as the character of the region or the
distance to be traversed might render best, followed along the windings of
the stream till he came to a beaver dam. He would examine the water
carefully to find some shallow which the beavers must pass in crossing
from shoal to deep water. Here he would plant his trap, always under
water, and carefully adjust the bait. He would then follow on to another
dam, and thus proceed till six traps were set, which was the usual number
taken on such an expedition.
Early every morning he would mount his horse or mule and take the round of
his traps, which generally required a journey of several miles. The
captured animals were skinned on the spot, and the skins only, with the
tails which the hunters deemed a great luxury as an article of food, were
taken to the camp. Then the skin was stretched over a framework to dry.
When dry it was folded into a square sheet, the fur turned inward and a
bundle made containing from ten to twenty skins tightly pressed and
corded, which was ready for transportation. These skins were then worth
about eight dollars per pound.
After an absence of three or four weeks, young Carson would return with
his treasures, often several hundred dollars in value, to the rendezvous
of Mr. Ewing Young at Taos. Soon again he would set out on another similar
expedition. Thus Carson passed the winter of 1827.