Encampments and Battles.
The Renewal of the Battle.--Peculiarities of the Fight.--The
Rout.--Encampment in the Indian Village.--Number of Trappers
among the Mountains.--The New Rendezvous.--Picturesque Scene of
the Encampment.--The Missionary and the Nobleman.--Brown's
Hole.--The Navajoes.--Kit Carson Purveyor at the Fort.--Trapping
at the Black Hills.--Again upon the Yellowstone.--Pleasant Winter
Quarters.--Signs of the Indians.--Severe Conflict.--Reappearance
of the Indians.--Their utter Discomfiture.
There was now a brief lull in the battle. The Indians had not left the
field and by no means acknowledged a defeat. With very considerable
military skill they selected a new position for the renewal of the fight,
on broken ground among a chaos of rocks, about one hundred and fifty yards
from the line of their opponents. They were evidently aware of the strong
reserve approaching to join the trappers. With this reserve it was
necessary that the trappers should make the attack, for they could not
venture to move on their way leaving so powerful a hostile army behind
them.
The Indians manifested very considerable powers of reasoning, and no
little strategic skill. They took the defensive, and chose a position from
which it would be almost impossible to dislodge them. The trappers awaited
the arrival of their comrades, and obtained a fresh supply of ammunition.
The whole united band prepared for a renewal of the battle. Thus far not
one of the trappers had been wounded, excepting Cotton, who was severely
bruised by the fall of his horse.
About an half hour elapsed while these movements were taking place with
each party. The trappers all dismounted and then, in a long line, with
cheers advanced in Indian fashion, from tree to tree, from rock to rock,
every moment drawing nearer to their determined foes. The great battle,
the Waterloo conflict, now commenced. Small as were the numbers engaged,
limited as was the field of action, there was perhaps never a battle in
which more personal courage was displayed, or in which more skill and
endurance was called into requisition. Not unfrequently a trapper would
occupy one side of a large boulder and an Indian warrior the other, each
watching for the life of his adversary, while every fibre of mental and
muscular power were roused to activity. Neither could leave his covert
without certain death, and one or the other must inevitably fall.
For an hour or two this dreadful conflict continued. Gradually the
superiority of the white man, and the vast advantage which the rifle gave,
began to be manifest. The Indians were slowly driven back, from tree to
rock, from rock to tree. Many of their warriors had fallen in death. The
ground was crimsoned with their blood. The disheartened Indians began to
waver, then to retreat; and then as the trappers made a simultaneous
charge, and the rifle bullets whistled around them, to run in complete
rout, scattering in all directions. It was in vain to attempt any pursuit.
The women and children of the Blackfeet village were on an eminence, about
a mile from their homes, awaiting the issue of the conflict. They also
instantly disappeared, seeking refuge no one knew where.
In this battle a large number of the Indians were killed or wounded, we
know not how many. But three of the trappers were killed, though many
others received wounds more or less severe. The Indian village was located
on very fine camping-ground. They left nothing behind them. An Indian
woman needs no Saratoga trunk for her wardrobe. Their comfortable wigwams
were left standing. Here Fontenelle allowed his party to rest for several
days. The dead were to be buried, the wounded to be nursed, damages to be
repaired, and a new supply of provisions to be obtained. Free from all
fear of molestation, the trappers explored the region for miles around,
and were very successful in taking beavers.
It is estimated that the various parties of trappers, then wandering among
the mountains, numbered at least six hundred men. While our trappers were
thus encamped, elated with their victory over the Indians, and still more
exultant over their daily success in trapping and hunting, one day an
express rode into the camp, and informed them that the rendezvous was to
be held, that year, upon the Mud river, a small stream flowing
circuitously from the south into Green river. The party, having a large
stock of beaver on hand, set out to cross the main ridge of the Rocky
mountains, to dispose of their furs at the rendezvous. It required a
journey of eight days. As the trapping party, nearly a hundred in number,
all mounted on gayly caparisoned steeds, and leading one or two hundred
pack horses, entered the valley over the distant eminences, there were two
scenes presented to the eye, each peculiar in many aspects of sublimity
and beauty.
It was midsummer. The smooth meadow upon which the encampment was held was
rich, verdant and blooming, a beautiful stream flowing along its western
border. A fine grove fringed the stream as far as the eye could reach up
and down. Not a tree, stump, or stone was to be seen upon the smooth,
lawn-like expanse. Its edge, near the grove, was lined with a great
variety of lodges, constructed of skins or bark, or of forest boughs.
Horses and mules in great numbers were feeding on the rich herbage, while
groups of trappers, Canadians, Frenchmen, Americans and Indians, were
scattered around, some cooking at their fires, some engaged in eager
traffic, and some amusing themselves in athletic sports. It was a peaceful
scene, where, so far as the eye could discern, man's fraternity was
combined with nature's loveliness to make this a happy world. Such was the
spectacle presented to the trappers as they descended into the valley.
On the other hand, the trappers themselves contributed a very important
addition to the picturesqueness of the view. Half a mile from the
encampment, in the northeast, the land rose in a gentle, gradual swell,
smooth, verdant and treeless, perhaps to the height of a hundred and fifty
feet. Down this declivity they were descending, with their horses and
their pack mules, in a long line of single file. They were way-worn
pilgrims, and the grotesqueness of their attire, and their unshaven,
uncut, and almost uncombed locks, added to their weird-like aspect.
Here the party met with two gentlemen, such as were rarely, perhaps never
before, seen on such an occasion. One was a Christian missionary, Father
De Smidt, who, in obedience to the Saviour's commission, "Go ye into all
the world and preach my Gospel to every creature," had abandoned the
comforts of civilization, to cast in his lot with the savages, that he
might teach them that religion of the Bible which would redeem the world
by leading all men to repentance, to faith in an atoning Saviour, and to
endeavor "to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with God."
The other stranger was an English nobleman, a gentleman of high character,
of refinement and culture. In his ancestral home he had heard of the
sublimities of the wilderness; the wide-spread prairies; the gloomy
forests; the solitary lakes. He had heard of savage men, numbering tens of
thousands in their tribes, almost as wild, as devoid of human traits as
were the buffaloes whom they pursued with whoop and halloo over the
plains. Curiosity, a very rational and praiseworthy curiosity, had lured
him into these remote realms, that he might behold the wondrous works of
God, and that he might study the condition of his brother man without the
Gospel.
Kit Carson was, by a natural instinct, drawn into association with this
refined English gentleman. They could each appreciate the other. They soon
became acquainted, and a warm friendship sprang up between them. Mr.
Carson subsequently wrote, in reference to Sir William Stuart:
"For the goodness of his heart and numerous rare qualities of his mind, he
will always be remembered by those of the mountaineers who had the honor
of his acquaintance."
The terms of the commendation show the virtues which Mr. Carson could
appreciate, and which he was accustomed to practice. Of the missionary,
Rev. Mr. De Smidt, it has been very truly written:
"Perhaps there never was a person, in the wilds of America, who became so
universally beloved, both by the white and red man. While in the mountains
he acted with untiring zeal for the good of all with whom he came into
contact. Wherever duty called him, there he was sure to be found, no
matter what the obstacles or dangers spread upon his path. He worked
during a long series of years in these dangerous localities, and when he
at length returned to civilization he left an indelible name behind him."
The Rendezvous continued for twenty days. It was a constant festival, like
the Olympic games of the Greeks, or the renowned Tournaments of more
modern days, with the exception that business was intimately blended with
pleasures. It at length broke up into small parties. Kit Carson, with
seven companions, followed down the Green river, to Brown's Hole; a narrow
but sunny and fertile valley about sixteen miles long. Here he found a
party of traders, who were on an excursion to a numerous and quite wealthy
band of Indians, called the Navajoes. They seemed to have attained a
degree of civilization considerably above that of any of the other tribes.
They had fixed abodes; had immense herds of sheep, horses and mules. They
had also attained, the art by a slow and tedious process, of weaving
admirable woolen blankets; thick, warm and strong. These blankets were
quite renowned throughout all that region, and brought a high price. Kit
Carson joined the traders in their expedition to the country of the
Navajoes.
Here they purchased many of these blankets, and a large drove of strong,
fat mules. With these they crossed the mountains, to a distance of three
or four hundred miles, to a fort on the south fork of the Platte river. At
this place they disposed of their blankets and cattle to great advantage,
and Mr. Carson promptly returned to the companions he had left at Brown's
Hole. The traders undoubtedly received in payment the only currency of the
country, beaver skins. These they probably took with them to St. Louis
for ultimate sale. We know not how Mr. Carson invested his earnings. It is
very certain that he did not squander them in riotous living. Subsequent
events indicate that they were sent through the hands of the traders,
Messrs. Thompson and Sinclair, to the States, there to be deposited to his
credit.
The autumnal months had now passed away, and the blasts of approaching
winter warned the hunters that they must seek a refuge from its storms.
Mr. Carson had produced so favorable an impression upon the men at the
fort on the Platte river, that they sent him a very urgent invitation to
return, and take the very responsible position of steward or purveyor for
the garrison during the winter. They offered him such ample emolument that
he accepted their proposition, though many other parties were eager to
obtain his services. I cannot help remarking, in this connection, in
special reference to any of my young readers, that this is the true secret
of success in life. In whatever position you are, in whatever business you
are engaged, be as faithful and perfect as possible. Promotion and
prosperity are then almost sure.
The task which now devolved upon Mr. Carson was, with his rifle and such
aid as he might need, to supply all the animal food which twenty men might
require. He performed this duty, not only to the satisfaction of all, but
such was his energy, his skill, his spirit of self-sacrifice, his entire
devotion to his work, and the wonderful success which attended his
exertions, that he secured universal affection and esteem.
With the returning sun of spring, Mr. Carson, having well performed his
task, joined Mr. Bridger and four other trappers, to go to what were
called the Black Hills. This was a limited mountainous range, far away in
the north, extending a distance of about a hundred miles between the
Laramie and Sweetwater rivers. These streams were tributaries of the north
fork of the Platte. This region had perhaps never before been visited by
either trapper, or hunter. They found beavers in plenty, and their success
was excellent.
With well laden mules they again crossed the Rocky mountains to reunite
themselves with the main camp of the trappers on Green river. They trapped
on their way and continued success attended them. Thus enriched, they
accompanied the main party to a tributary of the Wind river, where the
annual Rendezvous was that year to be held. Here were renewed the usual
scenes of the trapper's great Fair which we have already described.
As the Rendezvous broke up, Mr. Carson joined a large party, and
recrossed the mountains to the Yellowstone, where they had already had so
many bloody encounters with the Blackfeet Indians. They trapped
successfully until the inclement weather forced them into winter quarters.
Nothing occurred of any moment, until mid-winter. Daily parties went out
for game and they always returned with an ample supply. In their snug
lodges, gathered around their blazing fires, telling stories of past
adventures, preparing clothing for the summer, feasting upon fat turkeys,
and the choicest cuts of buffalo-meat and venison, a few weeks passed very
pleasantly away. Being free from that most terrible of all earthly curses,
intoxicating drinks, there was no discord, and this little community of
mountaineers, in the solitudes of a Rocky mountain valley, were perhaps as
happy as any other equal community amidst the highest conveniences of
civilization.
One winter's day a little band of hunters, in their pursuit of game, were
lured to a greater distance than usual from the camp. Their attention was
arrested by certain signs which indicated that a band of Indians had
passed by, and had endeavored carefully to conceal their trail. A close
scrutiny so confirmed this opinion that they hastily returned to the camp
with the declaration that savages were certainly prowling around watching
for an opportunity to attack them. They knew full well that the wary
Indians would never think of approaching their camp unless in overpowering
numbers. It was deemed expedient not to allow the foe any time to mature
their plans. A party of forty men was immediately fitted out, under the
command of Kit Carson, to go to the hidden trail and follow it till the
haunts of the Indians were discovered. The reputation of Mr. Carson was
such that unanimously he was invested with dictatorial powers. Everything
was left to the decision of his own good judgment.
With silent, moccasined tread the adventurers threaded their way over the
broken country, and through a dense forest, when suddenly they came upon a
band of Indians, manifestly on the war-path; painted, plumed and armed in
the highest style of their barbaric art. The savages, on catching sight of
the trappers, turned and fled with the utmost speed, without scattering.
The trappers pursued with equal swiftness of foot. They had no doubt that
there was a stronger band at some little distance, which the Indians were
retreating to join.
The supposition proved correct. A large number of warriors had assembled,
in a very good military position, and it was at once evident that they
intended to give battle. Though the majority of them had only arrows and
lances, many were armed with rifles. They were on a hill-side which was
quite steep, rugged with boulders, and with a heavy growth of gloomy firs
and pines. The field was admirably adapted for the Indian mode of warfare,
and the desperate warriors of the Blackfeet were foes not to be despised.
Kit Carson possessed the qualities essential to a military leader. He was
cautious as he was bold. He was very careful never unnecessarily to expose
the lives of his men. Very deliberately he reconnoitred the position, and
prepared for the battle. He had no doubt that, with what would be called a
gallant rush, he might drive the Indians from him and gain a brilliant
victory. But it would be attended with loss. By a slower process he was
sure of the result, while his men would be protected from death and
wounds. All of his men were armed with the best of rifles. They had a good
supply of ammunition. They could afford to load with heavy charges which
would throw the balls to the greatest possible distance. It was very
difficult for the Indians to obtain ammunition. They therefore found it
necessary to husband the little they had with great care. Consequently the
Indian's rifle, but lightly charged, would seldom throw a bullet more than
two-thirds the distance thrown by the rifle of the trapper.
Mr. Carson gave every man his position. They were all veterans in every
exigence of Indian warfare. Each man was capable of independent action.
They all knew the folly of throwing away a single shot. There was no
random firing. Each man was trained to seek sure protection behind rock,
stump or tree, and then to keep a vigilant watch, not only to guard
himself but his immediate comrades from the missiles of the foe. Slowly
the line of trappers was to advance upon the enemy, from point to point of
protection, making sure that every bullet should kill or wound. The
tactics of the battle secured the victory. The Indians fought with their
accustomed bravery. But one after another their warriors fell killed or
disabled.
As the gloom of a winter's night settled down over this awful scene of
war, the savages retired in good order, across the ice of an arm of the
Yellowstone, to an island in the middle of the river. They had adopted the
precaution, unusual with them, of erecting here quite a strong fortress,
to which they could retreat in case of disaster. Thus situated, both
parties, wearied with the long conflict of the day, sought such repose as
night could give to men sleeping upon their arms.
The trappers knew not what scenes were transpiring in the Indian camp on
the island. As for themselves, they could only venture, with the utmost
caution, to kindle small fires to cook their supper. They then carefully
extinguished the embers, lest the flames should guide several hundred
warriors in a midnight attack.
Mr. Carson was not aware of the strength of the Indian fortifications on
the island. Not wishing to give them any time to strengthen their works,
with the earliest dawn he put his men in motion. They crossed the ice to
the island, where they found only silence and desolation. Not an Indian
was to be seen. In the night the savages had retreated, and were then
probably at a distance of leagues, no one could tell where. There were,
however, many indications left of the results of the battle. The interior
of the fort was quite crimsoned with fresh blood. A bloody trail led to a
hole which they had cut through the ice in the middle of the river, and
into which they had thrust the bodies of the slain. It was not their
intention that the trappers should know how many of their number had been
wounded or slain. Mr. Carson with his victorious associates returned to
the camp.
A council of war was held. It was generally supposed that the powerful
Blackfeet could bring five thousand warriors into the field. They were
very resolute men; having been abundantly successful heretofore, it was
not doubted they would strain every nerve to wipe out the disgrace of this
defeat. The trappers were confident that the savages would soon appear
again, with numbers which they would deem sufficient to annihilate the
white men. Guided by the wisdom of Kit Carson, the whole camp immediately
resolved itself into a military garrison. Intrenchments were thrown up to
guard every approach. Everything was cleared away, around the camp within
rifle range, behind which an Indian could secrete himself. The most trusty
men were appointed as sentinels.
About a mile from the camp there was an eminence, several hundred feet
high, whose summit commanded a fine view of the whole surrounding country.
Every day some one was sent to that hill to keep a constant lookout.
The wisdom of Mr. Carson's measures was soon apparent. One morning the
watch on the hill discerned, far away in the distance, a warlike band of
Indians approaching. He had no doubt that it was, as it proved to be, but
the advanced guard of the Indian army. He waved his signal to communicate
the intelligence to the camp, and immediately hastened down to join his
comrades. Every man sprang to arms and was at his post. Kit Carson had
anticipated everything and had attended to the most minute details.
With firm self-confident tread the savages came on, a thousand in number,
to crush by the weight of their onset, and to trample beneath their feet
sixty trappers. It was an appalling sight even for brave men to look upon.
They were all arrayed in their fantastic war costume, some on horseback
splendidly mounted, some on foot, many armed with rifles, and others with
bows, arrows, and lances which were very formidable weapons in the hands
of such stalwart and sinewy men.
They came in separate bands, of two or three hundred each, and took
position about a mile from the fort. As band after band came up, the
prairie and the adjacent hills resounded with their yells of defiance. In
the evening they held their war-dance, which the trappers well understood
to be the sure precursor of the battle on the next day. Their songs could
be distinctly heard in the camp, and as they danced, with hideous
contortions, in the gathering shades of night around their fires, it
seemed as though a band of demons had broken loose from Pandemonium.
With the first dawn of the morning, a large party of these warriors
approached the fort to reconnoitre. They were evidently astonished in
beholding the preparations which had been made to receive them. They could
not, from any direction, approach within an eighth of a mile, without
presenting their bodies a perfect target for the rifles of men who never
missed their aim. These cautious warriors did not venture within half a
mile of the fortress. But they were keen-eyed and sagacious men. They saw
that the trappers were effectually protected by their breastworks, and
that the fort could by no possibility be taken without enormous slaughter
on their own side. Indeed it was doubtful whether, armed as the white men
were, with rifles, revolvers and knives, the fort could be taken at any
expense.
In their impotent rage a few random shots were fired at the fort, but the
bullets did not reach their mark. The trappers threw away no lead. They
quietly awaited the attack, and were so confident of their ability to
defeat the Indians, that they were disappointed when they saw the
reconnoitring party commencing to retire. They shouted to them in terms of
derision, hoping to exasperate them into an attack. But the wary savages
were not thus to be drawn to certain death. They retired to their camp,
which as we have said was distant about a mile from the fort, but which
was in perfect view.
Here they evidently held a general council of war. There probably was some
diversity of opinion, as many speeches were made and the council was
protracted for several hours. There was manifestly no enthusiasm on the
occasion, and no exultant shouts were heard. At the conclusion of the
council, the whole band divided into two parties and, in divergent
directions, disappeared from view. After this the trappers were not again
disturbed by the Indians. Indeed they feared no molestation. No Indian
band would think of attacking a fortress which a thousand warriors had
declared impregnable.
As soon as the returning spring would permit, the trappers broke up their
encampment on the Yellowstone, and passing directly west through the very
heart of the Blackfeet country, planted their traps on the head waters of
the Missouri river. For three months they traversed many of the
tributaries of this most majestic of streams. They were moderately
successful, and in the early summer turned their steps south, crossing the
mountains to dispose of their furs at the Rendezvous, which was again held
on Green river. Here they remained in such social enjoyment as the great
festival could afford them, until the month of August, when the Rendezvous
was dissolved.