An Ascent--A Misfortune--A Death--The Mountain of the
Holy Cross--Leaping Pines--Killing a Buffalo--Asses and
Tyrants--Panther, &c.--Geography--Something about descending
the Colorado of the West--Dividing Ridges--A Scene--Tumbleton's
Park--A War Whoop--Meeting of Old Fellow Trappers--A Notable
Tramp--My Mare--The etiquette of the Mountains--Kelly's Old
Camp, &c.--A Great Heart--Little Bear River--Vegetables
and Bitterness--Two White Men, a Squaw and Child--A Dead
Shot--What is Tasteful--Trapping--Blackfoot and Sioux--A Bloody
Incident--A Cave--Hot Spring--The Country--A Surprise--American
and Canadian Trappers--The Grand River--Old Park--Death before
us--The Mule--Despair.
The ascent to this height was not so laborious as the one near the
Arkansas. It lay up the face of a mountain which formed a larger angle
with the plane of the horizon than did the other. But it was clothed
with a dense forest of pines, a species of double-leaved hemlock, and
spruce and fir trees, which prevented our animals from {254} falling
over the precipices, and enabled us to make long sweeps in a zigzag
course, that much relieved the fatigue of the ascent. We however met
here a misfortune of a more serious nature to us, than the storm that
pelted us on the other ridge. One of the horses belonging to our
guide sickened just before arriving at the summit, and refusing to
bear farther the burthen which he had heretofore borne with ease and
apparent pride, sunk under it. We roused him; he rose upon his legs,
and made a willing attempt to do his duty; but the poor animal failed
in his generous effort.
We, therefore, took off his pack, put it upon my saddle horse, and
drove him before us to the summit, from whence we enjoyed the beautiful
prospect we have just described. But we felt little interest in the
expanse of sublimity before us; our eyes and sympathies, too, were
turned to the noble animal which was now suffering great pain. He had
been reared in the mountains; and it seemed to be his highest pleasure
to tread along their giddy brinks. Every morning at his post, with the
other horse belonging to his master, he would {255} stand without being
fastened, and receive his burthen; and with every demonstration of
willingness, bear it over the mountains and through torrents till his
task was ended in the night encampment. Such a horse, in the desolate
regions we were traversing, the bearer of our wearing apparel and
food, the leader of our band of animals, the property of our kind old
Kentuckian, the one-third of all his worldly estate, was no mean object
of interest. After noticing him awhile, we perceived symptoms of his
being poisoned, administered whatever medicine we possessed suited to
the case, and left him to his fate for the night. Rain during the day,
frost during the night; ice in our camp kettles an inch in thickness.
We were out early on the morning of the 25th, and found our guide's
horse living. We accordingly saddled, packed and started down the
valley of a small head stream of Grand River.[132] The sick horse was
driven slowly along for about five miles when he refused to go farther.
It now became evident that he had been eating the wild parsnips at
our last encampment on the other side of the ridge. That he must die
became, therefore, certain, and we unpacked {256} to see the breath
from his body before he should be left to the merciless wolves. He died
near daylight down, and as the path before us was rough and bushy, we
determined to remain on the spot for the night. Our anxiety for the
life of this excellent animal had well nigh led us to pass unobserved
one of the most singular curiosities in nature--a cross of crystallized
quartz in the eastern face of a conical mountain!
On the western side of the stream which we were following down, were a
collection of butes or conical peaks clustered around one, the top of
which was somewhat in the form of the gable end of an ancient church.
This cluster was flanked on each side by vast rolls or swells of earth
and rock, which rose so high as to be capped with snow. In the distance
to the West, were seen through the openings between the butes, a number
of spiral peaks that imagination could have said formed the western
front of a vast holy edifice of the eternal hills. On the eastern face
of the gable bute were two transverse seams of what appeared to be
crystallized quartz. The upright was about sixty feet in length, the
cross seam about twenty feet, thrown {257} athwart the upright near
its top and lying parallel to the plane of the horizon. I viewed it as
the sun rose over the eastern mountains and fell upon the glittering
crystals of this emblem of the Saviour's suffering, built with the
foundations and treasured in the bosom of these granite solitudes.
A cross in a church, however fallen we may suppose it to be from the
original purity of worship, excites, as it should, in the minds of all
reasonable men, a sacred awe arising from the remembrance of the scene
in Judea which spread darkness like the night over the earth and the
sun. But how much more impressive was this cross of living rock--on the
temple of nature where priest never trod; the symbol of redeeming love,
engraven when Eden was unscathed with sin, by God's own hand on the
brow of his everlasting mountains.
The trappers have reverently named this peak, the "Mountain of the Holy
Cross."[133] It is about eight hundred feet in height above the level
of the little brook, which runs a few rods from its base. The upper end
of the cross is about one hundred feet below the summit. There are many
dark {258} and stately groves of pine and balsam fir in the vicinity.
About the brooks grow the black alder, the laurel, and honeysuckle, and
a great variety of wild flowers adorn the crevices of the rocks. The
virgin snows of ages whiten the lofty summits around; the voice of the
low murmuring rivulets trembles in the sacred silence: "O solitude,
thou art here," the lip moves to speak. "Pray, kneel, adore," one seems
to hear softly breathed in every breeze. "It is holy ground."
26th. On march at six o'clock and travelled down the small stream which
had accompanied us on the 24th and 25th. As we advanced, the valleys
opened, and the trees, pine, fir, white oak, cotton wood, quaking-asp,
&c., became larger and taller. The wild flowers and grass became more
luxuriant. As we were on an Indian trail, our course was as nearly a
right line as the eye of that race could trace among the lower hills.
Hence we often left the stream and crossed the wood swells, not hills,
not mountains; but vast swelling tracts of land that rise among these
vales like half buried spheres, on which, frequently for miles about
us, pine and fir trees of the largest {259} size had been prostrated
by the winds. To leap our animals over these, and among them, and into
them, and out of them, and still among them, floundering, tearing packs
and riders--running against knots and tumbling upon splintery stubs and
rocks, were among the amusements of getting through them. The groves of
small quaking-asp too, having been killed by the elk, in some places
had fallen across our track so thickly that it became necessary to
raise the foot over one at almost every step.
Here my Puebla mare performed many a feat of "high and lofty tumbling."
She could leap the large pines, one at a time, with satisfaction to
herself, that was worthy of her blood. But to step, merely step,
over one small tree and then over another, seemed to be too much
condescension. Accordingly she took a firm unalterable stand upon
her reserved rights, from which neither pulling nor whipping seemed
likely to move her. At length she yielded, as great men sometimes do,
her own opinion of constitutional duty to the will of the people, and
leaped among them with a desperation that ought to have annihilated a
square mile of such obstacles. But instead {260} thereof, she turned a
somersault into about the same quantity of them, and there lay "alone
in her glory," till she was tumbled out and set up again.
The valley, during the day's journey, had appeared five miles in
width.[134] On its borders hung dark mountains of rock, some of
which lying westward, were tipped with shining ice. Far beyond these
appeared the Anahuac ridge. Snow in the south was yet in sight--none
seen in the east north. The valley itself was much broken, with minor
rocky declivities, bursting up between the "swells," and with fields
of large loose stones laid bare by the torrents. The buffalo were seen
grazing in small detached herds on the slopes of the mountains near the
lower line of snow, those green fields of the skies. Many "elk signs,"
tracks, &c., were met; but none of these animals were seen. Our guide
informed me that their habit is to "follow the snow." In other words,
that as the snow in summer melts away from the lowlands, they follow
its retiring banks into the mountains; and when it begins in autumn to
descend again, they descend with it, and pass the winter in the valley.
{261} He also accounted for the absence of the male deer in a similar
way; and added that the does, when they bring forth their young,
forsake their male companions until the kids are four or five months
old; and this for the reason that the unnatural male is disposed to
destroy his offspring during the period of its helplessness. Some rain
fell to-day.
27th. We commenced our march this morning at six o'clock, travelled,
as our custom usually was, till the hour of eleven, and then halted to
breakfast, on the bank of the stream. The face of the country along
the morning's trail was much the same as that passed over the day
before; often beautiful, but oftener sublime. Vast spherical swells
covered with buffalo, and wild flowering glens echoing the voices of a
thousand cascades, and countless numbers of lofty peaks crowding the
sky, will give perhaps a faint idea of it. As the stream that we had
been following bore to the westward of our course, we in the afternoon
struck across a range of low hills to another branch of it that came
down from the eastern mountains, and encamped upon its banks. These
hills were composed of hard gravel, covered with two or three inches
of {262} black loam. In the deep vales the mountain torrents had swept
away the soil, and left the strata bare for miles along their courses.
The mountain flax and the large thistle flourished everywhere. The
timber was the same in kind as we had passed the three last days. The
groves were principally confined to the lower portions of the ravines
which swept down from the snowy heights. The Anahuac range in the west
appeared to dip deeper in the horizon, and recede farther from us.
One half only of its altitude as seen from the dividing ridges was
now visible. We were doubtless lessening our own altitude materially,
but the difference in the apparent height of this ridge was in part
produced by its increased distance. It had evidently begun to tend
rapidly towards the Pacific.
An aged knight of the order of horns strode across our path near four
o'clock, and by his princely bearing invited our trapper to a tilt.
His Kentucky blood could not be challenged with impunity. He dropped
upon one knee--drew a close sight--clove the bull's heart in twain,
and sent him groaning upon the sand. He was very poor, but as we had
reason to fear that we were leaving the buffalo {263} "beat," it was
deemed prudent to increase the weight of our pack with the better
portion of his flesh. Accordingly the tongue, heart, leaf fat and the
"fleece" were taken, and were being lashed to our mule, when an attack
of bilious bravery seized our giant in the extremities, and he began
to kick and beat his horse for presuming to stand upon four legs, or
some similar act, without his permission, in such gallant style, that
our mule on which the meat was placed, leaped affrighted from us
and dropped it on the sand. We were all extremely vexed at this, and
I believe made some disparaging comparisons between the intellects
of asses and tyrants. Whether our mule or Smith felt most aggrieved
thereby we were never informed. But the matter was very pleasantly
disposed of by our benevolent old guide. He turned the meat with his
foot and kicked it good-naturedly from him, saying in his blandest
manner, "No dirt in the mounting but sand; the teeth can't go that;"
and mounted his horse for the march. We travelled twenty miles and
encamped.
28th. Eighteen miles down the small valleys between the sharp and
rugged hills; crossed a number of small streams running {264} westward.
The mountains along our way differed in character from any we had
heretofore passed. Some of them were composed entirely of earth, and
semi-elliptical in form; others embraced thousands of acres of what
seemed to be mere elevations of fine brown gravel, rising swell above
swell, and sweeping away to the height of two thousand feet, destitute
of timber save a few slender strips which grew along the rills that
trickled at long intervals down their sides.[135] We encamped again on
the bank of the main stream. It was one hundred yards in width; water a
foot and a half deep, current six miles the hour.
29th. To-day we struck Grand River, (the great southern branch of the
Colorado of the west), twenty miles from our last night's encampment.
It is here three hundred yards wide; current, six miles the hour;
water, from six to ten feet in depth, transparent, but, like the
atmosphere, of much higher temperature than we had met with since
leaving the Arkansas. The valleys that lie upon this stream and some
of its tributaries, are called by the hunters "The Old Park." If the
qualifying term were omitted, they would be well described by their
name.[136] Extensive meadows running {265} up the valleys of the
streams, woodlands skirting the mountain bases and dividing the plains,
over which the antelope, black and white-tailed deer, the English hare,
the big horn or mountain sheep, the grisly, grey, red and black bears,
and the buffalo and elk range--a splendid park indeed; not old, but new
as in the first fresh morning of the creation.
Here also are found the prairie and the large grey wolf, the American
panther, beaver, polecat, and land otter. The grisly bear is the
largest and most ferocious--with hair of a dirty-brown colour, slightly
mixed with those of a yellowish white. The males not unfrequently weigh
five or six hundred pounds. The grey bear is less in size, hair nearly
black, interspersed along the shoulders and hips with white. The red
is still less, according to the trappers, and of the colour indicated
by the name. The black bear is the same in all respects as those
inhabiting the States. The prairie dog is also found here, a singular
animal, partially described in a previous page; but as they may be
better known from Lieutenant Pike's description of them, I shall here
introduce it:[137] "They live in towns and villages, having an evident
police established {266} in their communities. The sites of these
towns are generally on the brow of a hill, near some creek or pond,
in order to be convenient to water and to be exempt from inundation.
Their residence is in burrows, which descend in spiral form." The
Lieutenant caused one hundred and forty kettles of water to be poured
into one of their holes in order to drive out the occupant, but failed.
"They never travel more than half a mile from their homes, and readily
associate with rattlesnakes. They are of a dark brown colour, except
their bellies, which are red. They are something larger than a grey
squirrel, and very fat; supposed to be graminivorous. Their villages
sometimes extend over two or three miles square, in which there must
be innumerable hosts of them, as there is generally a burrow every ten
steps. As you approach the towns, you are saluted on all sides by the
cry of "_wishtonwish_," uttered in a shrill piercing manner."
The birds of these regions are the sparrow-hawk, the jack-daw, a
species of grouse of the size of the English grouse; colour brown, a
tufted head, and limbs feathered to the feet; the raven, very large,
turkey, turkey-buzzards, geese, all the varieties of ducks {267} known
in such latitudes, the bald and grey eagle, meadow lark and robin red
breast. Of reptiles, the small striped lizard, horned frog and garter
snake are the most common. Rattlesnakes are said to be found among the
cliffs, but I saw none.
We forded Grand River, and encamped in the willows on the northern
shore. The mountains in the west, on which the snow was lying, were
still in sight. The view to the east and south was shut in by the
neighbouring hills; to the north and north-east it was open, and in the
distance appeared the Wind River and other mountains, in the vicinity
of the 'Great Gap.'[138]
During the evening, while the men were angling for trout, Kelly gave
me some account of Grand River and the Colorado of the west. Grand
River, he said, is a branch of the Colorado.[139] It rises far in the
east among the precipitous heights of the eastern range of the Rocky
Mountains, about midway from the Great Gap and the Kenyon of the south
Fork of the Platte. It interlocks the distance of sixty miles with the
waters of the Great Platte; its course to the point where we crossed,
is nearly due west. Thence it continues in a west by north course one
hundred and {268} sixty miles, where it breaks through the Anahuac
Ridge. The cliffs of this Kenyon are said to be many hundred feet high,
and overhanging; within them is a series of cascades, which, when the
river is swollen by the freshets in June, roar like Niagara.[140]
After passing this Kenyon, it is said to move with a dashing, foaming
current in a westerly direction fifty miles, where it unites with Green
River, or Sheetskadee, and forms the Colorado of the west. From the
junction of these branches the Colorado has a general course from the
north-east to the south-west, of seven hundred miles to the head of
the Gulf of California. Four hundred of this seven hundred miles is an
almost unbroken chasm of Kenyon, with perpendicular sides, hundreds of
feet in height, at the bottom of which the waters rush over continuous
cascades. This Kenyon terminates thirty miles above the Gulf. To this
point the river is navigable.[141] The country on each side of its
whole course is a rolling desert of brown loose earth, on which the
rains and dews never fall.
A few years since, two Catholic Missionaries and their servants, on
their way from the mountains to California, attempted to descend the
Colorado. They have never {269} been seen since the morning they
commenced their fatal undertaking.[142] A party of trappers and
others made a strong boat and manned it well, with the determination
of floating down the river to take the beaver, which they supposed
to live along its banks; but they found themselves in such danger
after entering the kenyon, that with might and main they thrust their
trembling boat ashore, and succeeded in leaping upon the crags, and
lightening it before it was swallowed in the dashing torrent. But the
death which they had escaped in the stream, still threatened them on
the crags. Perpendicular and overhanging rocks frowned above them;
these they could not ascend. They could not cross the river; they
could not ascend the river, and the foaming cascades below forbade the
thought of committing themselves again to their boat.
Night came on, and the difficulty of keeping their boat from being
broken to pieces on the rocks, increased the anxieties of their
situation. They must have passed a horrible night; so full of fearful
expectations, of the certainty of starvation on the crags, or drowning
in the stream. In the morning, however, they examined the rocks again,
and found a small projecting crag {270} some twenty feet above them,
over which, after many efforts, they threw their small boat-rope and
drew the noose tight. One of their number then climbed to explore. He
found a platform above the crag, of sufficient size to contain his six
companions, and a narrow chasm in the overhanging wall through which it
appeared possible to pass to the upper surface. Having all reached the
platform, they unloosed their lasso, and, bracing themselves as well as
they could, with their rifles in the moving, dry earth beneath their
feet, they undertook the ascent. It was so steep that they were often
in danger of being plunged together in the abyss below. But by digging
steps in the rocks, (where they could be dug with their rifle-barrels),
and by making use of their lasso where it could be used, they reached
the upper surface near sunset, and made their way back to the place of
departure.[143]
This is a mountain legend, interesting, indeed, but--
"I cannot tell how the truth may be,
I tell the tale as 'twas told to me:"
At daylight, on the 30th, our cavalcade was moving across the woody
ridges and verdant valleys between the crossings of {271} Grand River
and its great north fork.[144] We struck that stream about ten o'clock.
Its water was beautifully clear, average depth two feet, and current
four miles the hour. It is said to take its rise in the mountains, near
the south side of the 'Great Gap,' and to flow, in a south-westerly
course, through a country of broken and barren plains, into Grand
River, twenty miles below the crossings. We ascended rapidly all the
day. There was no trail to guide us; but our worthy guide knew every
mountain-top in sight. Bee lines through immense fields of wild sage
and wormwood, and over gravelly plains--a short halt for a short
breakfast--constant spurring, and trotting, and driving, deposited
us at sunset, at the foot of a lofty mountain, clothed with heavy
timber. This was the dividing ridge between the waters of Grand and
Green Rivers. It was necessary to cross it. We therefore, turned out
the animals to feed, ate a scanty morsel of dried meat, and went to
our couches, for the strength requisite for the task. About the middle
of the night the panthers on the mountain gave us a specimen of their
growling capacities. It was a hideous noise: deep and broken by the
most unearthly screams! They were gathering for prey; {272} for our
horses and ourselves. We drove up the animals, however, tied them near
the camp, built a large and bright fire, and slept till daylight.
At sunrise, on the morning of the 31st, we stood on the summit of the
mountain, at the base of which we had slept the previous night.[145]
It was the very place from which I wished to view the outline of the
valley of Grand River, and the snowy ridge of the Anahuac; and it
was as favourable an hour for my purpose as I could have selected
from the whole day. The sun had just risen over the eastern heights,
sufficiently to give the valley of the Grand River to the south-east of
me, those strong contrasts of light and shade which painters know so
well how to use when sketching a mountain scene at early morning, or
when the sun is half hidden at night. The peaks were bright, the deep
shadows sprang off from the western sides, above faintly, and deepening
as they descended to the bases, where the deep brown of the rocks and
earth gave the vales the semblance of undisturbed night.
The depression of the valley, as I have termed it, was in truth a
depression of a vast tract of mountains; not unto a plane {273} or
vale; but a great ravine of butes and ridges, decreasing in height from
the limit of vision in the north-east, east and south--and falling one
below another toward the stream, into the diminutive bluffs on its
banks. The valley below the crossing was less distinctly seen. Its
general course only could be distinguished among the bare hills upon
its borders. But the great main chain, or Anahuac range, came sweeping
up from the Arkansas more sublime, if possible, in its aspect than
when viewed from the heights farther south. It was about one hundred
miles distant, the length of the section in view about one hundred and
sixty; not a speck on all its vast outline. It did not show as glaciers
do; but like a drift of newly-fallen snow heaped on mountains, by some
mighty efforts of the elements; piled from age to age; and from day
to day widening and heightening its untold dimensions. Its width, its
height, its cubic miles, its mass of rock, of earth, of snow, of ice,
of waters ascending in clouds to shower the lowlands or renew its own
robes of frosts, of waters sent rushing to the seas, are some of the
vast items of this sublimity of existence. The light of the rising
{274} sun falling upon it through the remarkable transparent atmosphere
of these regions, made the view exceedingly distinct. The intervening
space was thickly dotted with lesser peaks, which, in the lengthened
distance, melted into an apparent plain. But the elevation of the great
Anahuac ridge, presenting its broad, white side to the morning light in
that dry, clear, upper air, seemed as distinctly seen as the tree at
my side. In the north-west it manifestly tended toward the north end
of the Great Salt Lake. But I must leave this absorbing scene for the
journey of the day. The ascent of the dividing ridge, from which I took
this extensive survey of all this vast, unknown, unexplored portion of
the mountains, was comparatively easy. We threaded, indeed, some half
dozen precipices in going up, within an inch of graves five hundred
feet deep. Yet, as none of us lost our brains on the rocks below, these
narrow and slippery paths can not be remembered in connexion with
incidents either remarkable or sad.
With this notice of mountain turnpikes, I shall be obliged to my
readers to step along with me over the bold summit and look at the
descent, yes, the _descent_, my friends. {275} It is a bold one: one
of the men said "four miles of perpendicular;" and so it was. Or if
it was not, it ought to have been, for many very good reasons of
mathematical propriety that are as difficult to write as to comprehend.
It was partially covered with bushes and trees, and a soft vegetable
mould that yielded to our horses' feet, but we, by dint of holding,
bracing, and sliding, arrived safely at the bottom, and jogged on
merrily six or seven miles over barren ridges, rich plains, and woody
hills to the head of Tumbleton park. We had turned out our animals to
eat, hung our camp-kettle over the fire to boil some bits of grisly
meat that we had found among the rubbish of our packs, and were resting
our wearied frames in the shade of the willows, conversing about the
tracts which we had seen five miles back; one supposing that they were
made by Indians, the Arrapahoes or the Shoshonies, while our old guide
insisted that they were made by white men's horses! and assigned as a
reason for this opinion, that no Indians could be travelling in that
direction, and that one of the horses had shoes on its fore feet; when
the Arrapahoe war-whoop and the clattering of hoofs upon the side hill
above, brought us to our feet, rifle in hand, {276} for a conflict.
Kelly seemed for a moment to be in doubt as to his own conclusions
relative to the tracks, and as to the colour of those unceremonious
visitors. But as they dashed up, he leaped the brook, and seized the
hands of three old fellow-trappers. It was a joyful meeting. They had
often stood side by side in battle, and among the solemn mountains dug
the lonely grave of some slaughtered companion, and together sent the
avenging lead into the hearts of the Blackfeet. They were more than
brothers, and so they met. We shared with them our last scraps of meat.
They informed us that they had fallen in with our trail, and followed
us under a belief that we were certain friends whom they were expecting
from St. Louis with goods for the post at Brown's Hole; that the
Arrapahoes were fattening on buffalo in the Bull Pen, on the north
fork of the Platte;[146] that the Shoshonies or Snakes were starving
on roots on Great Bear River; that the Blackfeet and Sioux were in the
neighbourhood; that there was no game in the mountains except on the
head waters of Snake River; and that they themselves were a portion of
a party of white men, Indians, and squaws, on their way to Bent's Fort
on the {277} Arkansas, to meet Mr. Thomson with the goods before named;
that we might reasonably anticipate starvation and the arrows of the
Sioux, and other kindred comforts along our journey to Brown's Hole.
Mr. Craig, the chief of the party, and part owner with Mr. Thomson,
assured us that the grass on the Columbia was already dry and scarce;
and if there should prove to be enough to sustain our horses on the
way down, that the snows on the Blue Mountains would prevent us from
reaching Vancouver till the spring, and kindly invited us to pass the
winter at his post. After two hours' tarry with us he and his party
returned to their camp.
Tumbleton's Park is a beautiful savannah, stretching north-westerly
from our camp in an irregular manner among groves of pine, spruce, fir,
and oak.[147] Three hundred yards from us rose Tumbleton's Rock, one
of those singular spires found in the valley of the mountains, called
Butes. It was about eighty feet in height, twenty feet in diameter at
the base, and terminated at the top in a point. Soon after our new
acquaintances had left us, we "caught up" and struck across the hills
in a north-easterly course toward the north fork of Little Bear River.
The travelling was very rough, now among {278} fields of loose stones
and bushes, and now among dense forests; no trail to aid us in finding
our way; new ground even to our guide. But he was infallible.
Two hours' riding had brought us upon an Indian trail that he had heard
of ten years before; and on we rushed among the fallen pines, two feet,
three feet in diameter, raised, as you see, one foot, two feet from the
ground. The horses and mules are testing their leaping powers. Over
they go, and tip off riders and packs, &c., &c. A merry time this.
There goes my Puebla mare, head, heels, and neck, into an acre of crazy
logs. Ho, halt! Puebla's down, mortally wounded with want of strength!
She's unpacked, and out in a trice; we move on again. Ho! whistle that
mule into the track! he'll be off that ledge there. Move them on! move!
cut down that sapling by the low part of that fallen tree! drive over
Puebla! There she goes! long legs a benefit in bestriding forests.
Hold! hold! hold! that pack-horse yonder has anchored upon a pine!
Dismount! back her out! she has hung one side of herself and pack upon
that knot! away! ho! But silence! a deer springs up in yonder thicket!
Kelly creeps forward--halt! hush! {279} hu! Ah! the varlet! he is
gone; a murrain on his fat loins! a poor supper we'll have to-night!
no meat left, not a particle; nor coffee, tea, nor salt! custom of
society here to starve! suppose you will conform! Stay, here's trouble!
but they move! one goes down well! another, another, and another! My
Puebla mare, reader, that six foot frame standing there, hesitating
to descend that narrow track around the precipice! she goes over it!
bravely done! A ten feet leap! and pack and all stuck in the mud. That
mule, also, is down in the quagmire! a lift at the pack there, man!
the active, tireless creature! he's up and off. Guide, this forest is
endless! shan't get out to-night. But here we go merrily onward! It
is dark enough for the frogs of Egypt! Halt! halt! ho! Puebla down
again--laid out among the logs! Pull away upon that pack there, man!
help the sinner to her feet again for another attempt to kill herself.
Beautiful pines, firs, and hemlocks, these, reader; but a sack of
hurricanes has been let loose among them not long since. The prostrate
shingle timber, eh? 'twould cover a roof over the city of London; and
make a railroad to run the Thames into Holland. Halt! halt! unpack! we
camp here to-night.
{280} A little prairie this, embosomed, nestled, &c., among the sweet
evergreen woodlands. Wait a little now, reader, till we turn these
animals loose to feed, and we'll strike up a fire wherewithal to dry
our wet garments, and disperse a portion of this darkness. It is
difficult kindling this wet bark. Joseph, sing a song; find a hollow
tree; get some dry leaves. That horse is making into the forest! better
tie him to a bough! That's it; Joseph, that's a youthful blaze! give it
strength! feed it oxygen! it grows. Now for our guest. Seat yourself,
sir, on that log; rather damp comfort--the best we have--homespun
fare--the ton of the country! We're in the primeval state, sir. We
regret our inability to furnish you food, sir. But as we have not, for
the last few days indulged much in that merely animal gratification, we
beg you to accommodate yourself with a dish of Transcendentalism; and
with us await patiently a broiled steak a few days along the track of
time to come.
It was ten o'clock at night when we arrived at this encampment. It had
been raining in torrents ever since nightfall. The rippling of a small
stream had guided us after the darkness shut in. Drenched with rain,
{281} shivering with cold, destitute of food, and with the appetite of
wolves, we availed ourselves of the only comforts within our reach--a
cheering pine-knot fire, and such sleep as we could get under the open
heavens in a pelting storm.
The general face of the country through which the afternoon's travel
had carried us, was much broken; but the inequalities, or hills and
valleys, to a very considerable extent, were covered with a rich
vegetable loam, supporting a heavy growth of pine, spruce, quaking-asp,
&c. The glades that intervened were more beautiful than I had seen.
Many were covered with a heavy growth of timothy or herds grass, and
red top in blossom. Large tracts in the skirts of the timber were
thickly set with Sweet-Sicily. The mountain flax was very abundant. I
had previously seen it in small patches only; but here it covered acres
as densely as it usually stands in fields, and presented the beautiful
sheet of blue blossoms so graceful to the lords of the plough.
I had noticed some days previously, a few blades of the grasses just
named, standing in a clump of bushes; but we were riding rapidly, and
could not stop to examine {282} them, and I was disposed to think that
my sight had deceived me. What! the tame grasses of Europe, all that
are valuable for stock, the best and most sought by every intelligent
farmer in Christendom; these indigenous to the vales of the Rocky
mountains? It was even so.
August 1st. As our horses had found little to eat during the past
night, and seemed much worn by the exceeding fatigues of the previous
day, we at early dawn drew them around our camp, loaded the strongest
of them with our packs, and led and drove the poor animals through
three miles more of standing and fallen timber, to the opening on
Little Bear River, and turned them loose to feed upon the first good
grass that we found.[148] It chanced to be in one of Kelly's old
encampments; where he had, some years before, fortified himself with
logs, and remained seven days with a sick fellow trapper. At that time
the valley was alive with hostile Indians; but the good man valued the
holy principles of humanity more than his life, and readily put it at
hazard to save that of his companion. "A fearful time that," said he;
"the redskins saw every turn of our heads during those seven days and
nights. But I baited our horses within {283} reach of my rifle during
the day, and put them in that pen at night; so that they could not rush
off with them, without losing their brains. The buffalo were plenty
here then. The mountains were then rich. The bulls were so bold that
they would come close to the fence there at night, and bellow and roar
till I eased them of their blood by a pill of lead in the liver. So you
see I did not go far for meat. Now, the mountains are so poor that one
would stand a right good chance of starving, if he were obliged to hang
up here for seven days. The game is all driven out. No place here for a
white man now. Too poor, too poor. What little we get, you see, is bull
beef. Formerly, we ate nothing but cows, fat and young. More danger
then, to be sure; but more beaver too; and plenty of grease about the
buffalo ribs. Ah! those were good times; but a white man has no more
business here."
Our general course since entering the mountains at the Arkansas, had
been north-west by west. It now changed to north-west by north. Our
horses and mules, having eaten to their satisfaction the rich grass
about our guide's old encampment, we moved on down Little Bear River.
The {284} country, as we descended, became more and more barren.
The hills were destitute of timber and grasses; the plains bore nothing
but prickly pear and wild wormwood. The latter is a shrub growing
from two to six feet in height. It branches in all directions from
the root. The main stem is from two to four inches in diameter at the
ground, the bark rough, of a light greyish colour and very thin. The
wood is firm, fine grained, and difficult to break. The leaves are
larger, but resemble in form and colour those of the common wormwood
of the gardens. The flavour is that of a compound of garden wormwood
and sage: hence it has received the names of "wild wormwood" and "wild
sage." Its stiff and knotty branches are peculiarly unpleasant to the
traveller among them. It stands so thickly over thousands of acres of
the mountain valleys, that it is well nigh impossible to urge a horse
through it; and the individual who is rash enough to attempt it, will
himself be likely to be deprived of his moccasins, and his horse of his
natural covering of his legs. There are two species of the prickly pear
(cactus) here. The one is the plant of low growth, thick elliptical
leaves armed with thorns, {285} the same as is found in the gardens of
certain curious people in the States; the other is of higher growth,
often reaching three feet; the colour is a deep green. It is a columnar
plant without a leaf; the surface of the stalk is checked into diamonds
of the most perfect proportions, swelling regularly from the sides to
the centre. At the corners of these figures grow strong thorns, from
an inch to an inch and a half in length. Six inches from the ground,
branches shoot from the parent stalk in all directions, making an angle
with it of about forty-five degrees, and growing shorter as the point
of union with the central stalk increases in height. The consistency
of the whole plant is alternately pulpy and fibrous. We were making
our tedious way among these thorny companions, musing upon our empty
stomachs, when we were overtaken by two men, a squaw and child, from
Craig's party. They made their camp with us at night. Nothing to eat,
starving and weak; we followed the example of the squaw, in eating the
inner portion of large thistle-stalks.
2nd. We rose at daybreak, somewhat refreshed by sleep, but weak,
weak, having eaten but little for four days. The longings {286} of
appetite--they are horrible! Our guide was used to long fasts, and was
therefore little incommoded. He, however, had been out with his rifle,
since the peep of day, and as we were lifting the packs upon our mules,
it cracked in the direction of the trail we were about to travel. We
hastened away to him with the eagerness of starving men, and found him
resting unconcernedly upon his rifle, waiting for us to enjoy with him
the roasted loins of an elk, which had tumbled from a neighbouring
cliff, in obedience to his unerring aim.
Leaving his saddle-horse to pack the meat on, passed along a mile,
and encamped among the willows on the bank of Little Bear River. The
first work, after turning loose our animals, was to build a fire to
cook meat. Our squaw companion thought otherwise. She selected a place
for her camp beneath the willows, cleared a spot wide enough for her
bed, formed an arch of the boughs overhead, covered it with a piece of
buffalo tent leather, unloosed her infant from its prison, and laid
it upon skins in the shade she had formed. After this, the horses of
herself and husband were unharnessed, and turned loose to feed. She
was a good, cleanly, affectionate body, {287} equally devoted to the
happiness of her child, husband, and horses; and seemed disposed to
initiate us into every little piece of knowledge that would enable us
to discover the wild edible roots of the country, the best method of
taking fish, hoppling horses, tying knots in ropes, repairing saddles,
&c., which experience had taught her.
Our fire had just begun to burn brightly, when our guide arrived with
the elk. It was very much bruised by its fall from the cliff when
shot. Yet it was meat; it was broiled; it was eaten; it was sweet.
No bread, or vegetables, or salt, to the contrary, it was delicious.
Four days' fasting is confessed to be an excellent panacea for a bad
appetite; and as all good and wholesome rules work both ways, it is
without doubt a _tasteful_ addition to bad food. I must, however, bear
my humble testimony to the fact, that meat alone, unqualified with
gravy, unsprinkled with salt or pepper, unaided by any vegetable or
farinaceous accompaniment, is excellent food for men. It neither makes
them tigers nor crocodiles. On the contrary, it prevents starvation,
when nothing else can be had, and cultivates industry, the parent of
virtue, in all the multiplied departments of the gastric system.
{288} 3rd. Remained in camp all day to refresh our animals, to eat,
and hear yarns of mountain life. During these conversations, the great
dangers of a residence among the mountains was often reverted to. One
class of them was said to arise from the increasing scarcity of buffalo
and beaver among them. This circumstance compelled the trappers to
move over a wide range of country, and consequently, multiplied the
chances of falling in with the Sioux and Blackfeet, their deadliest
enemies--enemies on whom no dependence could be placed other than
this, that they always fight well whenever and wherever met. Our new
friends related, in this connexion, the death of one of their old
companions, a brave old trapper of the name of Redman. This man, and
another called Markhead, were trapping on the head-waters of Green
River, when they were discovered by a war party of young Sioux, and
robbed of their horses. This was a great annoyance to them. The loss
of the value of their animals was inconvenient for the poor men; but
the loss of their services in transporting their traps and furs, and
"possibles," (clothing, cooking utensils, &c.,) was severely felt. It
was necessary to recover them, or "_cache_;" that is, bury in some
secret place in the dry sand, {289} their remaining property: forsake
their hunt, and abandon all their prospects of gain for the season.
Redman had lived with the Sioux, and relying on their former friendship
for him in their village, determined to go with Markhead, and attempt
to reason a Sioux war party into a surrender of their plunder. They
approached them rifle in hand, and held a parley near the Pilot
Bute.[149] The result was, that the Indians demanded and obtained their
rifles, discharged them at their owners, killed Redman instantly, and
severely wounded his companion. This occurred in the spring of 1839.
4th. We were early on route this morning, down the banks of Little Bear
River; course north-west. Our track lay so low, that the mountains were
seldom seen. A portion of the Anahuac ridge in the south-west, was
the only height constantly in view. The plains, as they are called,
on either side of the river, were cut into vast ravines and bluffs.
In their side sometimes appeared a thin stratum of slate. Few other
rocky strata were seen during a march of fifteen miles. About twelve
o'clock, we came upon a cave formed by the limestone and sulphur
deposit of a small stream that burst from a hill hard by. The water
had, {290} by constant depositions, formed an elevated channel some
five rods down the face of the hillside, at the termination of which
it spread itself over a circular surface of one hundred and fifty
or two hundred feet in circumference. In the centre of this, was an
orifice, down which the water trickled into the cave below. As little
of the cave could be seen from the ground above, myself and two others
attempted to explore it. We found the roof hung with beautifully
crystallized sulphur, and the bottom strewn with large quantities of
the same material in a pulverized state. The odour was so offensive,
however, that we were glad to retreat before we had formed a very
perfect estimate of its extent and contents. It was about six rods
long, eight feet wide, and four feet high. Near it were a number of
warm springs. On the bluff, a few rods above it, was a small tract
of fused rocks. In all the circle of vision, however, there were no
elevations that indicate any powerful volcanic action in former times;
nor any from which these rocks could have tumbled or been thrown. The
warm springs, however, in the vicinity may, perhaps, indicate their
origin.
The face of the country passed to-day {291} was dry and barren. A
single quaking-asp tree here and there on the sterile bottom lands, and
small strips of cotton wood, whose tops peered from the deep gorges
just above the level of the wormwood plains, and a few withered patches
of the wild grasses among the patched bluffs, present its whole aspect.
The sun had nearly set before we arrived at the desired place of
encampment, the junction of the two principal forks of Little Bear
River.[150] When within half a mile of it, one of the trappers who had
joined us, suddenly started his horse into a quick gallop in advance
of the rest of the party. We were surprised by this sudden movement,
and hastened after him. As we rose a sharp knoll, our surprise was
changed to pleasure on seeing him in friendly converse with a white
face, a fellow-trapper, one of the "white men" of the mountains. He
was a French Canadian, fourteen days from Brown's Hole. We were soon
across the river, and in his camp among the cotton-wood. Here we found
three others to welcome us, and give us information of the movements
of the Indians. They had been attacked by a Sioux war party, a few
days before on Little Snake River, but had escaped {292} with no other
loss than that of a hat and a favourite dog. Their opinion was that we
should have the pleasure of meeting them on their way to Brown's Hole.
This prospect was extremely gratifying to our noble old Kentucky guide.
"D--n them," said he; "I'll try to pick up one of the rascals. Redman
was as fine a fellow as ever came to the mountains, and they shot him
with his own rifle. He was a fool to let them have it; he ought to have
shot one of them, d--n 'em, and then died, if he must."
Our elk meat was diminishing fast, under the kind administration of
our own and our friends' appetites; and the certain prospect that we
should obtain no more for eight days was a source of no inconsiderable
uneasiness to us. And yet we gave Ward, Burns, the squaw, and the four
French trappers, being destitute of food, as freely as they would have
given to us under similar circumstances, the best piece, and as much as
they would eat for supper and breakfast. These solitary Frenchmen were
apparently very happy. Neither hunger nor thirst annoy them, so long
as they have strength to travel, and trap, and sing. Their camps are
always merry, and they cheer {293} themselves along the weary march in
the wilderness with the wild border songs of "Old Canada." The American
trappers present a different phase of character. Habitual watchfulness
destroys every frivolity of mind and action. They seldom smile: the
expression of their countenances is watchful, solemn, and determined.
They ride and walk like men whose breasts have so long been exposed to
the bullet and the arrow, that fear finds within them no resting-place.
If a horse is descried in the distance, they put spurs to their
animals, and are at his side at once, as the result may be, for death
or life. No delay, no second thought, no cringing in their stirrups;
but erect, firm, and with a strong arm, they seize and overcome every
danger, or "perish," as they say, "as white men should," fighting
promptly and bravely.
5th. This morning we were to part with Burns and Ward, and the French
trappers. The latter pursued their way to the "Old Park," as they
called the valley of Grand River, in pursuit of beaver; the former
went into the heights in the south-west, for the same object, and
the additional one of waiting there the departure of the Sioux and
Blackfeet. These Americans had interested {294} us in themselves by
their frankness and kindness; and before leaving them, it was pleasant
to know that we could testify our regard for them by increasing
their scanty stock of ammunition. But for every little kindness of
this description, they sought to remunerate us tenfold, by giving us
moccasins, dressed deer and elk skins, &c. Every thing, even their
hunting shirts upon their backs, were at our service;--always kindly
remarking when they made an offer of such things, that "the country was
filled with skins, and they could get a supply when they should need
them."
About ten o'clock, we bade these fearless and generous fellows a
farewell as hearty and honest as any that was ever uttered; wishing
them a long and happy life in their mountain home; and they bade us a
pleasant and prosperous journey. We took up our march again down Little
Bear River for Brown's Hole. It was six or eight "camps," or days'
travel, ahead of us; the way infested with hostile Indians--destitute
of game and grass; a horrid journey! We might escape the Sioux; we
might kill one of our horses, and so escape death by starvation! But
these few chances of saving our lives were enough. Dangers of {295}
the kind were not so appalling to us then as they would have been when
leaving the frontier. We had been sixty odd days among the fresh trails
of hostile tribes, in hourly expectation of hearing the war-whoop
raised around us; and certain that if attacked by a war party of the
ordinary number, we should be destroyed. We had, however, crept upon
every height which we had crossed with so much caution, and examined
the plains below with so much care, and when danger appeared near,
wound our way among the timber and heights till we had passed it with
so much success, that our sense of danger was blunted to that degree,
and our confidence in our ability to avoid it so great, that I verily
believe we thought as little of Indians as we did of the lizards along
our track.
We still clung to the stream. It was generally about fifty yards
wide, a rapid current, six inches deep, rushing over a bed of loose
rocks and gravel, and falling at the rate of about two hundred feet
to the mile. During the day, a grisly bear and three cubs and an elk
showed themselves. One of the men gave chase to the bears, with the
intention of killing one of them for food; but they eluded his pursuit
by running into brush, through which a horse {296} could not penetrate
with sufficient speed to overtake them. The man in pursuit, however,
found a charming prize among the brush; a mule--an excellent pack
mule, which would doubtless be worth to him at Brown's Hole £20. It
was feeding quietly, and so tame as to permit him to approach within
ten yards, without even raising its head over the hazel bushes that
partly concealed it. A double prize it was, and so accidental; obtained
at so little expense; ten minutes time only--two pounds a minute! But
alas for the £20! He was preparing to grasp it, and the mule most
suddenly--most wonderfully--most cruelly metamorphosed itself into an
elk! fat as marrow itself, and sufficient in weight to have fed our
company for twelve days. It fled away, before our "maid and her milk
pail companion" could shake his astonished locks, and send a little
lead after it, by way of entreaty, to supply us starving wretches with
a morsel of meat.
After this incident had imparted its comfort to our disappointed
appetites, we passed on, over, around, in, and among deep ravines,
and parched, sterile, and flinty plains for the remainder of our ten
miles' march, and encamped on the bank of the river. The last of our
meat was here cooked and {297} eaten. A sad prospect! No game ahead, no
provisions in possession. We caught three or four small trout from the
river, for breakfast, and slept.
I had now become much debilitated by want of food and the fatigues of
the journey. I had appropriated my saddle horse to bear the packs that
had been borne by Kelly's before its death; and had, consequently, been
on foot ever since that event, save when my guide could relieve me with
the use of his saddle beast. But as our Spanish servant, the owner and
myself, had only his horse's services to bear us along, the portion
to each was far from satisfying to our exceeding weariness. Blair and
Wood also, had had only one horse from El Puebla. We were, therefore,
in an ill condition to endure a journey of seven days, over a thirsty
country, under a burning sun, and without food.
FOOTNOTES:
[132] This was the upper stretch of Blue River. Rising in the
continental divide, it flows in three branches which unite at Dillon,
Summit County, thence continuing in a north-westerly course, into Grand
River, on the south-western border of Middle Park.--ED.
[133] The present Holy Cross Mountain is a high peak (14,176 feet)
north-west of Leadville and forming the end of the great Sawatch range.
Its cross is formed by longitudinal and transverse chasms generally
filled with snow. The mountain described by Farnham was on the eastern
slopes of the Blue range, in Summit County.--ED.
[134] Farnham was travelling through one of the richest mineral
districts in Colorado. Gold was discovered on the upper tributaries
of the Blue--the Snake, Swan, and Ten Mile creeks--as early as 1859.
Silver and carbonates were later found in the vicinity of Breckenridge.
The entire region is rich in minerals, and there is also considerable
arable land in Blue River valley.--ED.
[135] These were the Williams River Mountains that bound Blue River
valley on the north-east, separating it from Williams Fork, a parallel
tributary of Grand River.--ED.
[136] "Old Park" is that now known as Middle Park--a broad valley fifty
by seventy miles, the source of Grand River, and now embraced in Grand
County, Colorado. Its name "Old Park" is said to have arisen from the
fact that after being persistently worked by hunters the game was
driven into North Park, which was then termed "New Park," whereupon
Middle became "Old Park." See Chittenden, _Fur-Trade_, ii, p. 750.--ED.
[137] See Coues's edition of _Pike's Expeditions_, pp. 430, 431.--ED.
[138] For the South Pass, or "Great Gap," see Wyeth's _Oregon_, in
our volume xxi, p. 58, note 37. Wind River Mountains are noted in
Townsend's _Narrative_ in the same volume, p. 184, note 35.--ED.
[139] Grand River, the eastern tributary of the Colorado, rises
in two branches in Middle Park, flows west, and thence on a long,
south-westward (not north-west) course nearly three hundred and fifty
miles until it unites with the Green, in south-eastern Utah, to form
the Colorado.--ED.
[140] From the place where it leaves Middle Park, to its union with
the Gunnison, Grand River is practically a series of cañons. What is
locally known as Grand River Cañon is a stretch about sixteen miles in
length, above Glenwood Springs, through which runs the Denver and Rio
Grande Railway; it is thought by many to surpass in majesty the Royal
Gorge of the Arkansas.--ED.
[141] This should be three hundred miles, not thirty. For the great
Cañon of the Colorado, see Pattie's _Narrative_ in our volume xviii, p.
137, note 67, and the references therein cited.--ED.
[142] There is apparently no other record of this disaster unless it
may be an imperfect reminiscence of the explorations of the friar
Francisco Garcés, who was murdered (1781) at his mission, not lost on
the river. See Elliott Coues, _On the Trail of a Spanish Pioneer_ (New
York, 1900).--ED.
[143] In 1869, Major J. W. Powell found some wreckage in Lodore
Cañon, on Green River, which Frederick S. Dellenbaugh, _Romance of
the Colorado River_ (New York, 1902), pp. 112, 131, thinks may have
belonged to the party of trappers whose adventures are cited by
Farnham.--ED.
[144] It is difficult to know what stream Farnham intends by the "great
north fork" of the Grand, which has almost no northern tributaries
of any size. Probably the course followed was up Muddy River, a
considerable stream rising in the divide between North and Middle Parks
and for about forty miles flowing south into the Grand, nearly opposite
the mouth of Blue River.--ED.
[145] This must be some pass in Park range, which here forms the
watershed between the Grand and Green systems.--ED.
[146] North (or New) Park was frequently called by trappers the Bull
Pen. It is the source of the North Platte, which rises therein in many
branches, uniting near the north or upper end of the park.--ED.
[147] Probably this is the plateau now known as Egeria Park, at the
upper waters of Little Bear (or Yampah) River.--ED.
[148] Little Bear (more frequently known as Yampah) River rises in the
south-eastern corner of Routt County, flows in a northerly direction
for thirty miles, then bends abruptly westward, and for a hundred miles
drains the north-western corner of Colorado; it enters Green River just
below Lodore Cañon, on the boundary between Colorado and Utah.--ED.
[149] The Three Tetons were sometimes spoken of as Pilot Knobs or
Buttes. See Townsend's _Narrative_ in our volume xxi, p. 209, note
49.--ED.
[150] The forks of the Little Bear are the junction of Elk Head Creek
with the former, not far from the modern town of Craig. The more usual
route to Brown's Hole came over the South Fork of the North Platte,
which heads with Elk Head Creek.--ED.