THE OREGON TRAIL
by Francis Parkman, Jr.
CONTENTS
I THE FRONTIER
II BREAKING THE ICE
III FORT LEAVENWORTH
IV “JUMPING OFF”
V “THE BIG BLUE”
VI THE PLATTE AND THE DESERT
VII THE BUFFALO
VIII TAKING FRENCH LEAVE
IX SCENES AT FORT LARAMIE
X THE WAR PARTIES
XI SCENES AT THE CAMP
XII ILL LUCK
XIII HUNTING INDIANS
XIV THE OGALLALLA VILLAGR
XV THE HUNTING CAMP
XVI THE TRAPPERS
XVII THE BLACK HILLS
XVIII A MOUNTAIN HUNT
XIX PASSAGE OF THE MOUNTAINS
XX THE LONELY JOURNEY
XXI THE PUEBLO AND BENT’S FORT
XXII TETE ROUGE, THE VOLUNTEER
XXIII INDIAN ALARMS
XXIV THE CHASE
XXV THE BUFFALO CAMP
XXVI DOWN THE ARKANSAS
XXVII THE SETTLEMENTS
CHAPTER I
THE FRONTIER
Last spring, 1846, was a busy season in the City of St. Louis. Not only
were emigrants from every part of the country preparing for the journey
to Oregon and California, but an unusual number of traders were making
ready their wagons and outfits for Santa Fe. Many of the emigrants,
especially of those bound for California, were persons of wealth and
standing. The hotels were crowded, and the gunsmiths and saddlers
were kept constantly at work in providing arms and equipments for the
different parties of travelers. Almost every day steamboats were leaving
the levee and passing up the Missouri, crowded with passengers on their
way to the frontier.
In one of these, the Radnor, since snagged and lost, my friend and
relative, Quincy A. Shaw, and myself, left St. Louis on the 28th of
April, on a tour of curiosity and amusement to the Rocky Mountains. The
boat was loaded until the water broke alternately over her guards. Her
upper deck was covered with large weapons of a peculiar form, for
the Santa Fe trade, and her hold was crammed with goods for the same
destination. There were also the equipments and provisions of a party
of Oregon emigrants, a band of mules and horses, piles of saddles and
harness, and a multitude of nondescript articles, indispensable on
the prairies. Almost hidden in this medley one might have seen a small
French cart, of the sort very appropriately called a “mule-killer”
beyond the frontiers, and not far distant a tent, together with a
miscellaneous assortment of boxes and barrels. The whole equipage was
far from prepossessing in its appearance; yet, such as it was, it was
destined to a long and arduous journey, on which the persevering reader
will accompany it.
The passengers on board the Radnor corresponded with her freight. In her
cabin were Santa Fe traders, gamblers, speculators, and adventurers
of various descriptions, and her steerage was crowded with Oregon
emigrants, “mountain men,” negroes, and a party of Kansas Indians, who
had been on a visit to St. Louis.
Thus laden, the boat struggled upward for seven or eight days against
the rapid current of the Missouri, grating upon snags, and hanging for
two or three hours at a time upon sand-bars. We entered the mouth of
the Missouri in a drizzling rain, but the weather soon became clear,
and showed distinctly the broad and turbid river, with its eddies, its
sand-bars, its ragged islands, and forest-covered shores. The Missouri
is constantly changing its course; wearing away its banks on one
side, while it forms new ones on the other. Its channel is shifting
continually. Islands are formed, and then washed away; and while the old
forests on one side are undermined and swept off, a young growth springs
up from the new soil upon the other. With all these changes, the water
is so charged with mud and sand that it is perfectly opaque, and in
a few minutes deposits a sediment an inch thick in the bottom of a
tumbler. The river was now high; but when we descended in the autumn
it was fallen very low, and all the secrets of its treacherous shallows
were exposed to view. It was frightful to see the dead and broken trees,
thick-set as a military abatis, firmly imbedded in the sand, and all
pointing down stream, ready to impale any unhappy steamboat that at high
water should pass over that dangerous ground.
In five or six days we began to see signs of the great western movement
that was then taking place. Parties of emigrants, with their tents and
wagons, would be encamped on open spots near the bank, on their way to
the common rendezvous at Independence. On a rainy day, near sunset, we
reached the landing of this place, which is situated some miles from
the river, on the extreme frontier of Missouri. The scene was
characteristic, for here were represented at one view the most
remarkable features of this wild and enterprising region. On the muddy
shore stood some thirty or forty dark slavish-looking Spaniards, gazing
stupidly out from beneath their broad hats. They were attached to one of
the Santa Fe companies, whose wagons were crowded together on the banks
above. In the midst of these, crouching over a smoldering fire, was a
group of Indians, belonging to a remote Mexican tribe. One or two French
hunters from the mountains with their long hair and buckskin dresses,
were looking at the boat; and seated on a log close at hand were three
men, with rifles lying across their knees. The foremost of these, a
tall, strong figure, with a clear blue eye and an open, intelligent
face, might very well represent that race of restless and intrepid
pioneers whose axes and rifles have opened a path from the Alleghenies
to the western prairies. He was on his way to Oregon, probably a more
congenial field to him than any that now remained on this side the great
plains.
Early on the next morning we reached Kansas, about five hundred
miles from the mouth of the Missouri. Here we landed and leaving our
equipments in charge of my good friend Colonel Chick, whose log-house
was the substitute for a tavern, we set out in a wagon for Westport,
where we hoped to procure mules and horses for the journey.
It was a remarkably fresh and beautiful May morning. The rich and
luxuriant woods through which the miserable road conducted us were
lighted by the bright sunshine and enlivened by a multitude of birds. We
overtook on the way our late fellow-travelers, the Kansas Indians, who,
adorned with all their finery, were proceeding homeward at a round pace;
and whatever they might have seemed on board the boat, they made a very
striking and picturesque feature in the forest landscape.
Westport was full of Indians, whose little shaggy ponies were tied by
dozens along the houses and fences. Sacs and Foxes, with shaved heads
and painted faces, Shawanoes and Delawares, fluttering in calico frocks,
and turbans, Wyandottes dressed like white men, and a few wretched
Kansas wrapped in old blankets, were strolling about the streets, or
lounging in and out of the shops and houses.
As I stood at the door of the tavern, I saw a remarkable looking person
coming up the street. He had a ruddy face, garnished with the stumps of
a bristly red beard and mustache; on one side of his head was a round
cap with a knob at the top, such as Scottish laborers sometimes wear;
his coat was of a nondescript form, and made of a gray Scotch plaid,
with the fringes hanging all about it; he wore pantaloons of coarse
homespun, and hob-nailed shoes; and to complete his equipment, a little
black pipe was stuck in one corner of his mouth. In this curious attire,
I recognized Captain C. of the British army, who, with his brother, and
Mr. R., an English gentleman, was bound on a hunting expedition across
the continent. I had seen the captain and his companions at St. Louis.
They had now been for some time at Westport, making preparations for
their departure, and waiting for a re-enforcement, since they were too
few in number to attempt it alone. They might, it is true, have joined
some of the parties of emigrants who were on the point of setting out
for Oregon and California; but they professed great disinclination to
have any connection with the “Kentucky fellows.”
The captain now urged it upon us, that we should join forces and proceed
to the mountains in company. Feeling no greater partiality for the
society of the emigrants than they did, we thought the arrangement an
advantageous one, and consented to it. Our future fellow-travelers had
installed themselves in a little log-house, where we found them all
surrounded by saddles, harness, guns, pistols, telescopes, knives, and
in short their complete appointments for the prairie. R., who professed
a taste for natural history, sat at a table stuffing a woodpecker; the
brother of the captain, who was an Irishman, was splicing a trail-rope
on the floor, as he had been an amateur sailor. The captain pointed
out, with much complacency, the different articles of their outfit. “You
see,” said he, “that we are all old travelers. I am convinced that no
party ever went upon the prairie better provided.” The hunter whom they
had employed, a surly looking Canadian, named Sorel, and their muleteer,
an American from St. Louis, were lounging about the building. In a
little log stable close at hand were their horses and mules, selected by
the captain, who was an excellent judge.
The alliance entered into, we left them to complete their arrangements,
while we pushed our own to all convenient speed. The emigrants for whom
our friends professed such contempt were encamped on the prairie about
eight or ten miles distant, to the number of a thousand or more, and new
parties were constantly passing out from Independence to join them.
They were in great confusion, holding meetings, passing resolutions, and
drawing up regulations, but unable to unite in the choice of leaders to
conduct them across the prairie. Being at leisure one day, I rode over
to Independence. The town was crowded. A multitude of shops had sprung
up to furnish the emigrants and Santa Fe traders with necessaries for
their journey; and there was an incessant hammering and banging from a
dozen blacksmiths’ sheds, where the heavy wagons were being repaired,
and the horses and oxen shod. The streets were thronged with men,
horses, and mules. While I was in the town, a train of emigrant wagons
from Illinois passed through, to join the camp on the prairie, and
stopped in the principal street. A multitude of healthy children’s faces
were peeping out from under the covers of the wagons. Here and there a
buxom damsel was seated on horseback, holding over her sunburnt face an
old umbrella or a parasol, once gaudy enough but now miserably faded.
The men, very sober-looking countrymen, stood about their oxen; and as I
passed I noticed three old fellows, who, with their long whips in their
hands, were zealously discussing the doctrine of regeneration. The
emigrants, however, are not all of this stamp. Among them are some of
the vilest outcasts in the country. I have often perplexed myself to
divine the various motives that give impulse to this strange migration;
but whatever they may be, whether an insane hope of a better condition
in life, or a desire of shaking off restraints of law and society, or
mere restlessness, certain it is that multitudes bitterly repent the
journey, and after they have reached the land of promise are happy
enough to escape from it.
In the course of seven or eight days we had brought our preparations
near to a close. Meanwhile our friends had completed theirs, and
becoming tired of Westport, they told us that they would set out in
advance and wait at the crossing of the Kansas till we should come up.
Accordingly R. and the muleteers went forward with the wagon and tent,
while the captain and his brother, together with Sorel, and a trapper
named Boisverd, who had joined them, followed with the band of horses.
The commencement of the journey was ominous, for the captain was
scarcely a mile from Westport, riding along in state at the head of his
party, leading his intended buffalo horse by a rope, when a tremendous
thunderstorm came on, and drenched them all to the skin. They hurried on
to reach the place, about seven miles off, where R. was to have had the
camp in readiness to receive them. But this prudent person, when he
saw the storm approaching, had selected a sheltered glade in the woods,
where he pitched his tent, and was sipping a comfortable cup of coffee,
while the captain galloped for miles beyond through the rain to look
for him. At length the storm cleared away, and the sharp-eyed trapper
succeeded in discovering his tent: R. had by this time finished his
coffee, and was seated on a buffalo robe smoking his pipe. The captain
was one of the most easy-tempered men in existence, so he bore his
ill-luck with great composure, shared the dregs of the coffee with his
brother, and lay down to sleep in his wet clothes.
We ourselves had our share of the deluge. We were leading a pair of
mules to Kansas when the storm broke. Such sharp and incessant flashes
of lightning, such stunning and continuous thunder, I have never known
before. The woods were completely obscured by the diagonal sheets of
rain that fell with a heavy roar, and rose in spray from the ground; and
the streams rose so rapidly that we could hardly ford them. At length,
looming through the rain, we saw the log-house of Colonel Chick, who
received us with his usual bland hospitality; while his wife, who,
though a little soured and stiffened by too frequent attendance on
camp-meetings, was not behind him in hospitable feeling, supplied us
with the means of repairing our drenched and bedraggled condition. The
storm, clearing away at about sunset, opened a noble prospect from the
porch of the colonel’s house, which stands upon a high hill. The sun
streamed from the breaking clouds upon the swift and angry Missouri, and
on the immense expanse of luxuriant forest that stretched from its banks
back to the distant bluffs.
Returning on the next day to Westport, we received a message from the
captain, who had ridden back to deliver it in person, but finding that
we were in Kansas, had intrusted it with an acquaintance of his named
Vogel, who kept a small grocery and liquor shop. Whisky by the way
circulates more freely in Westport than is altogether safe in a place
where every man carries a loaded pistol in his pocket. As we passed this
establishment, we saw Vogel’s broad German face and knavish-looking eyes
thrust from his door. He said he had something to tell us, and
invited us to take a dram. Neither his liquor nor his message was very
palatable. The captain had returned to give us notice that R., who
assumed the direction of his party, had determined upon another route
from that agreed upon between us; and instead of taking the course of
the traders, to pass northward by Fort Leavenworth, and follow the path
marked out by the dragoons in their expedition of last summer. To adopt
such a plan without consulting us, we looked upon as a very high-handed
proceeding; but suppressing our dissatisfaction as well as we could, we
made up our minds to join them at Fort Leavenworth, where they were to
wait for us.
Accordingly, our preparation being now complete, we attempted one fine
morning to commence our journey. The first step was an unfortunate one.
No sooner were our animals put in harness, than the shaft mule reared
and plunged, burst ropes and straps, and nearly flung the cart into
the Missouri. Finding her wholly uncontrollable, we exchanged her
for another, with which we were furnished by our friend Mr. Boone of
Westport, a grandson of Daniel Boone, the pioneer. This foretaste of
prairie experience was very soon followed by another. Westport was
scarcely out of sight, when we encountered a deep muddy gully, of a
species that afterward became but too familiar to us; and here for the
space of an hour or more the car stuck fast.