The Trapper's Elysium.
Trapping on the Missouri.--Attacked by the Blackfeet.--The
Battle.--Persevering Hostility of the Indians.--The Trappers
driven from the Country.--Repair to the North Fork.--Cheerful
Encampments.--Enchanting Scene.--Village of the Flatheads.--The
Blessings of Peace.--Carson's Knowledge of Languages.--Pleasant
Winter Quarters on the Big Snake River.--Successful
Trapping.--Winter at Brown's Hole.--Trip to Fort Bent.--Peculiar
Characters.--Williams and Mitchel.--Hunter at Fort
Bent.--Marriage.--Visit to the States.
Upon the breaking up of the rendezvous at Green river, Kit Carson, with
five companions, directed his steps in a northwest course, about two
hundred miles to Fort Hall, on Snake river. He spent the autumnal months
trapping along the various streams in this region. They were very
successful on this tour, and at the close of the season returned to the
fort with a rich supply of furs. These forts were generally
trading-houses, well fortified and garrisoned, but not governmental
military posts.
Here Carson disposed of his furs to good advantage, and after remaining
there about a month he crossed the mountains with a large party of
trappers to the head waters of the Missouri, thus again entering the
country of the Blackfeet. They struck the Missouri river itself far up
among the mountains. They commenced setting their traps on this stream.
Slowly they followed up the banks, gathering in the morning what they had
taken through the night.
One morning a party of half a dozen trappers, who had gone about two miles
from the camp to examine their traps, encountered a band of Blackfeet
Indians, who fired upon them. The trappers immediately retreated with the
greatest rapidity. Though closely pursued by their swift-footed foes they
reached the camp in safety. It so happened, that near their camp there was
quite an extensive thicket of tall trees and dense underbrush. Kit Carson,
not knowing how numerous the Indians might be who were coming upon him,
directed the men as quickly as possible to conceal themselves and animals
in the thicket.
Scarcely had the order been executed when the Indians with hideous yells
came rushing towards the camp. But not a trapper or a horse was visible.
Nothing was found there but silence and solitude. Still they came rushing
on, shouting and brandishing their weapons, when suddenly and to their
great consternation, the reports of the rifles were heard and fourteen
bullets struck fourteen warriors. Several were killed outright, others
were seriously wounded. Before the savages had recovered from their
consternation the rifles were reloaded and every man was ready for another
discharge.
The brave Blackfeet wavered for a moment, and then with unearthly yells,
made a simultaneous charge upon the thicket. Carson was in the midst of
his little band. His calm, soft voice was heard reassuring his men, as he
said:
"Keep cool and fire as deliberately as if you were shooting at game."
There was another almost simultaneous discharge and every bullet struck a
warrior. The Indians, thus mercilessly handled, recoiled, and every one
sought refuge behind some trunk, rock or tree. They could see no foe,
while the trappers could find peep-holes through which they could watch
all the movements of the Indians. A shower of arrows was thrown into the
thicket, but none of the trappers were struck. The intermittent battle
continued the whole day. Several times the savages attempted to renew the
charge, but as often the same deadly volley was poured in upon them with
never-failing aim.
At length they attempted to set the thicket on fire, hoping thus to burn
out their foes. There was another and still larger body of trappers about
six miles below the point where this battle was raging. But the direction
of the wind was such, together with the dense forest and the broken
ground, that the report of the fire-arms was not heard.
It is probable that the Indians had knowledge of this band, and feared
that the larger party might come to the aid of their friends. Whatever may
have been the reason which influenced them, they suddenly abandoned the
contest and departed. As soon as Mr. Carson had satisfied himself that
they were effectually out of the way, he emerged from his retreat and
joined his friends down the river. His coolness and prudence had saved the
party. They lost not a man nor an animal.
But the Indians still hovered around in such energetic and persevering
hostility, that not a trapper could leave the camp without danger of
falling into an ambuscade. The Indians avoided any decisive conflict, but
their war-whoops and yells of defiance, like the howlings of wolves, could
be heard, by day and by night, in the forests all around them. Unless the
traps were carefully guarded, they were sure to be stolen. Under these
circumstances there was no possibility of trapping with any hope of
success. Once before the indomitable Indians had driven the trappers from
their country. And now again it was deemed necessary to withdraw from
their haunts.
To the trappers this was a very humiliating necessity. A council was held
and it was decided to abandon the region and to direct their steps about
two hundred miles, in a northeasterly direction, to the north fork of the
Missouri river. The journey was soon accomplished without adventure. The
trappers, far removed from their inveterate foes, vigorously commenced
operations. They had their central camp. In small parties they followed up
and down the majestic stream, and pursued the windings of the brooks
flowing into it. They generally went in parties of two or three.
Wherever night found them, whether with cloudless skies or raging storm,
it mattered not, the work of an hour with their hatchets, reared for them
a sheltering camp. Before it blazed the ever-cheerful, illuminating fire.
Rich viands of the choicest game smoked upon the embers, and the hunters,
reclining upon their couches of blankets or furs, exulted in the luxurious
indulgence of a hunter's life. With all the hardships to which one is
exposed in such adventures, there is a charm accompanying them which words
cannot easily describe. It warms the blood of one sitting upon the
carpeted floor in his well-furnished parlor to send his imagination back
to those scenes.
Men of little book culture, and with but slight acquaintance with the
elegancies of polished life, have often a high appreciation of the
beauties and the sublimities of nature. Think of such a man as Kit Carson,
with his native delicacy of mind; a delicacy which never allowed him to
use a profane word, to indulge in intoxicating drinks, to be guilty of an
impure action; a man who enjoyed, above all things else, the communings of
his own spirit with the silence, the solitude, the grandeur, with which
God has invested the illimitable wilderness; think of such a man in the
midst of such scenes as we are now describing.
It is the hour of midnight. His camp is in one of the wildest ravines of
the Rocky mountains. A dense and gloomy forest covers the hillsides. A
mountain torrent, with its voice of many waters, flows on its way but a
few yards beyond the open front of his camp. A brilliant fire illumines
the wild scene for a few rods around, while all beyond is impenetrable
darkness. His hardy mule, accustomed to all weathers, is browsing near by.
The floor of his camp, spread with buffalo robes, looks warm and inviting.
His two comrades are soundly asleep with their rifles on their arms, ready
at the slightest alarm to spring to their feet prepared for battle.
There is a raging storm wailing through the tree-tops. The howling of the
wolves is heard as, in fierce and hungry packs, they roam through these
uninhabited wilds. Carson, reclining upon his couch, in perfect health and
unfatigued, caresses the faithful dog, which clings to his side, as he
looks out upon the scene and listens to the storm. What is there which the
chambers of the Metropolitan hotel can afford, which the hardy mountaineer
would accept in exchange?
Slowly our party of trappers ascended the river, gathering many furs on
their way. It was an unexplored region, and they could never tell what
scene the next mile would open before them. One morning as they were
turning the majestic bend of a ravine, they came upon a beautiful little
meadow, where the mountains retired for nearly a quarter of a mile from
the stream, and where the waters of the river flowed gently in a smooth,
untroubled current. They were ascending the river which flowed down from
the south. A beautiful vista was opened before them of green valleys and
gentle treeless eminences, while far away in the distance rose towering
mountains.
Upon this lovely meadow there was a large village of Flathead Indians.
Their conical lodges, constructed of skins, were scattered thickly around,
while the smoke of their fires curled gently through an opening in the top
of each lodge. Children were playing upon the greensward, shooting their
arrows, throwing their javelins, and engaged in sundry other barbaric
sports. A party of the Indians had just returned from a hunting expedition
laden with game. Warriors and women were scattered around in small groups,
discussing the events of the day and preparing for a great feast. Young
Indian girls, of graceful form, looked very attractive in their
picturesque attire of fringed buskined leggins and glittering beads.
Kit Carson at once recognized these Indians as his friends, the Flatheads.
They knew him and gave him and his comrades a cordial greeting. O, the
blessings of peace! How many are the woes of this world which are caused
by man's inhumanity to man. The trappers were led by their Indian friends,
with smiling faces and kind words, into their lodges, and shared with them
in a thanksgiving feast.
Mr. Carson was endowed with unusual facility in the acquisition of
languages. He could converse fluently in Spanish and French, and it was
stated that he also understood some ten Indian dialects. With the
Flatheads he was quite at home. After a few days, spent in this hospitable
village, it was deemed expedient to seek winter quarters. Several of the
chiefs accompanied them. They accordingly left the head waters of the
Missouri, and crossed the Rocky mountains in a southerly direction, about
two hundred miles, till they reached the Big Snake river. It will be
remembered that this stream, flowing from the western declivities of the
mountains, is the most important tributary of the Columbia river. Here the
winter passed very pleasantly away without any incident which calls for
record. Rather an unusual quantity of snow fell. But the trappers were
warmly housed, with ample clothing and abundant fuel.
Every pleasant day hunters left the camp, and usually returned well laden
with game. Thus the larder of the trappers was well provided for. An
anonymous writer speaking of these winter encampments, says:
"The winter seasons in the Rocky mountains are usually fearful and severe.
There snow-storms form mountains for themselves, filling up the passes for
weeks and rendering them impracticable either for man or beast.
"The scenery is indescribably grand, provided the beholder is well housed.
If the case be otherwise, and he is doomed to encounter these terrible
storms, his situation is dreadful in the extreme. Even during the summer
months the lofty peaks of this mighty chain of mountains are covered with
white caps of snow. It affords a contrast to the elements, of the grandest
conception, to stand in the shade of some verdant valley wiping the
perspiration from the brow, and at the same time to look upon a darkly
threatening storm-cloud powdering the heads of the hoary monster mountains
from its freight of flaky snow.
"So far these American giant mountains are unsurpassed by their Alpine
brothers of Europe. Not so in the glaciers. Throughout the great range
there are no glaciers to be found which can compare with those among the
Alps."
In the spring the trappers scattered in small bands throughout that
region. They were in the territory of the Utah Indians, just north of the
Great Salt Lake. Kit Carson was well acquainted with them and they were
all his friends. The trappers, therefore, wandered at pleasure without
fear of molestation. Mr. Carson took but one trapper with him, with two or
three pack mules. They were very successful, and in a few weeks obtained
as many furs as their animals could carry.
With these they went to a trading post, not very far distant from them
called Fort Robidoux. Here their furs were disposed of to good advantage.
Mr. Carson, having judiciously invested his gains, organized another party
of five trappers, and traversed an unpeopled wilderness for a distance of
about two hundred miles until he reached the wild ravines and pathless
solitudes of Grand river. This stream, whose junction with the Green
river forms the Colorado, takes its rise on the western declivity of the
Rocky mountains, amidst its most wild and savage glens. Trapping down this
river with satisfactory success, late in the autumn he reached Green
river. Falling snows and piercing winds admonished him that the time had
come again to retire to winter quarters.
He repaired to Brown's Hole, the well known and beautiful valley which he
had often visited before. Here he passed an uneventful but pleasant
winter. With the earliest spring he again directed his footsteps to the
country of the Utahs in the remote north. He was successful in trapping,
and as the heat of summer came, he again turned his steps, with well laden
mules, to Fort Robidoux. Here he found, to his disappointment, that beaver
fur had greatly deteriorated in value. His skins would scarcely bring him
enough to pay for the trouble of taking them. This was caused mainly by
the use of silk instead of fur, throughout Europe and America, in the
manufacture of hats.
Kit Carson saw at a glance, that his favorite occupation was gone; that he
and the other trappers would be compelled to seek some other employment.
In company with five men of a decidedly higher order than the common run
of trappers, he struck for the head waters of Arkansas river. Following
this stream down along the immense defile which nature seems to have
opened for it through the Rocky mountains, they approached Fort Bent,
which is about one hundred and fifty miles east of that gigantic barrier.
Mr. Carson's companions on this trip, were some of them at least, very
peculiar characters,--very interesting specimens of the kind of men who
are drawn from the haunts of civilization to the wilderness. One was a
man, probably partially insane, who was known through all the Rocky
mountain region as "old Bill Williams." He had been a Methodist preacher
in Missouri. For some unknown reason he left the States and joined the
Indians, adopting their dress and manners. He was very familiar with the
Bible and had marvellous skill in the acquisition of languages. He would
spend but a short time with any tribe before he became quite familiar with
their speech. Though his conduct was often in strange contrast with the
teachings of that sacred book, he took much pleasure in telling the
Indians Bible stories. He was subsequently killed in some feud with the
savages.
Another of his companions, whose real or assumed name was Mitchel, had
abandoned his friends and joined the Comanche Indians. It is a much easier
step from the civilized man to the savage than from the savage to the
civilized. Mitchel, with his Indian costume, his plumed head-gear, his
Indian weapons, and his fluent Indian speech, could not be distinguished
from the savages around him. The Comanches adopted him into their tribe
and accepted him as one of the most prominent of their braves. Mitchel
said that his object was to discover a gold mine through their guidance,
which they reported was to be found amid the mountains of Northern Texas.
Disappointed in this endeavor, he joined the trappers and was cordially
welcomed by them as an experienced mountaineer, a man full of humor and
one who could tell a capital story.
When Kit Carson and his companions had arrived within a few days' journey
of the fort, Mitchel and a man by the name of New, contrary to the advice
of Carson, decided to remain behind, to enjoy themselves in a beautiful
country where they found abundance of game. A week after the safe arrival
of Mr. Carson and his party, these two men made their appearance in a
truly pitiable plight. They had encountered a party of Indian hunters who,
while sparing their lives, had robbed them of their arms, their ammunition
and even of every particle of their clothing. Of course they were kindly
received at the fort and all their wants supplied.
Fort Bent was a trading post; belonged to a company of merchants of whom
Messrs. Bent and Vrain, residing at the fort, were partners. Immediately
upon Mr. Carson's arrival there, he was so well known and his capabilities
so well understood, that he received an earnest application to take the
position of hunter for the fort. He accepted the office and filled it for
eight years with such skill and fidelity that never did one word of
disagreement pass between him and his employers. His duties were to supply
a camp of about forty men with all the animal food they needed.
When game was plenty, this was an easy task, but often wandering bands of
Indian hunters would sweep that whole region around rendering the labors
of Mr. Carson extremely difficult. For unfrequently he would wander from
sunrise to sunset over prairie and mountain, in pursuit of game; but
rarely did he return without a mule load. At times he extended his hunting
trips to a distance of fifty miles from the fort. During these eight years
thousands of buffalo, elk, antelope and deer, fell before his rifle,
besides a vast amount of smaller game.
The skill which he displayed, and the success which that skill secured,
excited the admiration alike of the red men and the white men. He was
universally known by the Indians, and was respected and beloved by them.
Fearless and alone he wandered over mountain and prairie, frequently
meeting bands of hunters, and warriors, and entering the lodges of the
savages, and sleeping in them without encountering any harm. They admired
his boldness, and an instinctive sense of honor led them not to maltreat
one who had ever proved their friend, and who trusted himself so
unreservedly in their power.
His familiarity with the Indian language enabled him to converse
familiarly with them. He was as much at home in the wilderness as the most
veteran hunters of their tribes. In the huts of the Arapahoes, Cheyennes,
Kiowas and Comanches he was always a welcome guest. They appreciated the
vast superiority of his intellect. Often groups of men, women and children
would linger around the central fire of the lodge till after midnight,
listening to his entertaining stories of adventure and peril.
One incident which occurred at this time, speaks volumes in reference to
Mr. Carson's character as a lover of peace, and is deserving of perpetual
remembrance.
The Sioux tribe of Indians who could bring a thousand warriors into the
field had invaded the hunting-grounds of the Comanches. Several skirmishes
had already taken place, in which the Comanches had been worsted. The
chiefs sent a deputation to Kit Carson, whom they regarded as a host in
himself, to come to their aid, and to take the leadership of one of their
bands. Carson promptly responded to their call. He met the Comanche chiefs
in council, and so represented to them the blessings of peace and the
horrors of war, that they consented to send a deputation, to effect if
possible, an amicable settlement of the difficulty.
We infer from the brief narrative that is given that Kit Carson was the
bearer of this Indian flag of truce. He was the friend of both parties. He
was alike regarded by both as eminent for his wisdom and his sense of
justice. He met the Sioux chiefs in council. After long deliberation, they
consented to retire from the Comanches' hunting-ground at the close of the
then season, and never to molest them more.
Carson returned to the Comanches with this announcement, and persuaded
them to accede to the terms. Thus a dreadful Indian war was averted.
Among some of these tribes Kit Carson found a beautiful and unusually
intelligent Indian girl, whom he married, and took to his home in the
fort.
It is the undisputed testimony of all who knew him, that he was a man of
unspotted purity of character in his domestic relations. By this wife, Mr.
Carson had one child; a daughter. Not long after the birth of this child,
the mother died. The father watched over the motherless infant with the
utmost tenderness. As she emerged from infancy to childhood he removed her
to St. Louis. Here he found the funds he had so carefully invested very
valuable to him. He was able liberally to provide for all her wants, to
give her as good an education as St. Louis could afford, and to introduce
her to the refining influences of polished society. She was subsequently
married and removed with her husband to California.
Sixteen years had now elapsed since Kit Carson left the log cabin of his
father, in the then wilds of Missouri, for the still wilder regions of
mountaineer life. Referring to this period, he says:
"During sixteen years my rifle furnished almost every particle of food
upon which I lived. For many consecutive years, I never slept under the
roof of a house, or gazed upon the face of a white woman."
He now, very naturally, began to long to visit the home of his childhood,
and to witness some of the scenes of progressive civilization, rumors of
which often reached him in the forest. Messrs. Bent and Vrain were in the
habit of sending once a year a train of wagons to St. Louis, to transport
their skins and to obtain fresh supplies. It was a journey of about six
hundred miles. There was a wagon trail, if we may so call it, leading
circuitously over the vast and almost treeless intervening plains. The
route led along the river valleys, following the windings of streams, and
conducting to fords near their head waters. Sometimes they came to swampy
regions, sometimes to deep gulleys, sometimes to desert plains. But
throughout all this wide expanse there were no mountain ranges to obstruct
their path.
It was in the spring of the year 1842, that Mr. Carson, as a gentleman
passenger, joined one of these caravans. The little daughter, of whom we
have spoken, was then six or seven years of age. It was one object of his
journey to place her at school, at St. Louis, where she could enjoy the
advantages of a refined and Christian education. We have no record of the
incidents of this journey, which was probably uneventful. The old Indian
trail had become quite a passable road for wagons.