The trail to Oregon, followed by traders and emigrants, crosses the
Rocky Mountains at a point known as the South Pass, where a break in
the chain occurs of such moderate and gradual elevation, as to permit
the passage of waggons with tolerable facility. The Sweet Water Valley
runs nearly to the point where the dividing ridge of the Pacific and
Atlantic waters throws off its streams to their respective oceans. At
one end of this valley, and situated on the right bank of the Sweet
Water, a huge isolated mass of granitic rock rises to the height of
three hundred feet, abruptly from the plain. On the smooth and scarped
surface presented by one of its sides, are rudely carved the names and
initials of traders, trappers, travellers, and emigrants, who have
here recorded the memorial of their sojourn in the remote wilderness
of the Far West. The face of the rock is covered with names familiar
to the mountaineers as those of the most renowned of their hardy
brotherhood; while others again occur, better known to the science
and literature of the Old World than to the unlearned trappers of
the Rocky Mountains. The huge mass is a well-known landmark to the
Indians and mountaineers; and travellers and emigrants hail it as the
half-way beacon between the frontiers of the United States and the
still distant goal of their long and perilous journey.
It was a hot sultry day in July. Not a breath of air relieved the
intense and oppressive heat of the atmosphere, unusual here, where
pleasant summer breezes, and sometimes stronger gales, blow over
the elevated plains with the regularity of trade-winds. The sun,
at its meridian height, struck the dry sandy plain and parched the
drooping buffalo-grass on its surface, and its rays, refracted and
reverberating from the heated ground, distorted every object seen
through its lurid medium. Straggling antelope, leisurely crossing
the adjoining prairie, appeared to be gracefully moving in mid-air;
whilst a scattered band of buffalo bulls loomed huge and indistinct
in the vapoury distance. In the timbered valley of the river, deer
and elk were standing motionless in the water, under the shade of
the overhanging cottonwoods, seeking a respite from the persevering
attacks of swarms of horse-flies and musquitos; and now and then a
heavy splash was heard, as they tossed their antlered heads into the
stream, to free them from the venomous insects that buzzed incessantly
about them. In the sandy prairie, beetles of an enormous size were
rolling in every direction huge balls of earth, pushing them with
their hind legs with comical perseverance; cameleons darted about,
assimilating the hue of their grotesque bodies with the colour of
the sand: groups of prairie-dog houses were seen, each with its
inmate barking lustily on the roof; whilst under cover of nearly
every bush of sage or cactus a rattlesnake lay glittering in lazy
coil. Tantalising the parched sight, the neighbouring peaks of the
lofty Wind River Mountains glittered in a mantle of sparkling snow,
whilst Sweet Water Mountain, capped in cloud, looked gray and cool,
in striking contrast to the burned up plains which lay basking at its
foot.
Resting their backs against the rock (on which, we have said, are
_now_ carved the names of many travellers), and defended from the
powerful rays of the sun by its precipitous sides, two white men
quietly slept. They were gaunt and lantern-jawed, and clothed in
tattered buckskin. Each held a rifle across his knees, but—strange
sight in this country—one had its pan thrown open, which was
rust-eaten and contained no priming; the other's hammer was without
a flint. Their faces were as if covered with mahogany-coloured
parchment; their eyes were sunken; and as their jaws fell listlessly
on their breasts, their cheeks were hollow, with the bones nearly
protruding from the skin. One was in the prime of manhood, with
handsome features; the other, considerably past middle age, was stark
and stern. Months of dire privation had brought them to this pass. The
elder of the two was Killbuck, of mountain fame; the other was hight
La Bonté.
The former opened his eyes, and saw the buffalo feeding on the plain.
“Ho, boy,” he said, touching his companion, “thar's meat a-runnin.”
La Bonté looked in the direction the other pointed, stood up, and
hitching round his pouch and powder-horn, drew the stopper from the
latter with his teeth, and placing the mouth in the palm of his left
hand, turned the horn up and shook it.
“Not a grain,” he said—“not a grain, old hos.”
“Wagh!” exclaimed the other, “we'll have to eat afore long,” and
rising, walked into the prairie. He had hardly stepped two paces,
when, passing close to a sage bush, a rattlesnake whizzed a note of
warning with its tail. Killbuck grinned, and taking the wiping-stick
from his rifle-barrel, tapped the snake on the head, and, taking it by
the tail, threw it to La Bonté, saying, “hyar's meat, any how.” The
old fellow followed up his success by slaying half-a-dozen more, and
brought them in skewered through the head on his wiping-stick. A fire
was soon kindled, and the snakes roasting before it; when La Bonté,
who sat looking at the buffalo which fed close to the rock, suddenly
saw them raise their heads, snuff the air, and scamper towards him. A
few minutes afterwards a huge shapeless body loomed in the refracted
air, approaching the spot where the buffalo had been grazing The
hunters looked at it and then at each other, and ejaculated “Wagh!”
Presently a long white mass showed more distinctly, followed by
another, and before each was a string of animals.
“Waggons, by hos and beaver! Hurrah for Conostoga!” exclaimed the
trappers in a breath, as they now observed two white-tilted waggons,
drawn by several pairs of mules, approaching the very spot where they
sat. Several mounted men were riding about the waggons, and two on
horseback, in advance of all, were approaching the rock, when they
observed the smoke curling from the hunters' fire. They halted at
sight of this, and one of the two, drawing a long instrument from a
case, which Killbuck voted a rifle, directed it towards them for a
moment, and then, lowering it, again moved forward.
As they drew near, the two poor trappers, although half-dead with
joy, still retained their seats with Indian gravity and immobility of
feature, turning now and then the crackling snakes which lay on the
embers of the fire. The two strangers approached. One, a man of some
fifty years of age, of middle height and stoutly built, was clad in
a white shooting-jacket, of cut unknown in mountain tailoring, and a
pair of trousers of the well-known material called “shepherd's plaid;”
a broad-brimmed Panama shaded his face, which was ruddy with health
and exercise; a belt round the waist supported a handsome bowie-knife,
and a double-barrelled fowling-piece was _slung_ across his shoulder.
His companion was likewise dressed in a light shooting-jacket, of
many pockets and dandy cut, rode on an English saddle and in _boots_,
and was armed with a superb double rifle, glossy from the case, and
bearing few marks of use or service. He was a tall, fine-looking
fellow of thirty, with light hair and complexion; a scrupulous beard
and mustache; a wide-awake hat, with a short pipe stuck in the band,
not very black with smoke; an elaborate powder-horn over his shoulder,
with a Cairngorm in the butt as large as a plate; a blue handkerchief
tied round his throat in a sailor's knot, and the collar of his shirt
turned carefully over it. He had, moreover, a tolerable idea of his
very correct appearance, and wore Woodstock gloves.
The trappers looked at them from head to foot, and the more they
looked, the less could they make them out.
“H—!” exclaimed La Bonté emphatically.
“This beats grainin' bull-hide slick,” broke from Killbuck as the
strangers reined up at the fire, the younger dismounting, and staring
with wonder at the weather-beaten trappers.
“Well, my men, how are you?” he rattled out. “Any game here? By Jove!”
he suddenly exclaimed, seizing his rifle, as at that moment a large
buzzard, the most unclean of birds, flew into the topmost branch of a
cottonwood, and sat, a tempting shot. “By Jove, there's a chance!”
cried the mighty hunter; and, bending low, started off to approach the
unwary bird in the most approved fashion of northern deer-stalkers.
The buzzard sat quietly, and now and then stretched its neck to gaze
upon the advancing sportsman, who on such occasions threw himself flat
on the ground, and remained motionless, in dread of alarming the bird.
It was worth while to look at the countenance of old Killbuck, as he
watched the antics of the “bourgeois” hunter. He thought at first that
the dandy rifleman had really discovered game in the bottom, and was
nothing loth that there was a chance of his seeing meat; but when he
understood the object of such manœuvres, and saw the quarry the hunter
was so carefully approaching, his mouth grinned from ear to ear, and,
turning to La Bonté, he said, “Wagh! _he's_ some—_he_ is!”
Nothing doubting, however, the stranger approached the tree on which
the bird was sitting, and, getting well under it, raised his rifle and
fired. Down tumbled the bird; and the successful hunter, with a loud
shout, rushed frantically towards it, and bore it in triumph to the
camp, earning the most sovereign contempt from the two trappers by the
achievement.
The other stranger was a quieter character. He, too, smiled as he
witnessed the exultation of his younger companion, (whose horse, by
the way, was scampering about the plain), and spoke kindly to the
mountaineers, whose appearance was clear evidence of the sufferings
they had endured. The snakes by this time were cooked, and the
trappers gave their new acquaintances the never-failing invitation to
“sit and eat.” When the latter, however, understood what the viands
were, their looks expressed the horror and disgust they felt.
“Good God!” exclaimed the elder, “you surely cannot eat such
disgusting food?”
“This niggur doesn't savy what disgustin is,” gruffly answered
Killbuck; “but them as carries empty paunch three days an' more, is
glad to get 'snake-meat,' I'm thinkin.”
“What! you've no ammunition, then?”
“_Well_, we haven't.”
“Wait till the waggons come up, and throw away that abominable stuff,
and you shall have something better, I promise,” said the elder of the
strangers.
“Yes,” continued the younger, “some hot preserved soup, hotch-potch,
and a glass of porter, will do you good.”
The trappers looked at the speaker, who was talking Greek (to them).
They thought the bourgeois were making fun, and did not half like it,
so answered simply, “Wagh! h—'s full of hosh-posh and porter.”
Two large waggons presently came up, escorted by some eight or ten
stout Missourians. Sublette was amongst the number, well known as a
mountain trader, and under whose guidance the present party, which
formed a pleasure expedition at the expense of a Scotch sportsman,
was leisurely making its way across the mountains to the Columbia. As
several mountaineers were in company, Killbuck and La Bonté recognised
more than one friend, and the former and Sublette were old compañeros.
As soon as the animals were unhitched, and camp formed on the banks of
the creek, a black cook set about preparing a meal. Our two trapping
friends looked on with astonishment as the sable functionary drew
from the waggon the different articles he required to furnish forth a
feed. Hams, tongues, tins of preserved meats, bottles of pickles, of
porter, brandy, coffee, sugar, flour, were tumbled promiscuously on
the prairie; whilst pots and pans, knives, forks, spoons, plates, &c.
&c., displayed their unfamiliar faces to the mountaineers. “Hosh-posh
and porter” did not now appear such Utopian articles as they had first
imagined; but no one but those who have fared for years on simple meat
and water, can understand the relish with which they accepted the
invitation of the Capen (as they called the Scotchman) to “take a horn
of liquor.” Killbuck and La Bonté sat in the same position as when we
first surprised them asleep under the shadow of Independence Rock,
regarding the profuse display of comestibles with scarce-believing
eyes, and childishly helpless from the novelty of the scene. Each
took the proffered half-pint cup, filled to the brim with excellent
brandy—(no tee-totallers they!)—looked once at the amber-coloured
surface, and with the usual mountain pledge of “here's luck!” tossed
off the grateful liquour at a breath. This prepared them in some
measure for what was yet in store for them. The Scotchman bestirred
the cook in his work, and soon sundry steaming pots were lifted from
the fire, and the skillets emptied of their bread—the contents of the
former poured in large flat pans, while panikins were filled with
smoking coffee. The two trappers needed no second invitation, but,
seizing each a panful of steaming stew, drew the butcher-knives from
their belts, and fell to lustily—the hospitable Scotchman plying them
with more and more, and administering corrective noggins of brandy the
while; until at last they were fain to cry enough, wiped their knives
on the grass, and placed them in their sheaths—a sign that human
nature could no more. How can pen describe the luxury of the smoke
that followed, to lips which had not kissed pipe for many months, and
how the fragrant honey-dew from Old Virginia was relishingly puffed.
But the Scotchman's bounty did not stop here. He soon elicited from
the lips of the hunters the narrative of their losses and privations,
and learned that they now, without ammunition and scarcely clothed,
were on their way to Platte Fort, to hire themselves to the Indian
traders in order to earn another outfit, wherewith once more to betake
themselves to their perilous employment of trapping. What was their
astonishment to see their entertainer presently lay out upon the
ground two piles of goods, each consisting of a four-point Mackinaw,
two tin canisters of powder, with corresponding lead and flints, a
pair of moccasins, a shirt, and sufficient buckskin to make a pair of
pantaloons; and how much the more was the wonder increased when two
excellent Indian horses were presently lassoed from the cavallada, and
with mountain saddle, bridle, and lariats complete, together with the
two piles of goods described, presented to them “on the prairie” or
“gift-free,” by the kind-hearted stranger, who would not even listen
to thanks for the most timely and invaluable present.
Once more equipped, our two hunters, filled with good brandy and fat
buffalo meat, again wended on their way; their late entertainers
continuing their pleasure trip across the gap of the South Pass,
intending to visit the Great Salt Lake, or Timponogos, of the West.
The former were bound for the North Fork of the Platte, with the
intention of joining one of the numerous trapping parties which
rendezvous at the American Fur Company's post on that branch of the
river. On a fork of Sweet Water, however, not two days after the
meeting with the Scotchman's waggons, they encountered a band of
a dozen mountaineers, mounted on fine horses, and well armed and
equipped, travelling along without the usual accompaniment of a
mulada of pack-animals, two or three mules alone being packed with
meat and spare ammunition. The band was proceeding at a smart rate,
the horses moving with the gait peculiar to American animals, known
as “_pacing_” or “_racking_,” in Indian file—each of the mountaineers
with a long heavy rifle resting across the horn of his saddle. Amongst
them our two friends recognised Markhead, who had been of the party
dispersed months before by the Blackfeet on one of the head streams
of the Yellow Stone, which event had been the origin of the dire
sufferings of Killbuck and La Bonté. Markhead, after running the
gauntlet of numerous Indians, through the midst of whose country
he passed with his usual temerity and utter disregard to danger,
suffering hunger, thirst, and cold—those every-day experiences of
mountain life—riddled with balls, but with three scalps hanging from
his belt, made his way to a rendezvous on Bear River, whence he struck
out for the Platte in early spring, in time to join the band he now
accompanied, who were on a horse-stealing expedition to the Missions
of Upper California. Little persuasion did either Killbuck or La Bonté
require to join the sturdy freebooters. In five minutes they had gone
“files-about,” and at sundown were camping on the well-timbered bottom
of “Little Sandy,” feasting once more on delicate hump-rib and tender
loin.
For California, ho!
Fourteen good rifles in the hands of fourteen mountain men, stout
and true, on fourteen strong horses, of true Indian blood and
training—fourteen cool heads, with fourteen pairs of keen eyes in
them, each head crafty as an Indian's, directing a right arm strong as
steel, and a heart as brave as grizzly bear's. Before them a thousand
miles of dreary desert or wilderness, overrun by hostile savages,
thirsting for the white man's blood; famine and drought, the arrows of
wily hordes of Indians—and, these dangers past, the invasion of the
civilised settlements of whites, the least numerous of which contained
ten times their number of armed and bitter enemies,—the sudden swoop
upon their countless herds of mules and horses, the fierce attack
and bloody slaughter;—such were the consequences of the expedition
these bold mountaineers were now engaged in. Fourteen lives of any
fourteen enemies who would be rash enough to stay them, were, any day
you will, carried in the rifle barrels of these stout fellows; who,
in all the proud consciousness of their physical qualities, neither
thought, nor cared to think, of future perils; and rode merrily on
their way, rejoicing in the dangers they must necessarily meet. Never
a more daring band crossed the mountains; a more than ordinary want
of caution characterised their march, and dangers were recklessly
and needlessly invited, which even the older and more cold-blooded
mountaineers seemed not to care to avoid. They had, each and all, many
a debt to pay the marauding Indians. Grudges for many privations,
for wounds and loss of comrades, rankled in their breasts; and not
one but had suffered more or less in property and person at the hands
of the savages, within a few short months. Threats of vengeance on
every Redskin they met were loud and deep; and the wild war-songs
round their nightly camp-fires, and grotesque scalp-dances, borrowed
from the Indians, proved to the initiated that they were, one and all,
“half-froze for hair.” Soon after Killbuck and La Bonté joined them,
they one day suddenly surprised a band of twenty Sioux, scattered on
a small prairie and butchering some buffalo they had just killed.
Before they could escape, the whites were upon them with loud shouts,
and in three minutes the scalps of eleven were dangling from their
saddle-horns.
Struggling up mountains, slipping down precipices, dashing over
prairies which resounded with their Indian songs, charging the
Indians wherever they met them, and without regard to their numbers;
frightening with their lusty war-whoops the miserable Diggers, who
were not unfrequently surprised while gathering roots in the mountain
plains, and who, scrambling up the rocks and concealing themselves,
like sage rabbits, in holes and corners, peered, chattering with
fear, as the wild and noisy troop rode by:—scarce drawing rein,
they passed rapidly the heads of Green and Grand Rivers, through a
country abounding in game and in excellent pasture; encountering in
the upland valleys, through which meandered the well-timbered creeks
on which they made their daily camps, many a band of Yutas, through
whom they dashed at random, caring not whether they were friends or
foes. Passing many other heads of streams, they struck at last the
edge of the desert, lying along the south-eastern base of the Great
Salt Lake, and which extends in almost unbroken sterility to the
foot of the range of the Sierra Nevada—a mountain chain, capped with
perpetual snow, that bounds the northern extremity of a singular
tract of country, walled by mountains and utterly desert, whose salt
lagoons and lakes, although fed by many streams, find no outlet to
the ocean, but are absorbed in the spongy soil or thirsty sand, which
characterise the different portions of this deserted tract. In the
“Grand Basin,” it is reported, neither human nor animal life can be
supported. No oases cheer the wanderer in the unbroken solitude of
the vast wilderness. More than once the lone trapper has penetrated,
with hardy enterprise, into the salt plains of the basin; but no signs
of beaver or fur-bearing animal rewarded the attempt. The ground
is scantily covered with coarse unwholesome grass that mules and
horses refuse to eat; and the water of the springs, impregnated with
the impurities of the soil through which it percolates, affords but
nauseating draughts to the thirsty traveller.
In passing from the more fertile uplands to the lower plains, as they
descended the streams, the timber on their banks became scarcer,
and the groves more scattered. The rich buffalo or _grama_ grass was
exchanged for a coarser species, on which the hard-worked animals soon
grew poor and weak. The thickets of plum and cherry, of boxalder and
quaking ash, which had hitherto fringed the creeks, and where the deer
and bear loved to resort—the former to browse on the leaves and tender
shoots, the latter to devour the fruit—now entirely disappeared,
and the only shrub seen was the eternal sage-bush, which flourishes
every where in the western regions in uncongenial soils where other
vegetation refuses to grow. The visible change in the scenery had also
a sensible effect on the spirits of the mountaineers. They travelled
on in silence through the deserted plains; the hi-hi-hiya of their
Indian chants was no longer heard enlivening the line of march. More
than once a Digger of the Piyutah tribe took himself and hair, in
safety, from their path, and almost unnoticed; but as they advanced
they became more cautious in their movements, and testified, by the
vigilant watch they kept, that they anticipated hostile attacks even
in these arid wastes. They had passed without molestation through
the country infested by the bolder Indians. The mountain Yutas, not
relishing the appearance of the hunters, had left them unmolested;
but they were now entering a country inhabited by the most degraded
and abject of the western tribes; who, nevertheless, ever suffering
from the extremities of hunger, have their brutish wits sharpened
by the necessity of procuring food, and rarely fail to levy a
contribution of rations, of horse or mule flesh, on the passenger in
their inhospitable country. The brutish cunning and animal instinct of
these wretches is such, that although arrant cowards, their attacks
are more feared than those of bolder Indians. These people-called
the Yamparicas or Root-Diggers—are, nevertheless, the degenerate
descendants of those tribes which once overran that portion of the
continent of North America now comprehended within the boundaries of
Mexico, and who have left such startling evidences in their track of a
comparatively superior state of civilisation. They now form an outcast
tribe of the great nation of the Apache, which extends under various
names from the Great Salt Lake along the table-lands on each side the
Sierra Madre to the tropic of Cancer, where they merge into what are
called the Mexican Indians. The whole of this nation is characterised
by most abject cowardice; and they even refuse to meet the helpless
Mexicans in open fight—unlike the Yuta or Camanche, who carry bold and
open warfare into the territories of their civilised enemy, and never
shrink from hand to hand encounter. The Apaches and the degenerate
Diggers pursue a cowardly warfare, hiding in ambush, and shooting the
passer-by with arrows; or, dashing upon him at night when steeped in
sleep, they bury their arrow to the feather in his heaving breast. As
the Mexicans say, “_Sin ventaja, no salen_;” they never attack without
odds. But they are not the less dangerous enemies on this account; and
by the small bands of trappers who visit their country, they are the
more dreaded by reason of this cowardly and wolfish system of warfare.
To provide against surprise, therefore, as the hunters rode along,
flankers were extended _en guerilla_ on each side, mounting the high
points to reconnoitre the country, and keeping a sharp look-out
for Indian sign. At night the animals were securely hobbled, and
a horse-guard posted round them—a service of great danger, as the
stealthy cat-like Diggers are often known to steal up silently, under
cover of the darkness, towards the sentinel, shoot him with their
arrows, and approaching the animals, cut the hobbles and drive them
away unseen.
One night they encamped on a creek where was but little of the
coarsest pasture, and that little scattered here and there; so that
they were compelled to allow their animals to roam farther than usual
from camp in search of food. Four of the hunters, however, accompanied
them to guard against surprise; whilst but half of those in camp lay
down to sleep, the others, with rifles in their hands, remaining
prepared for any emergency. This day they had killed one of their two
pack-mules for food, game not having been met with for several days;
but the animal was so poor, that it scarcely afforded more than one
tolerable meal to the whole party.
A short time before the dawn of day an alarm was given; the animals
were heard to snort violently; a loud shout was heard, followed by
the sharp crack of a rifle, and the tramp of galloping horses plainly
showed that a stampede had been effected. The whites instantly sprang
to their arms, and rushed in the direction of the sounds. The body
of the cavallada, however, had luckily turned, and, being headed by
the mountaineers, were surrounded and secured, with the loss of only
three, which had probably been mounted by the Indians.
Day breaking soon after, one of their band was discovered to be
missing; and it was then found that a man who had been standing
horse-guard at the time of the attack, had not come into camp with
his companions. At that moment a thin spiral column of smoke was seen
to rise from the banks of the creek, telling but too surely the fate
of the missing mountaineer. It was the signal of the Indians to their
people that a “_coup_” had been struck, and that an enemy's scalp
remained in their triumphant hands.
“H——!” exclaimed the trappers in a breath; and soon imprecations and
threats of revenge, loud and deep, were showered upon the heads of the
treacherous Indians. Some of the party rushed to the spot where the
guard had stood, and there lay the body of their comrade, pierced
with lance and arrow, the scalp gone, and the body otherwise mutilated
in a barbarous manner. Five were quickly in the saddle, mounted upon
the strongest horses, and flying along the track of the Indians, who
had made off towards the mountains with their prize and booty. We will
not follow them in their work of bloody vengeance, save by saying that
they followed the savages to their village, into which they charged
headlong, recovered their stolen horses, and returned to camp at
sundown with thirteen scalps dangling from their rifles, in payment
for the loss of their unfortunate companion.[27]
In their further advance, hunger and thirst were their daily
companions; they were compelled to kill several of their animals for
food, but were fortunate enough to replace them by a stroke of good
luck in meeting a party of Indians returning from an excursion against
one of the Californian settlements with a tolerably large band of
horses. Our hunters met this band one fine morning, and dashed into
the midst at once; half a dozen Indians bit the dust, and twenty
horses were turned over from red to white masters in as many seconds,
which remounted those whose animals had been eaten, and enabled
the others to exchange their worn-out steeds for fresh ones. This
fortunate event was considered a _coup_, and the event was celebrated
by the slaughter of a fat young horse, which furnished an excellent
supper that night—a memorable event in these starveling regions.
They were now devouring their horses and mules at the rate of one
every alternate day; for, so poor were the animals, that one scarcely
furnished an ample meal for the thirteen hungry hunters. They were
once more reduced to the animals they rode on; and after a fast of
twenty-four hours' duration, were debating on the propriety of drawing
lots as to whose Rosinante should fill the kettle, when some Indians
suddenly appeared making signs of peace upon the bluff, and indicating
a disposition to enter the camp for the purpose of trading. Being
invited to approach, they offered to trade a few dressed elk-skins;
but being asked for meat, they said that their village was a long
way off, and they had nothing with them but a small portion of some
game they had lately killed. When requested to produce this, they
hesitated, but the trappers looking hungry and angry at the same
moment, an old Indian drew from under his blanket several flaps of
portable dried meat, which he declared was bear's. It was but a small
ration amongst so many; but, being divided, was quickly laid upon
the fire to broil. The meat was stringy, and of whitish colour,
altogether unlike any flesh the trappers had before eaten. Killbuck
was the first to discover this. He had been quietly masticating the
last mouthful of his portion, the stringiness of which required more
than usual dental exertion, when the novelty of the flavour struck him
as something singular. Suddenly his jaws ceased their work, he thought
a moment, took the morsel from his mouth, looked at it intently, and
dashed it into the fire.
“Man-meat, by G—!” he cried out; and at the words every jaw stopped
work: the trappers looked at the meat and each other.
“I'm dog-gone if it ain't!” cried old Walker, looking at his piece,
“and white meat at that, wagh!” (and report said it was not the first
time he had tasted such viands;) and the conviction seizing each mind,
every mouthful was quickly spat into the fire, and the ire of the
deceived whites was instantly turned upon the luckless providers of
the feast. They saw the storm that was brewing, and without more ado
turned tail from the camp, and scuttled up the bluffs, where, turning
round, they fired a volley of arrows at the tricked mountaineers, and
instantly disappeared.
However, the desert and its nomade pilferers were at length passed;
the sandy plains became grass-covered prairies; the monstrous
cottonwood on the creeks was replaced by oak and ash; the surface of
the country grew more undulating, and less broken up into cañons and
ravines; elk and deer leaped in the bottoms, and bands of antelope
dotted the plains, with occasional troops of wild horses, too wary to
allow the approach of man. On the banks of a picturesque stream called
the San Joaquim, the party halted a few days to recruit themselves and
animals, feasting the while on the fattest of venison and other game.
They then struck to the south-east for two days, until they reached a
branch of the “Las Animas,” a clear stream running through a pretty
valley, well timbered and abounding in game. Here, as they wound along
the river-banks, a horseman suddenly appeared upon the bluff above
them, galloping at a furious rate along the edge. His dress approached
in some degree to civilised attire. A broad-brimmed sombrero
surmounted his swarthy face; a coloured blanket, through a slit in
which his head was thrust, floated in the air from his shoulders;
leathern leggings encased his lower limbs; and huge spurs jingled on
his heels. He rode in a high-peaked Mexican saddle, his feet thrust
in ponderous stirrups, and in his hand swung a coil of ready lasso,
his only offensive arm. One of the trappers knew a little Spanish, and
instantly hailed him.
“_Compadre_,” he shouted, “_por onde va?_” The Californian reined in
suddenly, throwing the horse he rode on its very haunches, and darting
down the bluff, galloped unhesitatingly into the midst of the hunters.
“_Americanos!_” he exclaimed, glancing at them; and continued,
smiling—“_Y caballos quieren, por eso vienen tan lejitos. Jesus, que
mala gente!_”—“It's horses you want, and for this you come all this
way. Ah, what rogues you are!”
He was an Indian, employed at the mission of San Fernando, distant
three days' journey from their present position, and was now searching
for a band of horses and mules which had strayed. San Fernando,
it appeared, had once before been visited by a party of mountain
free-booters, and the Indian therefore divined the object of the
present one. He was, he told them, “_un Indio, pero mansito_:” an
Indian, but a tame one;[28] “_de mas, Christiano_:” a Christian
moreover (exhibiting a small cross which hung round his neck).
There were many people about the mission, he said, who knew how to
fight, and had plenty of arms; and there were enough to “eat up”
the “_Americanos, sin frijoles_,” without beans, as he facetiously
observed. For his part, however, he was very friendly to the
_Americanos_; he had once met a man of that nation who was a good
sort of fellow, and had made him a present of tobacco, of which he
was particularly fond. Finding this hint did not take, he said that
the horses and mules belonging to the mission were innumerable—“like
that,” he added, sweeping his hand to all points of the compass over
the plain, to intimate that they would cover that extent; and he could
point out a large herd grazing nearer at hand than the mission, and
guarded but by three _vaqueros_. Regaled with venison, and with a
smoke of his coveted tobacco, he rode off, and made his way to the
mission without delay, conveying the startling intelligence that a
thousand Americans were upon them.
The next morning the thirteen doughty mountaineers quietly resumed
their journey, moving leisurely along towards the object of their
expedition.
It will not be out of place here to digress a little, in order to
describe the singular features of the establishments formed in those
remote regions by the Catholic church, as nuclei round which to
concentrate the wandering tribes that inhabit the country, with a view
to give them the benefit of civilised example, and to wean them from
their restless nomadic habits.
The establishment of missions in Upper California is coeval with
the first settlement of Southern Mexico. No sooner had Spanish rule
taken a firm foot-hold in the Aztec empire, than the avowed primary
object of the military expedition began to be carried into effect.
“To save the souls” of the savage and barbarous subjects of their
most Catholic majesties was ever inculcated upon the governors of
the conquered country as the grand object to be sought after, as
soon as tranquillity was partially restored by the submission of the
Mexicans; and the Cross, the sacred emblem of the Catholic faith, was
to be upraised in the remotest corners of the country, and the natives
instructed and compelled to worship it, in lieu of the grotesque
images of their own idolatrous religion.
To carry into effect these orthodox instructions, troops of pious
priests, of friars and monks of every order, and even of saintly
nuns, followed in the wake of the victorious armies of Cortez; and,
girding up their loins with zealous fervour and enthusiasm, and with
an enterprise and hardihood worthy of buccaneers, they pushed their
adventurous way far into the bowels of the land, preaching devoutly
and with commendable perseverance to savages who did not understand a
syllable of what they so eloquently discoursed; and returning, after
the lapse of many months passed in this first attempt, with glowing
accounts of the “_muy buen indole_,” the very ductile disposition of
the savages, and of the thousands they had converted to “_la santa fé
catolica_.”
Ferdinand and Isabel, of glorious memory, at once beat up for
volunteers. Crowds of Franciscan monks, greasy Capuchinos, and nuns
of orthodox odour, joined the band; and saints even of the feminine
gender, long since canonised and up aloft amongst the goodly muster of
saints and martyrs, put foot once more on _terra firma_, and, rosary
in hand, crossed the seas to participate in the good work. As proof
of this latter fact, one Venabides, a Franciscan, whose veracity is
beyond impeachment, declared that, while preaching in the regions
now known as New Mexico, one million Indians from the “rumbo” known
as Cibolo, a mighty nation, approached his temporary pulpit on the
Rio Grande, and requested in a body the favour of being baptised.
Struck with the singularity of this request from Indians with whom
he had as yet held no communication, and with conscientious scruple
as to whether he would be justified in performing such ceremony
without their having received previous instruction, he hesitated a few
moments before making an answer. At this juncture the Indians espied a
medallion which hung around his neck, bearing the effigy of a certain
saint of extraordinary virtue. At sight of this they fell on their
knees before it; and it was some time before they found words (in
what language does not appear) to explain to the holy father that the
original of that effigy, which hung pendant from his neck, had been
long amongst them instructing them in the elements of the Christian
religion, and had only lately disappeared; informing them that certain
reverend men would shortly appear in the land, who would finish the
good work she had devoutly commenced, and clench the business by
baptising the one million miserable sinners who now knelt before El
Padre Venabides.
“Valgame Dios!” reverently exclaimed that worthy man, “qui milagro es
este;” [what a miracle is this I hear;] and casting up his eyes, and
speaking slowly, as if he weighed every word, and taxing his memory of
the historical calendar of saints, continued,—
“_Se murió—aquella—santissima—muger—en el ano 175—es decir—ya
hacen—mil—quatro—cientos—anos._” [That most holy woman died in the
year 175, that is to say, one thousand four hundred years ago.]
“Oh, what a strange thing is this!” the padre continues devoutly.
“After so many ages spent in heaven in company of the angels, of most
holy men, and of virgins the most pure; and, perhaps, also in the
company of my worthy and esteemed friend and patron, Don Vincente
Carvajal y Calvo, who died a few years ago in San Lucar of Xeres
(bequeathing me certain arrobas of dry wine, of a class I greatly
esteem—for which act he deserved to be canonised, and, I have no
doubt, is), the said Don Vincente Carvajal y Calvo being, moreover, a
man of the purest and holiest thoughts (Dios mio! what a puchero that
man always had on his table!) this holy woman comes here—to these wild
and remote regions; this holy woman (who died fifteen hundred years
ago), abandoning the company of angels, of holy men, and sanctified
women and virgins, and also of Don Vincente Carvajal y Calvo (that
worthy man!)—comes here, I say, where there are neither pucheros, nor
garbanzos, nor dry wine, nor sweet wine, neither of Xeres, nor of Val
de Peñas, nor of Peralta; where” (sobbed the padre, and bellowed
the last word) “there is—nothing either to eat or to drink. Valgame
Purissima Maria! And what is the name of this holy woman? the world
will ask,” continues Venabides. “Santa Clara of Carmona is her name,
one well known in my native country, who leaves heaven and all its
joys, wends her way to the distant wilds of New Spain, and spends
years in inducting the savage people to the holy faith. Truly a pious
work, and pleasing to God!”[29]
Thus spoke Venabides the Franciscan, and no doubt he believed what he
said; and many others in Old Spain were fools enough to believe it
too, for the shaven heads flocked over in greater numbers, and the cry
was ever “still they come.”
Along the whole extent of the table-lands, not an Indian tribe but was
speedily visited by the preaching friars and monks; and, in less than
a century after the conquest of Mexico by the Spaniards, these hardy
and enthusiastic frayles had pushed their way into the inhospitable
regions of New Mexico, nearly two thousand miles distant from the
valley of Anahuac. How they succeeded in surmounting the natural
obstacles presented by the wild and barren deserts they traversed; how
they escaped the infinite peril they encountered at every step, at the
hands of the savage inhabitants of the country, with whose language
they were totally unacquainted, is sufficient puzzle to those who, in
the present day, have attempted a journey in the same regions.
However, it is impossible not to admire the hardihood of these holy
pioneers of civilisation, who, totally unfitted by their former mode
of life for undergoing such hardships as they must have anticipated,
threw themselves into the wilderness with fearless and stubborn zeal.
For the most part, however, they found the Indians exceedingly
hospitable and well disposed; and it was not until some time
after—when, receiving from the missionary monks glowing, and not
always very truthful accounts of the riches of the country in which
they had located themselves, the governors of Mexico despatched
armed expeditions under adventurous desperadoes to take and retain
possession of the said country, with orders to compel the submission
of the native tribes, and enforce their obedience to the authority
of the whites—that the simple and confiding Indians began to see the
folly they had committed in permitting the residence amongst them
of these superior beings, whom they had first looked upon as more
than mortal, but who, when strong enough to do so, were not long in
throwing off the mask, and proving to the simple savages that they
were much “more human than divine.”
Thus, in the province of New Mexico, Fray Augustin Ruiz, with his
co-preachers, Marcos and Venabides, were kindly received by the native
inhabitants, and we have seen how one million (?) Indians came from
the “rumbo” of the Cibolo, ready and willing to receive the baptismal
sacrament. This Cibolo, or Sivulo, as it is written in some old MSS.,
is, by the way, mysteriously alluded to by the monkish historians who
have written on this region, as being a kingdom inhabited by a very
superior class of Indians to any met with between Anahuac and the Vale
of Taos—in the enjoyment of a high state of civilisation, inhabiting
a well-built city, the houses of which were three stories high, and
having attained considerable perfection in the domestic arts. This,
notwithstanding the authority of Don Francisco Vasquez Coronado, who
visited Cibolo, and of Solis and Venegas, who have guaranteed the
assertion, must be received _cum grano salis_; but, at all events,
the civilisation of the mysterious Cibolo may be compared to that
of the Aztec empire, under Montezuma, at the time of the Spanish
Conquest, both being egregiously exaggerated by the historians of
the day. Cibolo was situated on a river called Tegue. At this day,
neither name is known to the inhabitants of New Mexico. If pate-shaven
Venabides had held his tongue, New Mexico might now be in the peaceful
possession of the Catholic Missions, and the property of the Church
of Mexico pretty considerably enhanced by the valuable _placeres_, or
gold washings, which abound in that province. Full, however, of the
wonderful miracle of Santa Clara of Carmona, which had been brought to
light through the agency of the medallion at the end of his rosario,
Fray Venabides must needs return to Spain, and humbug poor old
Fernando, and even the more sensible Isabel, with wonderful accounts
of the riches of the country he had been instrumental in exploring,
and of the excellent disposition of the natives to receive the word
of God. Don Juan Oñate was, therefore, quickly despatched to take
possession; and in his train followed twelve Castilian families of
_sangre azul_, to colonise the newly-acquired territory. The names of
these still remain, disgraced by the degenerate wretches who now bear
them, but in whom scarce a drop of blood remains which ever filtered
from the veins of the paladins of Old Castile.
Then commenced the troublous times. The missions were upheld by dint
of steel alone; and frequently the Indians rose, and often massacred
their white persecutors. The colonists were more than once driven
bodily from New Mexico, and were only reinstated by the aid of large
bodies of armed men.
In California, however, they managed these things better. The wily
monks took care to keep all interlopers from the country, established
themselves in snug quarters, instructed the Indians in agriculture,
and soon gained such an ascendancy over them, that no difficulty was
experienced in keeping them under proper and wholesome restraint.
Strong and commodious missions were built and fortified, well stored
with arms and ammunition, and containing sufficient defenders to defy
attack. Luxuriant gardens and thriving vineyards soon surrounded these
isolated stations: the plains waved with golden corn; whilst domestic
cattle, thriving on the rich pasture, and roaming far and near,
multiplied and increased a hundred-fold.
Nothing can be more beautiful than the appearance of one of these
missions, to the traveller who has lately passed the arid and barren
wilderness of the North-west. The _adobe_ walls of the convent-looking
building, surmounted by cross and belfry, are generally hidden in a
mass of luxuriant vegetation. Fig-trees, bananas, cherry, and apple,
leaf-spreading platanos, and groves of olives, form umbrageous vistas,
under which the sleek monks delight to wander; gardens, cultivated
by their own hands, testify to the horticultural skill of the worthy
padres; whilst vineyards yield their grateful produce to gladden the
hearts of the holy exiles in these western solitudes. Vast herds of
cattle roam half-wild on the plains, and bands of mules and horses,
whose fame has even reached the distant table-lands of the Rocky
Mountains, and excited the covetousness of the hunters—and thousands
of which, from the day they are foaled to that of their death, never
feel a saddle on their backs—cover the country. Indians (Mansitos)
idle round the skirts of these vast herds (whose very numbers keep
them together), living, at their own choice, upon the flesh of mule,
or ox, or horse.