Captain Young, we struck the Colorado at a place whar the river’d sunk
down into a canyon full a mile deep an’ three mile acrost. We didn’t
get down into it, but I’m ready to believe that ’most anything could
be found at the bottom. They call it the Grand Canyon, now. Injuns say
thar’s a heap more o’ the same kind, up above, for three hundred mile.”
“But did you ever hear anything about the Buenaventura River, flowing
west instead of south, across the Great Basin and emptying into the
Pacific Ocean?”
“Heard about it, but never saw it,” stated Kit. “Never knew a trapper
who did see it. O’ course, Injuns give out all sort o’ tales, an’ you
can’t believe ’em.”
“The early Spanish claimed such a river, did they not――draining a
lake?” put in Mr. Preuss. “It is marked down on maps that I have seen.”
“Yes,” replied the lieutenant. “Now, if there is such a river, as the
Buenaventura, connecting this central Great Basin with the Pacific
Ocean of California, what a boon will it be! Boats could ascend the
Arkansas, or the Platte, or the Missouri River, be carried across the
mountains, and launching into the Buenaventura continue on to the
coast!”
“A water-way across the continent,” puffed Mr. Preuss. “That is good!”
“Bien, bien!” cried Basil.
From the Green the road crossed among hills, making westward for
the Bear. Soon the Snake woman, with her two children and her six
pack-horses, left to seek relatives at the trading post of old Jim
Bridger, only a few miles away. And the next day Kit Carson spurred
ahead, for Fort Hall, to engage provisions there, in case that the
Thomas Fitzpatrick party, which should be somewhere on the way from
Fort Laramie, might be running short or have met with misfortune.
However, that very evening provisions walked in of themselves――being a
cow and her calf. They must have escaped from some emigrant party; and
they were made more of even than had been the red ox――for the cow gave
milk in abundance. Here was luxury: milk for coffee. So they took the
mother and child along with them.
Early in the second morning thereafter the company entered the
beautiful valley of what Ike and William and all said was the Bear
River. Below but a short distance were the “Beer Springs” and the
“Steamboat Spring”; and further below was the Great Salty Lake.
That they would visit the springs was certain, because the trail led
past them; but whether they would visit the lake was not so certain,
although Basil, reporting to the Carson men, assured:
“We will. I think we will. I hear the lieutenant and Mr. Preuss talking
so. That is why we brought again the boat.”
“Boat!” snorted Ike. “Another o’ them rubber contraptions?”
“Bien encore,” confirmed Basil. “It is ready in the packs. Like the
other but not so big.”
“Humph!” grumbled William New. “Thought I smelt it!”
Oliver wished much to ask questions about the springs, but he knew
that if he waited he would find out everything, whereas if he asked he
would likely be filled with trapper yarns. Besides, it was the part of
a greenhorn to put many foolish questions. However, William New did
remark, as they rode along:
“That ’ere springs basin ahead’ll make you think you’re in the infernal
regions. Red rock an’ blue rock an’ green trees, an’ hot water an’
cold, an’ sulphur smells an’ noises. Wagh!”
Emigrants, making a large and happy encampment, were passed; and still
more, encamped or moving, their white-topped wagons showing finely.
The men were dressed in flannel or calico shirts, jeans and boots; the
women in calico; the children, chiefly barefoot, in material of various
makeshift kinds: and everybody was happy and hopeful and well, eager to
talk of “Oregon” or of “Californy.”
“How far to Oregon, strangers?” asked one of the men.
“You’re in it!” answered the lieutenant, laughing. “Anywhere above
forty-two degrees latitude, west of the South Pass, is Oregon!”
Some Snake Indians, riding the trail, met the company and told the
lieutenant that a large village of their fellows had just come in from
antelope hunting and berry gathering, and were camped near by. These
Snakes appeared to be open-hearted, friendly Indians. They shook hands
with Ike and the other trappers; and as Oliver well knew, Snakes and
trappers were good friends, always, united against the Blackfeet and
the Sioux. In fact, the Indians west of the South Pass were to be
counted upon as friendlies――except the Diggers.
“Watch out for the Diggers, or they’ll slip an arrow into ye, sure,”
had warned William New.
So, this being Snake country, the lieutenant rode aside to pay a visit
to the Snake village. But as they came in sight of it, a mile away in
a pretty little bottom-land beside a stream, out from the cluster of
skin lodges sped a horseman――and another, and another, and squad after
squad, charging into the open, before.
“Look out, boys!” rang the voice of Lieutenant Frémont, galloping down
the line. And――“Get that howitzer ready!” he ordered.
“Those Injuns ’most crazy, I think,” muttered Basil, aiding the
lieutenant.
“Wagh! Looks like we’ll be gone beaver, if we don’t watch out,” called
Ike. “What’s the matter with the fools, I wonder.”
The Snakes evidently were in battle array. They were fully armed, with
bows and lances and guns; many were almost wholly naked, save for the
great war bonnets which floated their red, yellow and white feathers
far behind the racing horses. In a solid, yelling mass they came on,
while in the village women and children scuttled into the brush.
Suddenly, ere a shot had been fired, the foremost of the Snakes raised
his hand; his warriors slackened, and he rode forward, to where the
white men were formed for peace or war.
The Snake chief explained that his people had seen the flag, and that
as their enemies the Sioux and the Blackfeet were accustomed to bear
a flag of some kind they had supposed that this was an attack. He was
glad that no shots had been fired, for the Snakes never had spilled the
blood of a white man.
This explanation was satisfactory, and escorted by a dense throng of
the Indians the Frémont and Carson men rode on to the Snake village.
The chief pointed out a spot, by the village, where the company should
camp; and then in a loud voice announced to the Indians that the white
chief wished to buy horses. Many speedily were driven up by their
owners, and for beads and tobacco and knives and red and blue cloth
eight were taken over.
The kettles were on the lodge fires, as always is the case in an Indian
camp. The atmosphere was filled with a peculiar odor. Ike and William
New and the other Carson trappers, and some of the Frémont men also,
sniffed as if pleased; and Oliver sniffed, but pretended not to be
curious. This odor was like to decayed apples――and evidently so thought
Mr. Preuss the bristly-headed, red-faced German, as he bustled about.
“What is that? Rotted apples!” he exclaimed, wrinkling his nose
disgustedly. “Where do you suppose these Snakes got apples. I declare!”
“That smell?” responded Ike. “That’s kooyah. That’s the finest grub
out: kooyah root. Hyar――try some.”
A squaw was bringing, evidently as a gift, a steaming platter of
yellowish substance that might have been mashed sweet-potatoes; she
presented it to Ike with a smile. Mr. Preuss took some upon the point
of his hunting-knife. He gingerly tasted it.
“Ugh!” he spat. “Tastes worse than it smells. What do you call it, you
say?”
“Kooyah root. But what’s the matter with yuh――wasting good food like
that. I tell ’ee, it air prime fodder; it air prime, baked or b’iled,
an’ with that in yore meat-bag you can travel fur.”
“The most horrid stuff I ever put in my mouth,” retorted Mr. Preuss, as
he left.
The Carson men afterwards learned that the chief sent to the Frémont
lodge, where Mr. Preuss also had quarters, a kettle of the kooyah
as a compliment, and that the German was driven by it into the open
air. During the march through the Snake country the camps made sport
for themselves by slyly sticking some of the kooyah messes under Mr.
Preuss’ nose; whereat he always fled.
However, all the others, even the lieutenant, liked the kooyah, which
was called in English “tobacco root,” and in scientific language,
according to the lieutenant and Mr. Preuss, “valerian.”
The Oregon emigrant trail led westward, down the Bear, between high
hills and through immense areas of blue flax now going to seed. Along
the trail were travelling, at irregular intervals, squads of emigrants,
with their wagons and cattle, either camping or on the move for the
day’s march. The main caravan was still some distance ahead, under
personal leadership of Dr. Whitman.
“Yonder, over that fust ridge,” directed William New, to Oliver, at
their next mess fire, “air the Beer Springs an’ the Steamboat Spring.
Wagh! That’ll surprise ye――an’ it’ll give that German something to
think of besides kooyah.”
“Do they taste?” queried Oliver.
“Taste, boy! Thar’s a heap o’ tastes! But that Beer Spring group air
fine. O’ course they air a drink that don’t hurt ye; but we trappers
claim they make you feel like dancing Injun, jest the same. I ’xpect
it air the gas, tickling yore insides. If all the drinks in the world
war no wuss’n these hyar Beer Springs, made by nature, the world’d be
better off. So don’t think, ’cause we old-timers named ’em in fun, that
thar’s anything wrong with ’em. Sody Springs they’re called, too.”
The springs were located in a basin enclosed by a semicircle of rugged
mountain-crests, on the one hand, and by the river on the other. First,
pieces of lava were to be noted, beside the trail; then came the
springs themselves――hundreds of them, bubbling and welling from the
green and red and white and yellow ground. Many of them had made little
cones, of bright colors; and even the current of the river boiled and
frothed with the gas.
Everybody quaffed deeply of the waters, which sparkled and bubbled,
clear and luke-warm, from the rocks and the tufts of grass.
“Hi yah! Hi yah!” capered William New, ridiculously. “Hyar’s doings!
This chile wants to dance. Hi yah!”
But he was only pretending, after the fashion of the place.
If anybody was not satisfied with a spring, all he had to do was to
walk a few steps, and dig with his heel or with a stick, and he would
open up a new spring――sometimes with a slightly different taste. Down
stream about half a mile was the most remarkable spring of all: the
Steamboat Spring. From a red crack in a rock right at the bank of the
river, and beside the trail, spurted a jet of steamy water, rising and
falling; a couple of yards from it, from a small round hole puffed jets
of steamy air; and water and air together made a noise like the sighing
“choo choo!” of a steamboat.
XIII
TO THE GREAT SALTY LAKE
“Now I wonder,” mused William New, “what that ’ere lieutenant’s
planning next. S’pose you jest take a little walk over to t’other camp
an’ see.”
“Why?” asked Oliver.
It was noon, and only a short distance from the camp at the Beer
Springs, on the day before, the expedition had again halted.
“’Cause this air the jumping-off place. If we follow the trail, we go
on northwest for Fort Hall, ’bout fifty miles down the Portneuf to
the Snake. If we follow the B’ar, we turn sharp south, for the lake,
which air more’n two hundred miles. An’ I ’xpect that’s what we do,” he
exclaimed. “Yon goes that fellow Lee, lickity. Bet you he’s an express
to Fort Hall, to tell Kit.”
A horseman had dashed away from the Frémont quarters, to disappear
down the trail. His own curiosity aroused, Oliver obediently strode
across to the Frémont camp. He met François Lajeunesse, who was visibly
excited.
“What’s up, François?”
“We go to the Great Salty Lake,” informed François, who was brother to
Basil. “The lieutenant, he would explore the Great Salty Lake――perhaps
sail on it. He has sent Henri Lee to tell Kit Carson to come back quick
from Fort Hall, with provisions.”
“Have you ever been there, François?”
“I? Never! Nor Basil, either. No, not anybody in the whole company. But
I have heard of it. It is true――a great salty lake, with not an outlet
and with fresh water flowing into it!”
Oliver hastened back to spread the news.
“Wagh!” murmured William New, satisfied. “That lake air thar, but
it’s pore beaver country, an’ I never cared to fool with it. It war
discovered in winter o’ Twenty-four an’ Five by old Jim Bridger, to
settle a dispute as to whar the B’ar emptied. Jim set out in a skin
canoe from trapper winter-camp in Cache Valley, below hyar, an’ he went
fur ’nough to see the lake an’ taste it too. He said it war part o’ the
Pacific Ocean; an’ trappers believed that till in spring o’ Twenty-six
four o’ Cap’n Bill Sublette’s men found it ag’in an’ paddled ’round its
edge looking for beaver streams. Didn’t discover any, an’ so the lake
warn’t any use. Don’t believe even Kit’s paid much attention to it.”
During the rest of this day, and through the evening, there was
constant talk of the Great Salty Lake. Everybody, French and American,
was highly interested in reaching it. Provisions were so low that
Henry Lee had been despatched to hasten Kit Carson from Fort Hall;
however, the little cow and her calf were still on hand, for emergency,
and this very day two more calves were picked up, where they had
strayed from some emigrant outfit.
The emigrant trail left the Bear, and continued on to the northwest;
but the Bear itself turned short, at right angle, and flowed for the
south. It was to be the guide to the Great Salty Lake, and the march of
the expedition turned with it.
Only some 200 miles before awaited the lake――a mysterious, desolate
place, according to reports; as large as a sea, connecting with the
ocean by means of a tremendous whirl-pool in its centre that sucked
all creatures down, and containing islands inhabited by giants with
enormous clubs. Indians said that such clubs had been found, on the
shore, after storms!
Cranes were seen flying, as if the lake might be close; but they
evidently were only seeking a slough which bordered the river a few
miles beyond. Here were quantities of geese and ducks, but very wild
and unaccommodating. The arrival of Kit Carson, with supplies, was
eagerly looked for.
The lieutenant and Basil Lajeunesse, exploring ahead, following an
Indian trail which turned west from the Bear came upon more Snake
Indians, who by sign talk said that this trail would lead to a fine
broad valley running north and south. As the route along the Bear was
hilly and swampy, the march was changed to this trail. It conducted
through a beautiful little pass, where between twain huge gates of
solid rock, amidst flowers and shrubs and many tender trees rippled
merrily a pure mountain stream――civilly leaving space for guests to
enter and depart.
The pass formed a little valley, long and narrow; adown it came riding
a gaily bedecked squaw, with half a dozen dogs; thrown into sudden
terror by the spectacle of this white man’s cavalcade she raced away as
fast as her horse could carry her. Because of a singular rock column,
planted almost in the centre of the little valley, the place was named
the Pass of the Standing Rock.
Beyond the Pass of the Standing Rock was encountered another village of
the Snakes. When the lieutenant wished to trade for roots, the Indians
opened their blankets and showed him how bony were their bodies.
“If we sell to you, we shall starve; see, how thin we are, already!”
So that night there was nothing left to do but to kill the faithful
little cow; and this was ordered.
The Shoshonies or Snakes of the village said that the great salty
water was only two sleeps south. The next day the march arrived at the
Roseaux or Reed River, which is separated from the Bear by a mountain
ridge; and down the Roseaux they turned. In the midst of the cold
rain, this night, entered their camp a cringing, starved dog with a
bullet-wound in his side. Oliver made much of him, and fed him some
scraps and let him sleep on the foot of the buffalo-robe.
The water of the River of Weeds, which is known also as the Malade,
or Sick River, tasted salty, as if in token that the lake was near.
Through a canyon in the divide the Bear River broke through into the
valley, and presently the two rivers joined, with the expedition caught
in the angle between them. The country was growing more and more
mysterious, with much reeds and cane growth and willow thickets, and
flight of water-fowl. In the distance ahead the valley opened wide;
above the level line of the swamps rose several hazy outcrops, like
enchanted islands floating upon the horizon. And islands they indeed
were: for the level line was the basin of the great lake.
Now the rubber boat was unpacked. It was not so ill-smelling as the
rubber boat of last summer, and was in the shape of a canoe about
eighteen feet long. The gunwales and the bows must be inflated, to
stiffen the boat. Although Ike and William New and other Carson men,
and some of the Frémont men also, viewed the craft askance, and poked
fun at it, right here it came in very handy, for by it was all the camp
baggage ferried across the mouth of the Roseaux; even the cannon was
thus carried. The men and the horses swam.
Taking the bold Basil Lajeunesse as companion, the lieutenant
re-embarked in the boat, for a voyage down the Bear. He thought it
possible that in this way he would reach the lake. His company were to
continue on, by land.
As the lieutenant and Basil, in the frail boat, disappeared around the
first bend of the reedy channel there was grave shaking of heads over
the venture.
“The seams are only pasted when they should have been sewed. It is a
weaker boat than that of last year.”
“Thar air critters in the swamps lower down that’ll swallow boat an’
all, ’cording to Injun say.”
“Sech doin’s don’t shine with this coon. He wishes he war back at old
Touse, he does.”
“Ma foi! Suppose they two come to the place where the river runs from
under them so that they sink in the mud! And then the people with web
feet like ducks will get them!”
The march proceeded, down along the course of the Bear. All day,
by horse and foot, tugging the spring-wagon and the gun-carriage,
they plodded. Gradually the country changed, becoming more and more
desolate and forbidding. In places the river seemed to be higher than
the surface upon either side: sluggishly rolling between banks like
welts it spread out into salt marshes harboring thousands of water
fowl――ducks, geese, cranes, herons, pelicans, gulls, curlew, plover.
Where the water had evaporated under the sun the bare soil gleamed
white, and was covered with small shells. Only a few twisted shrubs and
short blackened willows rose above the drear, dead expanse.
Late in the afternoon the camp was pitched among willow clumps. The
lieutenant and Basil had not appeared, and nothing had been seen of the
boat. Many were the dire predictions, and François, Basil’s brother,
was well-nigh frantic. Over the wide salt swamps the sun set strangely
yellow, his glow casting a ghastly light upon all objects. But a cheer
rang forth, for trudging along the river came the lieutenant and Basil.
They were wet and tired and hungry. The boat had moved slowly upon the
heavy current which swept along in a winding course of many curves
and doublings; so finally they had left the craft behind cached in
some willows, and clambering out upon the bank had trailed the company
afoot, for three hours.
At three o’clock in the morning Basil started back, with a small party,
all on horseback, to get the boat; they returned in the afternoon,
bringing not only the boat but some roots and bear-meat for which they
had traded with the Diggers.
“Shoshonies and Shoshokies――they air same Injuns made different by the
way they live,” declared William New to Oliver. “You see, when they air
rich an’ have hosses, like the Snakes, they call themselves Shoshonies;
an’ when they air pore an’ miser’ble an’ go afoot, they air called
Shoshokies. Out on the desert, west o’ hyar, these Root Diggers air so
pore they wear a rabbit-skin for winter blanket, an’ they eat beetles
an’ grass-hoppers an’ rats. Wagh! But they use p’isened arrows, an’
they’re wuss in a fight than bigger Injuns.”
As the march proceeded the water-fowl increased, until when disturbed
they arose with fast flutter of wings that boomed like thunder. Soon
the blind trail was cut by an impassible morass through which drained
the water of the river. Here camp must be made. They decided that this
was the mouth of the Bear, and that now the great lake began; but they
could not see over the willows and rushes, they could not advance, and
therefore they must turn back and seek better approach.
Ten days had passed since Henry Lee had left on the emigrant trail for
Fort Hall, to carry word to Kit Carson. Kit had not come, and some of
the men were beginning to grumble over the lack of provisions. To be
sure, for the last two or three days there had been plenty of ducks and
geese and plover; but the birds were wild and to hunt them down, in the
marshes, was hard work. Why didn’t Carson get in, with grub? Maybe he
wasn’t coming at all; maybe he was lost, or the Injuns had stampeded
him.
“You fellows don’t know Kit,” reproved Ike. “He’ll come, straight an’
quick, if he got the word.”
“With me, Carson and truth are the same thing,” asserted Lieutenant
Frémont. “I have found that you can depend on him absolutely.”
And hurrah! This very morning, as the camp was packing to turn back, in
rode Kit, with a pack-animal.
He had done the best that he could, but he had brought only a little
flour, and a moderate quantity of lesser provisions.
“Fitzpatrick hadn’t come in, yet,” announced Kit; “but the fort’s alive
with emigrants. They’ve all collected thar, holding a pow-wow, whether
to go on with their wagons an’ cattle, or with packs. Jest as I left,
that man Whitman arrived, from down the trail, an’ he war making a
speech, telling ’em he’d take ’em through, wagons an’ all, or bust.
Anyway, they’ve stripped the post o’ supplies.”
All were glad to see Kit again; and he was eager to see the lake. The
new trail wound along the bases of the range of hills on the east,
until it turned into a gorge or canyon from which issued a river――the
Weber River, with sparkling current flowing rapidly between high wooded
banks. The cavalcade left the trail, and followed the river, for the
mystic lake.
Camp must be made before the lake was sighted. The next morning the
march was resumed, this time straight for a shoulder or butte which
rose plain in view across the open, brushy flat. And on this morning
of September 6, 1843, climbing the butte the breathless company――Boy
Oliver no more excited than Lieutenant Frémont or Kit Carson
themselves――gazed out over the Great Salty Lake, at last.
Silent it lay, sluggishly heaving, its shores uninhabited and bare.
No city of Ogden anear floated upon the clear air the smoke plumes of
man’s supremacy; no Mormon plough had yet stirred the soil by the River
Jordan, nor had Mormon trowel laid a single brick of the capital of
the State of Utah. The lonely waves washed heavily the whitened lonely
beach; the wide lonely surface was broken by but two or three high
rocky islands, blue in distance. Beyond, at the far extremity of this
inland sea, lifted vague peaks; eyries from whose lofty crags as from a
watch-tower peered abroad the couchant genie of the place.
Kit Carson, his weather-beaten face sober, from the saddle scanned
intently. As he stood leaning upon his rifle, Lieutenant Frémont’s
bold blue eyes flashed with triumph, and his hawk-nose jutted the more
dominantly. Scarcely a word was spoken. All were too excited and too
absorbed to cheer.
Then, as they gazed, down from those eyries beyond swooped in guise
of big black clouds (as in the Arabian Nights) the guardians of this
secret spot. They poured from the distant mountain-tops across the
darkening water, and with furiously swirling draperies covered islands
and everything.
“Wagh!” muttered William New. “Better be getting out o’ hyar! Spirits
air angry.”
“We’ll make camp in that first grove, up the river,” said Lieutenant
Frémont. “And to-morrow we’ll put things in shape for a trip on the
lake. There’s a lot of work to be done, in the way of surveying it.”
Driven backward by the thunder-storm, they retired to a grove of great
poplars, about nine miles inland from the butte.
XIV
SAILING THE INLAND SEA