1834. The Rocky Mountain Company now confined themselves to the country
lying east of the mountains, and upon the head-waters and tributaries of
the Missouri, a country very productive in furs, and furnishing
abundance of game. But it was also the most dangerous of all the
northern fur-hunting territory, as it was the home of those two nations
of desperadoes, the Crows and Blackfeet. During the two years in which
the company may have been said almost to reside there, desperate
encounters and hair-breadth escapes were incidents of daily occurrence
to some of the numerous trapping parties.
The camp had reached the Blackfoot country in the autumn of this year,
and the trappers were out in all directions, hunting beaver in the
numerous small streams that flow into the Missouri. On a small branch of
the Gallatin Fork, some of the trappers fell in with a party of Wyeth's
men, under Joseph Gale. When their neighborhood became known to the
Rocky Mountain camp, Meek and a party of sixteen of his associates
immediately resolved to pay them a visit, and inquire into their
experience since leaving rendezvous. These visits between different
camps are usually seasons of great interest and general rejoicing. But
glad as Gale and his men were to meet with old friends, when the first
burst of hearty greeting was over, they had but a sorry experience to
relate. They had been out a long time. The Blackfeet had used them
badly--several men had been killed. Their guns were out of order, their
ammunition all but exhausted; they were destitute, or nearly so, of
traps, blankets, knives, everything. They were what the Indian and the
mountain-man call "very poor."
Half the night was spent in recounting all that had passed in both
companies since the fall hunt began. Little sympathy did Wyeth's men
receive for their forlorn condition, for sympathy is repudiated by your
true mountaineer for himself, nor will he furnish it to others. The
absurd and humorous, or the daring and reckless, side of a story is the
only one which is dwelt upon in narrating his adventures. The laugh
which is raised at his expense when he has a tale of woes to
communicate, is a better tonic to his dejected spirits than the gentlest
pity would be. Thus lashed into courage again, he is ready to declare
that all his troubles were only so much pastime.
It was this sort of cheer which the trapping party conveyed to Wyeth's
men on this visit, and it was gratefully received, as being of the true
kind.
In the morning the party set out to return to camp, Meek and Liggit
starting in advance of the others. They had not proceeded far when they
were fired on by a large band of Blackfeet, who came upon them quite
suddenly, and thinking these two trappers easy game, set up a yell and
dashed at them. As Meek and Liggit turned back and ran to Gale's camp,
the Indians in full chase charged on them, and rushed pell-mell into the
midst of camp, almost before they had time to discover that they had
surprised so large a party of whites. So sudden was their advent, that
they had almost taken the camp before the whites could recover from the
confusion of the charge.
It was but a momentary shock, however. In another instant the roar of
twenty guns reverberated from the mountains that rose high on either
side of camp. The Blackfeet were taken in a snare; but they rallied and
fell back beyond the grove in which the camp was situated, setting on
fire the dry grass as they went. The fire quickly spread to the grove,
and shot up the pine trees in splendid columns of flame, that seemed to
lick the face of heaven. The Indians kept close behind the fire,
shooting into camp whenever they could approach near enough, the
trappers replying by frequent volleys. The yells of the savages, the
noise of the flames roaring in the trees, the bellowing of the guns,
whose echoes rolled among the hills, and the excitement of a battle for
life, made the scene one long to be remembered with distinctness.
Both sides fought with desperation. The Blackfoot blood was up--the
trapper blood no less. Gale's men, from having no ammunition, nor guns
that were in order, could do little more than take charge of the horses,
which they led out into the bottom land to escape the fire, fight the
flames, and look after the camp goods. The few whose guns were
available, showed the game spirit, and the fight became interesting as
an exhibition of what mountain white men could do in a contest of one to
ten, with the crack warriors of the red race. It was, at any time, a
game party, consisting of Meek, Carson, Hawkins, Gale, Liggit, Rider,
Robinson, Anderson, Russel, Larison, Ward, Parmaley, Wade, Michael Head,
and a few others whose names have been forgotten.
The trappers being driven out of the grove by the fire, were forced to
take to the open ground. The Indians, following the fire, had the
advantage of the shelter afforded by the trees, and their shots made
havoc among the horses, most of which were killed because they could not
be taken. As for the trappers, they used the horses for defence, making
rifle-pits behind them, when no other covert could be found. In this
manner the battle was sustained until three o'clock in the afternoon,
without loss of life to the whites, though several men were wounded.
At three in the afternoon, the Blackfoot chief ordered a retreat,
calling out to the trappers that they would fight no more. Though their
loss had been heavy, they still greatly outnumbered the whites; nor
would the condition of the arms and the small amount of ammunition left
permit the trappers to pursue them. The Indians were severely beaten,
and no longer in a condition to fight, all of which was highly
satisfactory to the victors. The only regret was, that Bridger's camp,
which had become aware during the day that a battle was going on in the
neighborhood, did not arrive early enough to exterminate the whole band.
As it was, the big camp only came up in time to assist in taking care of
the wounded. The destruction of their horses put an end to the
independent existence of Gale's brigade, which joined itself and its
fortunes to Bridger's command for the remainder of the year. Had it not
been for the fortunate visit of the trappers to Gale's camp, without
doubt every man in it would have perished at the hands of the Blackfeet:
a piece of bad fortune not unaccordant with that which seemed to pursue
the enterprises set on foot by the active but unlucky New England
trader.
Not long after this battle with the Blackfeet, Meek and a trapper named
Crow, with two Shawnees, went over into the Crow Country to trap on
Pryor's River, a branch of the Yellowstone. On coming to the pass in the
mountains between the Gallatin Fork of the Missouri and the great bend
in the Yellowstone, called Pryor's Gap, Meek rode forward, with the
mad-cap spirit strong in him, to "have a little fun with the boys," and
advancing a short distance into the pass, wheeled suddenly, and came
racing back, whooping and yelling, to make his comrades think he had
discovered Indians. And lo! as if his yells had invoked them from the
rocks and trees, a war party suddenly emerged from the pass, on the
heels of the jester, and what had been sport speedily became earnest, as
the trappers turned their horses' heads and made off in the direction of
camp. They had a fine race of it, and heard other yells and war-whoops
besides their own; but they contrived to elude their pursuers, returning
safe to camp.
This freak of Meek's was, after all, a fortunate inspiration, for had
the four trappers entered the pass and come upon the war party of Crows,
they would never have escaped alive.
A few days after, the same party set out again, and succeeded in
reaching Pryor's River unmolested, and setting their traps. They
remained some time in this neighborhood trapping, but the season had
become pretty well advanced, and they were thinking of returning to camp
for the winter. The Shawnees set out in one direction to take up their
traps, Meek and Crow in another. The stream where their traps were set
was bordered by thickets of willow, wild cherry, and plum trees, and the
bank was about ten feet above the water at this season of the year.
Meek had his traps set in the stream about midway between two thickets.
As he approached the river he observed with the quick eye of an
experienced mountain-man, certain signs which gave him little
satisfaction. The buffalo were moving off as if disturbed; a bear ran
suddenly out of its covert among the willows.
"I told Crow," said Meek, "that I didn't like to go in there. He laughed
at me, and called me a coward. 'All the same,' I said; I had no fancy
for the place just then--I didn't like the indications. But he kept
jeering me, and at last I got mad and started in. Just as I got to my
traps, I discovered that two red devils war a watching me from the
shelter of the thicket to my left, about two rods off. When they saw
that they war discovered they raised their guns and fired. I turned my
horse's head at the same instant, and one ball passed through his neck,
under the neck bone, and the other through his withers, just forward of
my saddle.
"Seeing that they had not hit me, one of them ran up with a spear to
spear me. My horse war rearing and pitching from the pain of his wounds,
so that I could with difficulty govern him; but I had my gun laid across
my arm, and when I fired I killed the rascal with the spear. Up to that
moment I had supposed that them two war all I had to deal with. But as I
got my horse turned round, with my arm raised to fire at the other red
devil, I encountered the main party, forty-nine of them, who war in the
bed of the stream, and had been covered by the bank. They fired a volley
at me. Eleven balls passed through my blanket, under my arm, which war
raised. I thought it time to run, and run I did. Crow war about two
hundred yards off. So quick had all this happened, that he had not
stirred from the spot whar I left him. When I came up to him I called
out that I must get on behind him, for my horse war sick and staggering.
"'Try him again,' said Crow, who war as anxious to be off as I war. I
did try him agin, and sure enough, he got up a gallop, and away we went,
the Blackfeet after us. But being mounted, we had the advantage, and
soon distanced them. Before we had run a mile, I had to dismount and
breathe my horse. We war in a narrow pass whar it war impossible to
hide, so when the Indians came up with us, as they did, while I war
dismounted we took sure aim and killed the two foremost ones. Before the
others could get close enough to fire we war off agin. It didn't take
much urging to make my horse go then, for the yells of them Blackfeet
spurred him on.
"When we had run another mile I dismounted agin, for fear that my horse
would give out, and agin we war overtaken. Them Blackfeet are powerful
runners:--no better than us mountain-men, though. This time we served
them just as we did before. We picked off two of the foremost, and then
went on, the rest whooping after us. We war overtaken a third time in
the same manner; and the third time two Blackfeet fell dead in advance.
At this, they took the hint. Six warriors already gone for two white
scalps and two horses; they didn't know how many more would go in the
same way. And I reckon they had run about all they wanted to, anyway."
It is only necessary to add that Meek and Crow arrived safely at camp;
and that the Shawnees came in after a day or two all right. Soon after
the whole command under Bridger moved on to the Yellowstone, and went
into winter camp in the great bend of that river, where buffalo were
plenty, and cotton-wood was in abundance.
1835. Towards spring, however, the game had nearly all disappeared from
the neighborhood of the camp; and the hunters were forced to follow the
buffalo in their migration eastward. On one of these expeditions a party
of six trappers, including Meek, and a man named Rose, made their camp
on Clarke's fork of the Yellowstone. The first night in camp Rose had a
dream with which he was very much impressed. He dreamed of shaking hands
with a large white bear, which insisted on taking his right hand for
that friendly ceremony. He had not given it very willingly, for he knew
too much about bears in general to desire to be on very intimate terms
with them.
Seeing that the dream troubled Rose, who was superstitiously inclined,
Meek resorted to that "certain medicine for minds diseased" which was
in use in the mountains, and added to the distress of Rose his
interpretation, in the spirit of ridicule, telling him that he was an
adept in the matter of dreams, and that unless he, Rose, was very
mindful of himself that day, he would shake hands with Beelzebub before
he slept again.
With this comforting assurance, Rose set out with the remainder of the
party to hunt buffalo. They had proceeded about three miles from camp,
Rose riding in advance, when they suddenly encountered a company of
Blackfeet, nine in number, spies from a war party of one hundred and
fifty, that was prowling and marauding through the country on the
lookout for small parties from the camp of Bridger. The Blackfeet fired
on the party as it came up, from their place of concealment, a ball
striking Rose's right arm, and breaking it at the elbow. This caused his
gun to fall, and an Indian sprang forward and raised it up quickly,
aiming it at Meek. The ball passed through his cap without doing any
other harm. By this time the trappers were made aware of an ambuscade;
but how numerous the enemy was they could not determine. However, as the
rest, who were well-mounted, turned to fly, Meek, who was riding an old
mule that had to be beaten over the head to make it go, seeing that he
was going to be left behind, called out lustily, "hold on, boys! There's
not many of them. Let's stop and fight 'em;" at the same time pounding
the mule over the head, but without effect. The Indians saw the
predicament, and ran up to seize the mule by the bridle, but the moment
the mule got wind of the savages, away he went, racing like a
thoroughbred, jumping impediments, and running right over a ravine,
which was fortunately filled with snow. This movement brought Meek out
ahead.
The other men then began to call out to Meek to stop and fight. "Run
for your lives, boys," roared Meek back at them, "there's ten thousand
of them; they'll kill every one of you!"
The mule had got his head, and there was no more stopping him than there
had been starting him. On he went in the direction of the Yellowstone,
while the others made for Clarke's Fork. On arriving at the former
river, Meek found that some of the pack horses had followed him, and
others the rest of the party. This had divided the Indians, three or
four of whom were on his trail. Springing off his mule, he threw his
blankets down on the ice, and by moving them alternately soon crossed
the mule over to the opposite side, just in time to avoid a bullet that
came whistling after him. As the Indians could not follow, he pursued
his way to camp in safety, arriving late that evening. The main party
were already in and expecting him. Soon after, the buffalo hunters
returned to the big camp, minus some pack horses, but with a good story
to tell, at the expense of Meek, and which he enjoys telling of himself
to this day.