The Last Days of Kit Carson.
The Hunting Party.--Profits of Sheep Raising.--Governmental
Appointment.--Carson's Talk with the Apaches.--His Home in
Taos.--His Character.--Death of Christopher Carson.
We left Mr. Carson at his farm in Razado. After a short time he organized
a pleasure hunting-party of eighteen of his most highly esteemed
companions of former years. It was unanimously voted that the excursion
should not be one of boy's play but of man's. It was Carson's last
trapping excursion. Each trapper felt that he was bidding farewell to the
streams and valleys, where in past years, he had encountered so many
exciting adventures.
"The boldest and one of the longest routes, known to their experienced
footsteps, was selected. It comprised many of the mighty rivers of the
Rocky mountains, every one of which was almost a hunting ground by itself.
Onward, over the wild and broad plains, this band of stalwart men, brave
and kindred spirits, dashed. They soon put several miles between them and
the comfortable firesides of Razado.
"In a short time the well remembered waters of the South Platte were
descried. Their practiced eyes soon discovered the oft noted 'signs of the
beaver.' The beaver had increased in great numbers. The party continued
working down this stream, through the plains of Laramie to the New Park;
and thence on to the Old Park. They trapped a large number of their old
streams, until finally the expedition was terminated on the Arkansas
river. The hunt proved very successful. With a large stock of furs, they
returned in safety to Razado, via the Raton mountains, which are spurs of
the great Rocky chain."
This expedition occupied several months. Mr. Carson now devoted himself
assiduously to farming, and especially to raising flocks and herds. In
August, 1853, he drove, aided by many well armed attendants, a flock of
six thousand five hundred sheep to California, where he sold them for five
dollars and fifty cents a head. His knowledge of the country was such,
that he was enabled to follow a route which gave them good pasturage all
the way.
At San Francisco, Kit Carson found himself an object of universal
attention. His renown had preceded him. The steamboats gave him a free
pass.
All places of amusement were open to him. Wherever he went he was pointed
out as the man to whom California was under the greatest obligations.
Still he retained his modesty and integrity unsullied. Soon after his
return to Razado, he received the unexpected and very gratifying
intelligence, that he had been appointed by the United States Government,
Indian Agent.
The duties of this difficult and responsible office he performed with
remarkable wisdom and success. Whenever his counsel was followed, it was
attended with the desired results. Whenever it was rejected disaster was
sure to ensue. His knowledge of Indian customs was such, that more than
once he presented himself entirely alone at the council fire of
exasperated warriors; and urged upon them peace. On one of these occasions
he learned that an angry band of Apache warriors were encamped among the
mountains, but about fifty miles from his home. He knew the chiefs. He was
familiar with their language. Though he knew that they were in a state of
great exasperation, and that they were preparing to enter upon the
war-path, he mounted his horse and rode thither, without even an
attendant. The chiefs received him with sullen looks; but they listened
patiently to his speech.
"The course you are pursuing," said he, "will lead to your inevitable and
total destruction. Your tribe will be exterminated. Your Great Father has
thousands upon thousands of soldiers. He can easily replace those who fall
in battle. It is not so with you. When your warriors are killed, you have
no others to place in their moccasins. You must wait for the children to
grow up.
"Your Great Father loves his children. He wishes to give you rich
presents. I am his servant to bring those presents to you. We wish to live
in peace, that we may help one another."
This conciliatory speech softened their hearts for a time, and they all,
with seeming cordiality, came forward and professed friendship. The great
difficulty, in our intercourse with the Indians, has been that the
wilderness has been filled with miserable vagabonds, who were ever
perpetrating innumerable outrages, robbing them, and treating them in all
respects, in the most shameless manner. Even civilized men, in war, will
often retaliate, by punishing the innocent for the crimes of the guilty.
It is not strange that untutored Indians, having received atrocious wrongs
from one band of white men, should wreak their vengeance on the next band
whom they chanced to encounter.
Mr. Carson, in addition to his farm at Razado, had what may be called his
city residence in the straggling old town of Taos. It is said that a
traveller upon entering these crooked streets, lined with one story
buildings of sun-baked bricks, is reminded of a number of brick-kilns,
previous to being burnt, all huddled together without any regard to order.
As in all Spanish towns, there is a large public square in the centre.
Mr. Carson's house faced this square on the west side. Though but one
story in height, it spread over a large extent of ground. It was one of
the largest and most commodious houses in the place. Every body who went
to Taos, Indians as well as white men, felt bound to call upon "Father
Kit," as he was familiarly called. To the Indian, particularly, he was
ever a true friend and benefactor. He knew, as no other man knew, how
terrible his wrongs,--not from the government,--but from the vagabond
desperadoes of the wilderness. Never was his patience exhausted by their
long visits, and never was he weary of listening to their harangues. It
has ever been with him a constant effort to warn them against the use of
intoxicating drink--that "fire water" which has so long been consuming the
Indian, body and soul.
Whenever the government had any important or delicate mission to perform
among the Indians, the services of Mr. Carson were sure to be called into
requisition. Thus he entered upon the evening of his days, honored and
beloved by all who knew him. These peaceful hours were probably the
happiest of his life. We have no detailed account of his last sickness and
death. He breathed his last at Fort Lyon, in Colorado, on the twenty-third
of May, 1868, in the sixtieth year of his age. The immediate cause of his
death, was an aneurism of an artery in the neck. Thus passed away one of
the most illustrious of the "Pioneers and Patriots" of America. His name
deserves to be held in perpetual remembrance.