In the last chapter, we left Fremont in the hospitable mansion of his
old and tried friend Carson, after one of the most extraordinary
journeys ever performed by any man who survived to tell its horrors; and
as the names of Carson and Fremont are inseparably cemented in history,
as in friendship, and as the former had often endured sufferings almost
as great as those of his old commander and friend, we shall be pardoned
if we allude to this journey at some length. There is no earthly doubt
that had Carson been the guide, many valuable lives of noble, glorious
men might have been spared, and sufferings on the part of those who
survived this disastrous expedition, almost too horrible for belief,
avoided.
Col. Fremont, in a letter written to his wife from Taos, the day after
his arrival there in a famishing condition, and having lost one full
third of his party by absolute starvation and freezing, mentions that
at Pueblo he engaged as a guide, an old trapper of twenty-five years,
experience, named "Bill Williams," and he frankly admits that the "error
of his journey was committed in engaging this man."
In narrating some of the incidents of this terribly disastrous journey,
we shall use, of course, the language of those best qualified to depict
its horrors, _i. e._, Col. Fremont, and Mr. Carvalho, a gentleman of
Baltimore, who accompanied the expedition as daguerreotypist and artist.
Col. Fremont, in his letter to his wife, treats of the subject
generally, but when we quote from the narrative of Mr. Carvalho, we
think our readers will admit that such a record of human suffering, and
human endurance, added to such an exhibition of moral and physical
courage, has never been paralleled.
Col. Fremont writes, (speaking first of Williams the guide,)
"He proved never to have in the least known, or entirely to have
forgotten, the whole region of country through which we were to pass. We
occupied more than half a month in making the journey of a few days,
blundering a tortuous way through deep snow which already began to choke
up the passes, for which we were obliged to waste time in searching.
About the 11th December we found ourselves at the North of the Del Norte
Cañon, where that river issues from the St. John's Mountain, one of the
highest, most rugged and impracticable of all the Rocky Mountain ranges,
inaccessible to trappers and hunters even in the summer time.
"Across the point of this elevated range our guide conducted us, and
having still great confidence in his knowledge, we pressed onwards with
fatal resolution. Even along the river bottoms the snow was already
belly deep for the mules, frequently snowing in the valley and almost
constantly in the mountains. The cold was extraordinary; at the warmest
hours of the day (between one and two) the thermometer (Fahrenheit)
standing in the shade of only a tree trunk at zero; the day sunshiny,
with a moderate breeze. We pressed up towards the summit, the snow
deepening; and in four or five days reached the naked ridges which lie
above the timbered country, and which form the dividing grounds between
the waters of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.
"Along these naked ridges it storms nearly all winter, and the winds
sweep across them with remorseless fury. On our first attempt to cross
we encountered a _pouderié_ (dry snow driven thick through the air by
violent wind, and in which objects are visible only at a short
distance,) and were driven back, having some ten or twelve men variously
frozen, face, hands, or feet. The guide became nigh being frozen to
death here, and dead mules were already lying about the fires. Meantime,
it snowed steadily. The next day we made mauls, and beating a road or
trench through the snow, crossed the crest in defiance of the
_pouderié_, and encamped immediately below in the edge of the timber.
"Westward, the country was buried in deep snow. It was impossible to
advance, and to turn back was equally impracticable. We were overtaken
by sudden and inevitable ruin, and it was instantly apparent that we
should lose every animal.
"I determined to recross the mountain more towards the open country, and
haul or pack the baggage (by men) down to the Del Norte. With great
labor the baggage was transported across the crest to the head springs
of a little stream leading to the main river. A few days were sufficient
to destroy our fine band of mules. They generally kept huddled together,
and as they froze, one would be seen to tumble down, and the snow would
cover him; sometimes they would break off and rush down towards the
timber until they were stopped by the deep snow, where they were soon
hidden by the _pouderié_.
"The courage of the men failed fast; in fact, I have never seen men so
soon discouraged by misfortune as we were on this occasion; but, as you
know, the party was not constituted like the former ones. But among
those who deserve to be honorably mentioned, and who behaved like what
they were--men of the old exploring party,--were Godey, King, and
Taplin; and first of all Godey.
"In this situation, I determined to send in a party to the Spanish
settlements of New Mexico for provisions and mules to transport our
baggage to Taos. With economy, and after we should leave the mules, we
had not two weeks' provisions in the camp. These consisted of a store
which I had reserved for a hard day, macaroni and bacon. From among the
volunteers I chose King, Brackenridge, Creutzfeldt, and the guide
Williams; the party under the command of King. In case of the least
delay at the settlements, he was to send me an express.
"Day after day passed by, and no news from our express party. Snow
continued to fall almost incessantly on the mountain. The spirits of the
camp grew lower. Prone laid down in the trail and froze to death. In a
sunshiny day, and having with him means to make a fire, he threw his
blankets down in the trail and laid there till he froze to death. After
sixteen days had elapsed from King's departure, I became so uneasy at
the delay that I decided to wait no longer. I was aware that our troops
had been engaged in hostilities with the Spanish Utahs and Apaches, who
range in the North River valley, and became fearful that they (King's
party) had been cut off by these Indians; I could imagine no other
accident. Leaving the camp employed with the baggage and in charge of
Mr. Vincenthaler, I started down the river with a small party consisting
of Godey, (with his young nephew,) Mr. Preuss and Saunders. We carried
our arms and provision for two or three days. In the camp the messes had
provisions for two or three meals, more or less; and about five pounds
of sugar to each man. Failing to meet King, my intention was to make the
Red River settlement about twenty-five miles north of Taos, and send
back the speediest relief possible. My instructions to the camp were,
that if they did not hear from me within a stated time, they were to
follow down the Del Norte.
"About sunset on the sixth day, we discovered a little smoke, in a grove
of timber off from the river, and thinking perhaps it might be our
express party on its return, we went to see. This was the twenty-second
day since they had left us, and the sixth since we had left the camp. We
found them--three of them--Creutzfeldt, Brackenridge, and Williams--the
most miserable objects I have ever seen. I did not recognize
Creutzfeldt's features when Brackenridge brought him up to me and
mentioned his name. They had been starving. King had starved to death a
few days before. His remains were some six or eight miles above, near
the river. By aid of the horses, we carried these three men with us to
Red River settlement, which we reached (Jan. 20,) on the tenth evening
after leaving our camp in the mountains, having traveled through snow
and on foot one hundred and sixty miles.
"The morning after reaching the Red River town, Godey and myself rode on
to the Rio Hondo and Taos, in search of animals and supplies, and on the
second evening after that on which we had reached Red River, Godey had
returned to that place with about thirty animals, provisions, and four
Mexicans, with which he set out for the camp on the following morning.
"You will remember that I had left the camp with occupation sufficient
to employ them for three or four days, after which they were to follow
me down the river. Within that time I had expected the relief from King,
if it was to come at all.
"They remained where I had left them seven days, and then started down
the river. Manuel--you will remember Manuel, the Cosumne Indian--gave
way to a feeling of despair after they had traveled about two miles,
begged Haler to shoot him, and then turned and made his way back to the
camp; intending to die there, as he doubtless soon did. They followed
our trail down the river--twenty-two men they were in all. About ten
miles below the camp, Wise gave out, threw away his gun and blanket, and
a few hundred yards further fell over into the snow and died. Two Indian
boys, young men, countrymen of Manuel, were behind. They rolled up Wise
in his blanket, and buried him in the snow on the river bank. No more
died that day--none the next. Carver raved during the night, his
imagination wholly occupied with images of many things which he fancied
himself eating. In the morning, he wandered off from the party, and
probably soon died. They did not see him again.
"Sorel on this day gave out, and laid down to die. They built him a
fire, and Morin, who was in a dying condition, and snow-blind, remained.
These two did not probably last till the next morning. That evening, I
think, Hubbard killed a deer. They traveled on, getting here and there a
grouse, but probably nothing else, the snow having frightened off the
game. Things were desperate, and brought Haler to the determination of
breaking up the party, in order to prevent them from living upon each
other. He told them 'that he had done all he could for them, that they
had no other hope remaining than the expected relief, and that their
best plan was to scatter and make the best of their way in small parties
down the river. That, for his part, if he was to be eaten, he would, at
all events, be found traveling when he did die.' They accordingly
separated.
"With Mr. Haler continued five others and the two Indian boys. Rohrer
now became very despondent; Haler encouraged him by recalling to mind
his family, and urged him to hold out a little longer. On this day he
fell behind, but promised to overtake them at evening. Haler, Scott,
Hubbard, and Martin agreed that if any one of them should give out, the
others were not to wait for him to die, but build a fire for him, and
push on. At night, Kern's mess encamped a few hundred yards from
Haler's, with the intention, according to Taplin, to remain where they
were until the relief should come, and in the meantime to live upon
those who had died, and upon the weaker ones as they should die. With
the three Kerns were Cathcart, Andrews, McKie, Stepperfeldt, and Taplin.
"Ferguson and Beadle had remained together behind. In the evening,
Rohrer came up and remained with Kern's mess. Mr. Haler learned
afterwards from that mess that Rohrer and Andrews wandered off the next
day and died. They say they saw their bodies. In the morning Haler's
party continued on. After a few hours, Hubbard gave out. They built him
a fire, gathered him some wood, and left him, without, as Haler says,
turning their heads to look at him as they went off. About two miles
further, Scott--you remember Scott--who used to shoot birds for you at
the frontier--gave out. They did the same for him as for Hubbard, and
continued on. In the afternoon, the Indian boys went ahead, and before
nightfall met Godey with the relief. Haler heard and knew the guns which
he fired for him at night, and starting early in the morning, soon met
him. I hear that they all cried together like children. Haler turned
back with Godey, and went with him to where they had left Scott. He was
still alive, and was saved. Hubbard was dead--still warm. From Kern's
mess they learned the death of Andrews and Rohrer, and a little above,
met Ferguson, who told them that Beadle had died the night before."
Such is a portion of the brief, but thrilling narrative of this
extraordinary and disastrous journey, as detailed in a familiar letter
by Col. Fremont to his wife; but Mr. Carvalho gives in detail some of
the particulars of the horrors which overtook them, all through the
unfortunate error of engaging as guide, a man who either knew nothing,
or had forgotten all he had ever known, of the localities which the
party designed and hoped to reach.