The Rendezvous.
Fair in the Wilderness.--The Encampment.--Dispersion of the
Trappers.--Hostility of the Blackfeet.--Camp on the Big Snake
River.--The Blackfeet Marauders.--The Pursuit.--The Calumet.--The
Battle.--Kit Carson wounded.--The Rencontre with Shunan.--The
Defeat and Humiliation of Shunan.--Remarkable Modesty of
Carson.--Testimony to Mr. Carson's Virtues.
In the morning the party fortunately found, in one of their traps, a
beaver, upon whose not very palatable flesh they breakfasted. The tail of
a beaver when well cooked, is esteemed quite a delicacy. But one tail
would not furnish sufficient food for three men. Fifteen days passed away
before Kit Carson's little band was reunited with the larger company of
Messrs. Fitzpatrick and Bridger. A rendezvous had been appointed at a spot
on Green river, which afforded great attractions for an encampment.
In some unexplained way intelligence had been conveyed, through the
wilderness, to the widely dispersed trappers, that a Fair for trading,
would be held at a very commodious and well-known spot on the
above-mentioned stream. There was here a green, smooth, expanded meadow;
the pasturage was rich; a clear mountain stream rippled through it,
fringed by noble forest trees. The vicinity afforded an abundance of game.
Here they reared their camps and built their roaring fires. Band after
band of trappers and traders came in with loud huzzas. Within a few days
between two and three hundred men were assembled there, with five or six
hundred horses or mules.
On one of the gorgeous days of the Indian summer, the encampment presented
a spectacle of beauty which even to these rude men was enchanting. There
was the distant, encircling outline of the Rocky mountains, many of the
snow-capped peaks piercing the clouds. Scattered through the groves, which
were free from underbrush, and whose surface was carpeted with the tufted
grass, were seen the huts of the mountaineers in every variety of the
picturesque, and even of the grotesque. Some were formed of the well
tanned robes of the buffalo; some of boughs, twigs and bark; some of
massive logs. Before all these huts, fires were burning at all times of
the day, and food was being cooked and devoured by these ever-hungry men.
Haunches of venison, prairie chickens, and trout from the stream, were
emitting their savory odors, as they were turned on their spits before
the glowing embers.
The cattle, not even tethered, were grazing over the fertile plain. It was
indeed a wild, weird-like, semi-barbaric Fair which was thus held in the
very heart of the wilderness. Men of many nationalities were present, in
every variety of grotesque costume; and not a few Indians were there, with
scarcely any costume at all. For nearly two months the Fair continued,
with comings and goings, while hill and plain often resounded with
revelry.
At length the festival was dissolved, and the mountaineers, breaking up
into smaller bands, separated. The traders, with their horses loaded down
with the furs, returned to the marts of civilization. The trappers again
directed their steps to the solitudes of the remoter streams.
Kit Carson joined a party of fifty men, to explore the highest tributaries
of the Missouri river. The region was occupied by a numerous band of
warlike Indians, called Blackfeet. Many of the warriors had obtained
rifles. The itinerant trader could not refrain from furnishing the Indians
with guns and ammunition, at the exorbitant prices which the savages were
ready to pay. It shows the superiority of the white men, that fifty of
them ventured to enter upon these plains and into these defiles, where
thousands of these well-armed warriors were watching for their
destruction.
The enterprise proved more bold than successful. The trappers found the
Indians so vigilant and hostile, that it was necessary to protect
themselves by an intrenched camp. They had to adopt the most wearisome
precautions to protect their animals, never allowing them to graze beyond
rifle distance from the camp, unless under a strong guard. Matters grew
daily more and more desperate. The Indians seemed to be gathering from
great distances, so as almost to surround the encampment. If any small
party wandered a mile, to examine their traps, they were pretty sure to
find the traps stolen, and to be fired upon from ambush. This state of
affairs at length constrained them to quit the country. Like an army,
exposed hourly to an attack from its foes, this heroic band of fifty men
commenced its march in military array, watching with an eagle eye, knowing
not but that at any moment hundreds of strongly mounted, well-armed
savages might come rushing down upon them. They could indulge in no rest,
till they got beyond the territory of the Blackfeet.
A march of one or two hundred miles brought them to the banks of the Big
Snake river. It was the month of November. In those northern latitudes
winter was setting in with much severity. The hill-tops were covered with
snow; the streams were coated with ice; freezing blasts from the mountains
swept the bleak plains and the narrow defiles. It was necessary to go into
winter quarters for a couple of months. But there was no discomfort in
this.
They selected a snug valley having a southern exposure, with a northern
barrier of hills, and in the midst of a wide-spread grove which fringed a
pure mountain stream. There were fifty men. Every man belonged to the
working class. Every man was skilled in the trades of hunting, trapping,
wigwam-building, cooking, and tailoring. A few hours' work reared their
cosey huts. Fuel was cheap and abundant. The broadcloth for their clothing
was already woven on the backs of buffaloes, bears, deer and wolves. Their
own nimble hands speedily formed them into garments impervious to wind and
cold. They had laid in quite a store of game, which the cold weather
preserved, and there was enough more within their reach. And fortunately
for them all, nature's law of prohibition, had effectually banished from
the whole region all intoxicating drinks. Where there is no whiskey there
is rarely any quarrel. The pure mountain stream supplied them with their
health-giving beverage.
In a few days everything was cosey and comfortable around them. During
the months of December and January, and until the middle of February,
while wintry blasts swept the hills, warmth, abundance and friendliness
reigned in these sheltered, cheerful huts in a Rocky Mountain valley.
There was one exciting event which disturbed the serenity of this winter
encampment.
A band of Blackfeet Indians had cautiously dogged their footsteps,
watching for an opportunity to stampede their horses. One very dark night,
a number of these savages, supported by quite a numerous band of warriors,
crept, like wolves, into the grazing ground of the horses, and succeeded
in seizing eighteen of them, with which they made off rapidly towards
their own country. The loss was not discovered until morning. After a few
moments' deliberation it was decided that the valuable property must be
recovered if possible, and the Indians chastised for such insolence.
The unanimous voice called upon Kit Carson to lead the enterprise, and to
select his men. He took eleven. In a few minutes they were all mounted; a
blanket their only baggage; their rifles and ammunition their only stores.
The ground was covered with snow. These veteran mountaineers knew well
when and how to spare their horses for a continuous pursuit.
The Indians being more numerous, having horses to lead, and with their
steeds somewhat jaded with the long journey from their own country, could
not travel as fast as their pursuers were able to do with their fresh
animals. Still the savages had so much the start that it required fifty
miles of sharp riding before they were overtaken. Fortunately for the
pursuers, there had been recently a heavy fall of snow, so that the
Indians were under the necessity of breaking a path. Their party was so
large that the white men were furnished with a clearly marked,
well-trodden trail. This toil through the snow, seems quite to have
exhausted the strength of the horses of the Indians. They had been
compelled to stop at noonday to refresh the animals. A spot had been
selected on a hill-side, where the wind had blown away the snow, and where
the horses found, for grazing, an abundance of succulent dried grass.
Suddenly, and probably not a little to their consternation, the twelve
trappers, rounding an eminence on the full trot, appeared before them.
Carson halted his troop to reconnoitre; for his foes were strongly posted
and far outnumbered him. The savages, seeing the impossibility of
immediately gathering and mounting their horses for flight, cunningly
sent a flag of truce to solicit a parley. According to their custom, this
flag consisted of one of their warriors advancing entirely unarmed,
half-way to the opposing band. There he stopped, and folding his arms,
waited for some one of the other party similarly weaponless, to come
forward to confer with him.
These savage thieves manifested a degree of intelligence in their cunning,
which was hardly to have been expected of them. Through their interpreter
they assumed an air of perfect innocence, affecting great surprise that
the horses belonged to the trappers, saying that they supposed that they
had been robbing their hereditary foes, the Snake Indians.
"Nothing would induce us," said these barbarian diplomatists, "to commit
any depredations upon our friends the white men."
Such barefaced falsehood did not, for a moment, deceive Kit Carson. But it
was needful for him to move with great caution. The number of the Indians,
their position, their weapons, and the nature of the ground upon which
they had met, rendered the result of a battle very doubtful. It would not
do for Carson to manifest the slightest trepidation, or the least doubt of
his ability to recover the stolen property, and to chastise the marauders.
After some pretty severe questioning, he suggested that since they were
friends, they should all meet in council unarmed, and smoke the calumet of
peace. There are generally some points of honor, which will bind the most
abandoned men. Such was the smoking of the pipe of peace with the savages.
A large fire was built. The two parties met around it. The calumet was
lighted, and passed around to each person present. Every one of the
savages first puffed two whiffs, and the white men then did the same. This
was the solemn pledge that there should be no treachery.
The council then commenced. Several of the Indian warriors made long and
wordy speeches, with many protestations of friendship, but carefully
avoiding any offer to restore the stolen animals. Mr. Carson listened
patiently and made no response, until they had talked themselves out. He
then simply replied, that he was very happy to learn that the Indians were
friendly in their feelings toward the whites, and that the taking of the
animals was a mistake. The trappers would therefore overlook the affair,
and peacefully return home with the restored horses.
The Indian orators again began to chatter, branching off upon various
points irrelevant to the question at issue. But Mr. Carson was in no mood
to be drawn into a profitless palaver. To these eloquent speeches he made
no response, but simply demanded the return of the horses.
The Indians began to bluster, to talk loud and to grow insolent. But Mr.
Carson never allowed himself to lose his temper. A man in a passion seldom
acts wisely. With calm persistence he said, "I can listen to no overtures
of peace, until our horses are restored." Still the Indians hesitated to
provoke a battle in which some of their warriors would undoubtedly fall.
At length they sent out and brought in five of the poorest and most
exhausted of the horses, saying that these were all that they could or
would restore.
The trappers accepted this as a declaration of war. In a body they retired
to seize their rifles and to submit the question to the arbitrament of
battle. The savages also, with tumultuous howlings, rushed to grasp their
guns. The battle immediately commenced, each party seeking the shelter of
trees. But for the dread in which the savages stood of the powers of the
white men, the advantages would have been in their favor ten to one. There
were unerring marksmen on both sides. No one could expose himself to the
aim of either party without almost certain death. Kit Carson and one of
his companions, by the name of Markhead, were the foremost of the band of
trappers, and they stood behind trees not far from each other. As Carson
was watching the movements of a burly savage, who was endeavoring to get a
shot at him, he saw another savage taking deliberate aim, from his
concealment, at Markhead.
With the rapidity of thought Carson wheeled around, and at the same
instant the bullet from his rifle pierced the heart of the savage and he
fell dead. But there was another report, almost simultaneous with that
from Carson's gun. A bullet whizzed through the air, touched the bark of
the tree, behind which nearly the whole of Carson's body was concealed,
and severed one of the sinews of his shoulder, shattering a portion of the
bone. The blood gushed freely from the wound, and Carson fell, almost
fainting, to the ground. With much difficulty his friends succeeded in
bearing him off from the field, and in their rough kindness ministered to
his wants.
This loss of Carson's guidance and arm was irreparable and fatal to the
trappers. Still they continued the battle valiantly, holding the Indians
at bay until night came. The night was bitter cold. The trappers could not
light any fire, for it would surely guide the Indians to their retreat,
and present them as fair targets to the bullets of the savages.
Disappointed as these bold men were, they had the consolation of feeling
that the wound of their leader had not passed unavenged. They were sure
that several of the Indians had been killed and many wounded. Though they
did not doubt that the Indians would still fight desperately in defence,
they did not fear that they would venture to pursue and to attack the
trappers where they could choose their own ground. The trappers therefore,
bearing as tenderly as possible their wounded leader, commenced their
return to the camp which they reached in safety. The savages, as it
afterward appeared, fled as rapidly as possible in the other direction.
The adventure added to the reputation of Kit Carson. All admitted that it
was to save the life of a comrade that he had imperilled his own. And no
one doubted that, but for his wound, his sagacity would have triumphed
over the savages, and that he would have brought back all the horses. It
was immediately decided, in general council, that another expedition of
thirty men, under Captain Bridger, should pursue and chastise the thieves.
This well armed party vigorously followed the Indian trail for several
days. But the savages had fled so rapidly, into distant and unknown parts,
that they could not be overtaken. The trappers returned disappointed to
their camp.
Spring was returning with its milder breezes and its warmer sun. The time
for the spring hunt had commenced. There were no hostile Indians in the
vicinity to disturb the trappers. Success, surpassing their most sanguine
expectations, attended their efforts. Every morning the trappers came in
from their various directions laden with furs. All were elated with their
extraordinary prosperity. There is the spring hunting and the fall
hunting. But there is a period in midsummer when the fur is valueless or
cannot easily be taken. Game was then abundant, camping was a luxury. This
was the time selected by the traders for their Fairs in the wilderness.
Here, as we have mentioned, there was exchange of the commodities needed
in mountaineer-life, for the furs the trappers had taken during the
autumn, winter and spring. There was at this time another rendezvous on
Green river, where there was to be a renewal of the scenes of the past
year.
Kit Carson very speedily recovered from his wounds. His perfect health and
temperate habits caused a cure, which seemed almost miraculous. As we have
mentioned, these mountaineers were beyond the limits of the laws. There
was no governmental protection whatever. Every man was compelled to be his
own protector, filling the threefold office of judge, jury and
executioner.
The incident we are about to record would have been highly immoral in any
well-ordered community where law was recognized and could be enforced. And
yet the same act occurring in the savage wilderness may have merited the
high commendation which it universally received.
There was a fellow at the rendezvous, as the Fair among the mountains was
called, known as captain Shunan. He was of unknown nationality, of very
powerful frame, a bully and a braggadocio. Totally devoid of principle,
and conscious of his muscular superiority, he was ever swaggering through
the camp, dealing blows and provoking quarrels. He was universally
detested and also feared. Every one in the camp desired to see him
humbled.
One day Shunan was particularly offensive. That morning he had engaged in
two fights, and had knocked down and flogged both of the men whom he had
assailed. The traders had brought whiskey to the rendezvous, and probably
whiskey was at the bottom of these troubles. Mr. Carson was quietly
talking with some of his friends, in one part of the extended encampment,
when the swaggering bully came along seeking to provoke another fight.
"These Americans," said he, "are all cowards; they are all women. I am
going into the bush to cut some rods and I'll switch every one of them."
Kit Carson immediately stepped forward in his calm, unimpassioned way,
and with his soft and almost feminine voice said:
"Captain Shunan, I am an American and one of the smallest and weakest of
them all. We have no disposition to quarrel with any one. But this conduct
can no longer be endured. If it is continued, I shall be under the
necessity of shooting you."
There was almost a magic power in Kit Carson's calmness. He had a piercing
eye, before whose glance many would quail. There was an indescribable
something in his soft words, which indicated that they came from a
lion-like heart. The whole company of trappers looked on in perfect
silence, curious to see what would be the result of this bold movement.
Shunan at first, the herculean bully, looked down upon his fragile
opponent, with much of the contempt with which Goliath contemplated David.
But apparently that glance showed him that he had encountered no ordinary
foe. The reputation also of Kit Carson, as an able and fearless man
extended through the whole encampment. There was a moment of perfect
silence, Shunan not uttering one word in reply. He then turned upon his
heel and walked rapidly across the plain towards his camp. Carson and the
mountaineers understood perfectly what this meant. He had gone to seize
his rifle, mount his horse, and shoot Kit Carson for defying him.
Carson also turned his steps towards his own lodge. He took a loaded
pistol, bestrode his horse, and saw Shunan riding down towards him rifle
in hand. All this had occupied but a few minutes. Still it had arrested
the attention of nearly the whole encampment. It was well known that when
Carson and Shunan should meet on the hostile field, there was to be no
vulgar rough and tussle fight, but a decisive conflict which would settle
forever the question, whether the one or the other was to be master. The
common law of the wilderness demanded only, that the parties should be
left to settle the question in their own way.
Kit Carson always rode a magnificent horse. He bestrode his steed as if he
were a part of the animal, and seemed as unembarrassed in his movements
when in the saddle, as when on the floor of his tent. Rapidly he rode down
upon Shunan until the heads of their horses nearly touched. Calmly he
inquired, as if it were one of the most ordinary occurrences of life.
"Am I the person you are looking for?" The treacherous bully answered,
"No," hoping thus, in some degree, to throw his opponent off his guard;
but at the same instant, he brought his rifle to his shoulder with the
muzzle not four feet from the heart of his intended victim. The life of
Carson depended upon the fraction of a moment. We call him a lucky man; we
should rather say, he was a wise man prepared for every emergency. His
pistol was in his hand, cocked and primed. Quick as a flash, it was
raised, not at the heart, but at the right arm of the insolent bully, whom
he would bring to order.
So simultaneous was the discharge of both weapons, that but one report was
heard. But Carson's bullet entered upon its mission probably half a second
before the ball of Shunan left the rifle. Shunan's wrist was shattered, as
the bullet struck it; and from the curvature of the arm the ball passed
through a second time above the elbow. The sudden shock caused the rifle
to tilt a little upwards and thus saved the hero's life. Carson's face was
severely burned by the powder, and the ball glanced over the top of his
head, just cutting through the skin. The bully's rifle dropped from his
hand. He had received a terrible and an utterly disabling wound. He had
fought his last battle. No surgery could ever heal those fractured bones
so as to put that arm again in fighting trim. The wretch had sought the
life of Carson; but Carson had sought only to subdue the tyrant.
Shunan was thoroughly humbled, and became as docile as a child. They took
him to his tent, and treated him with all the rough nursing which trappers
in the wilderness could bestow. The shattered bones of course could never
recover their former strength. The weakest of those upon whom he formerly
trampled, could now chastise him, should he assume any of his former
insolent airs. The tyrant became docile as a child, and the whole camp
regarded Carson as its benefactor.
It is worthy of special notice, that Mr. Carson was not at all elated by
his victory. He never boasted of it. He never alluded to it, but with a
saddened countenance. Whenever the subject was referred to, he always
expressed his heartfelt regret, that it had been needful to resort to such
severe measures to preserve the good order of the camp.
In the life of John Charles Fremont we find the following reference to Mr.
Carson and to this adventure:
"Christopher Carson is a remarkably peaceable and quiet man, temperate in
his habits, and strictly moral in his deportment." In a letter written
from California in 1847, introducing Carson as the bearer of dispatches to
the government, Col. Fremont says:
"'With me Carson and Truth, mean the same thing. He is always the
same,--gallant and disinterested.'
"He is kind-hearted and averse to all quarrelsome and turbulent scenes,
and has never been engaged in any mere personal broils or encounters,
except on one single occasion, which he sometimes modestly describes to
his friends. The narrative is fully confirmed by an eye-witness, of whose
presence at the time he was not aware, and whose account he has probably
never seen."
Another who knew him well, writes, in corroborative testimony:
"The name of Christopher Carson has been familiarly known for nearly a
quarter of a century. From its association with the names of great
explorers and military men, it is now spread throughout the civilized
world. It has been generally conceded, that no small share of the benefits
derived from these explorations, was due to the sagacity, skill,
experience, advice and labor of Christopher Carson. His sober habits,
strict honor, and great regard for truth, have endeared him to all who can
call him friend; and among such may be enumerated, names belonging to some
of the most distinguished men whose deeds are recorded on the pages of
American history.
"A few years ago, the writer of this first met Christopher Carson. It
needed neither a second introduction, nor the assistance of a friendly
panegyric, to enable him to discover, in Christopher Carson, those traits
of manhood which are esteemed by the great and good to be the
distinguishing ornaments of character. This acquaintance ripened into a
friendship of the purest stamp. Since then the writer has been the
intimate friend and companion of Christopher Carson at his home, in the
wild scenes of the chase, on the war trail, and upon the field of battle.
"Christopher Carson physically, is small in stature, but of compact
framework. He has a large and finely developed head, a twinkling grey eye,
and hair of a sandy color which he wears combed back. His education having
been much neglected in his youth, he is deficient in theoretical learning.
By natural abilities, however, he has greatly compensated for this defect.
He speaks the French and Spanish languages fluently, besides being a
perfect master of several Indian dialects. In Indian customs, their
manners, habits, and the groundwork of their conduct, no man on the
American Continent is better skilled."