1837. The fate of Fontenelle should have served as a warning to his
associates and fellows. 'Should have done,' however, are often idle
words, and as sad as they are idle; they match the poets 'might have
been,' in their regretful impotency. Perhaps there never was a winter
camp in the mountains more thoroughly demoralized than that of Bridger
during the months of January and February. Added to the whites, who were
reckless enough, were a considerable party of Delaware and Shawnee
Indians, excellent allies, and skillful hunters and trappers, but having
the Indian's love of strong drink. "Times were pretty good in the
mountains," according to the mountain-man's notion of good times; that
is to say, beaver was plenty, camp large, and alcohol abundant, if dear.
Under these favorable circumstance much alcohol was consumed, and its
influence was felt in the manners not only of the trappers, white and
red, but also upon the neighboring Indians.
The Crows, who had for two years been on terms of a sort of semi-amity
with the whites, found it to their interest to conciliate so powerful an
enemy as the American Fur Company was now become, and made frequent
visits to the camp, on which occasion they usually succeeded in
obtaining a taste of the fire-water of which they were inordinately
fond. Occasionally a trader was permitted to sell liquor to the whole
village, when a scene took place whose peculiar horrors were wholly
indescribable, from the inability of language to convey an adequate idea
of its hellish degradation. When a trader sold alcohol to a village it
was understood both by himself and the Indians what was to follow. And
to secure the trader against injury a certain number of warriors were
selected out of the village to act as a police force, and to guard the
trader during the 'drunk' from the insane passions of his customers. To
the police not a drop was to be given.
This being arranged, and the village disarmed, the carousal began. Every
individual, man, woman, and child, was permitted to become intoxicated.
Every form of drunkenness, from the simple stupid to the silly, the
heroic, the insane, the beastly, the murderous, displayed itself. The
scenes which were then enacted beggared description, as they shocked the
senses of even the hard-drinking, license-loving trappers who witnessed
them. That they did not "point a moral" for these men, is the strangest
part of the whole transaction.
When everybody, police excepted, was drunk as drunk could be, the trader
began to dilute his alcohol with water, until finally his keg contained
water only, slightly flavored by the washings of the keg, and as they
continued to drink of it without detecting its weak quality, they
finally drank themselves sober, and were able at last to sum up the cost
of their intoxication. This was generally nothing less than the whole
property of the village, added to which were not a few personal
injuries, and usually a few murders. The village now being poor, the
Indians were correspondingly humble; and were forced to begin a system
of reprisal by stealing and making war, a course for which the traders
were prepared, and which they avoided by leaving that neighborhood. Such
were some of the sins and sorrows for which the American fur companies
were answerable, and which detracted seriously from the respect that
the courage, and other good qualities of the mountain-men freely
commanded.
[Illustration: THE GAME OF CACHE.]
By the first of March these scenes of wrong and riot were over, for that
season at least, and camp commenced moving back toward the Blackfoot
country. After recrossing the mountains, passing the Bighorn, Clarke's,
and Rosebud rivers, they came upon a Blackfoot village on the
Yellowstone, which as usual they attacked, and a battle ensued, in which
Manhead, captain of the Delawares was killed, another Delaware named Tom
Hill succeeding him in command. The fight did not result in any great
loss or gain to either party. The camp of Bridger fought its way past
the village, which was what they must do, in order to proceed.
Meek, however, was not quite satisfied with the punishment the Blackfeet
had received for the killing of Manhead, who had been in the fight with
him when the Camanches attacked them on the plains. Desirous of doing
something on his own account, he induced a comrade named LeBlas, to
accompany him to the village, after night had closed over the scene of
the late contest. Stealing into the village with a noiselessness equal
to that of one of Fennimore Cooper's Indian scouts, these two daring
trappers crept so near that they could look into the lodges, and see the
Indians at their favorite game of _Cache_. Inferring from this that the
savages did not feel their losses very severely, they determined to
leave some sign of their visit, and wound their enemy in his most
sensitive part, the horse. Accordingly they cut the halters of a number
of the animals, fastened in the customary manner to a stake, and
succeeded in getting off with nine of them, which property they
proceeded to appropriate to their own use.
As the spring and summer advanced, Bridger's brigade advanced into the
mountains, passing the Cross Creek of the Yellowstone, Twenty-five-Yard
River, Cherry River, and coming on to the head-waters of the Missouri
spent the early part of the summer in that locality. Between Gallatin
and Madison forks the camp struck the great trail of the Blackfeet. Meek
and Mark Head had fallen four or five days behind camp, and being on
this trail felt a good deal of uneasiness. This feeling was not lessened
by seeing, on coming to Madison Fork, the skeletons of two men tied to
or suspended from trees, the flesh eaten off their bones. Concluding
discretion to be the safest part of valor in this country, they
concealed themselves by day and traveled by night, until camp was
finally reached near Henry's Lake. On this march they forded a flooded
river, on the back of the same mule, their traps placed on the other,
and escaped from pursuit of a dozen yelling savages, who gazed after
them in astonishment; "taking their mule," said Mark Head, "to be a
beaver, and themselves great medicine men." "That," said Meek, "is what
I call 'cooning' a river."
From this point Meek set out with a party of thirty or forty trappers to
travel up the river to head-waters, accompanied by the famous Indian
painter Stanley, whose party was met with, this spring, traveling among
the mountains. The party of trappers were a day or two ahead of the main
camp when they found themselves following close after the big Blackfoot
village which had recently passed over the trail, as could be seen by
the usual signs; and also by the dead bodies strewn along the trail,
victims of that horrible scourge, the small pox. The village was
evidently fleeing to the mountains, hoping to rid itself of the plague
in their colder and more salubrious air.
Not long after coming upon these evidences of proximity to an enemy, a
party of a hundred and fifty of their warriors were discovered encamped
in a defile or narrow bottom enclosed by high bluffs, through which the
trappers would have to pass. Seeing that in order to pass this war
party, and the village, which was about half a mile in advance, there
would have to be some fighting done, the trappers resolved to begin the
battle at once by attacking their enemy, who was as yet ignorant of
their neighborhood. In pursuance of this determination, Meek, Newell,
Mansfield, and Le Blas, commenced hostilities. Leaving their horses in
camp, they crawled along on the edge of the overhanging bluff until
opposite to the encampment of Blackfeet, firing on them from the shelter
of some bushes which grew among the rocks. But the Blackfeet, though
ignorant of the number of their enemy, were not to be dislodged so
easily, and after an hour or two of random shooting, contrived to scale
the bluff at a point higher up, and to get upon a ridge of ground still
higher than that occupied by the four trappers. This movement dislodged
the latter, and they hastily retreated through the bushes and returned
to camp.
The next day, the main camp having come up, the fight was renewed. While
the greater body of the company, with the pack-horses, were passing
along the high bluff overhanging them, the party of the day before, and
forty or fifty others, undertook to drive the Indians out of the bottom,
and by keeping them engaged allow the train to pass in safety. The
trappers rode to the fight on this occasion, and charged the Blackfeet
furiously, they having joined the village a little farther on. A general
skirmish now took place. Meek, who was mounted on a fine horse, was in
the thickest of the fight. He had at one time a side to side race with
an Indian who strung his bow so hard that the arrow dropped, just as
Meek, who had loaded his gun running, was ready to fire, and the Indian
dropped after his arrow.
Newell too had a desperate conflict with a half-dead warrior, who having
fallen from a wound, he thought dead and was trying to scalp. Springing
from his horse he seized the Indian's long thick hair in one hand, and
with his knife held in the other made a pass at the scalp, when the
savage roused up knife in hand, and a struggle took place in which it
was for a time doubtful which of the combatants would part with the
coveted scalp-lock. Newell might have been glad to resign the trophy,
and leave the fallen warrior his tuft of hair, but his fingers were in
some way caught by some gun-screws with which the savage had ornamented
his _coiffure_, and would not part company. In this dilemma there was no
other alternative but fight. The miserable savage was dragged a rod or
two in the struggle, and finally dispatched.
Mansfield also got into such close quarters, surrounded by the enemy,
that he gave himself up for lost, and called out to his comrades: "Tell
old Gabe, (Bridger,) that old Cotton (his own sobriquet) is gone." He
lived, however, to deliver his own farewell message, for at this
critical juncture the trappers were re-inforced, and relieved. Still the
fight went on, the trappers gradually working their way to the upper end
of the enclosed part of the valley, past the point of danger.
Just before getting clear of this entanglement Meek became the subject
of another picture, by Stanley, who was viewing the battle from the
heights above the valley. The picture which is well known as "The
Trapper's Last Shot," represents him as he turned upon his horse, a fine
and spirited animal, to discharge his last shot at an Indian
pursuing, while in the bottom, at a little distance away, other Indians
are seen skulking in the tall reedy grass.
[Illustration: _THE TRAPPER'S LAST SHOT._]
The last shot having been discharged with fatal effect, our trapper, so
persistently lionized by painters, put his horse to his utmost speed and
soon after overtook the camp, which had now passed the strait of danger.
But the Blackfeet were still unsatisfied with the result of the contest.
They followed after, reinforced from the village, and attacked the camp.
In the fight which followed a Blackfoot woman's horse was shot down, and
Meek tried to take her prisoner: but two or three of her people coming
to the rescue, engaged his attention; and the woman was saved by seizing
hold of the tail of her husband's horse, which setting off at a run,
carried her out of danger.
[Illustration: "AND THEREBY HANGS A TAIL."]
The Blackfeet found the camp of Bridger too strong for them. They were
severely beaten and compelled to retire to their village, leaving
Bridger free to move on. The following day the camp reached the village
of Little-Robe, a chief of the Peagans, who held a talk with Bridger,
complaining that his nation were all perishing from the small-pox which
had been given to them by the whites. Bridger was able to explain to
Little-Robe his error; inasmuch as although the disease might have
originated among the whites, it was communicated to the Blackfeet by Jim
Beckwith, a negro, and principal chief of their enemies the Crows. This
unscrupulous wretch had caused two infected articles to be taken from a
Mackinaw boat, up from St. Louis, and disposed of to the
Blackfeet--whence the horrible scourge under which they were suffering.
This matter being explained, Little-Robe consented to trade horses and
skins; and the two camps parted amicably. The next day after this
friendly talk, Bridger being encamped on the trail in advance of the
Blackfeet, an Indian came riding into camp, with his wife and daughter,
pack-horse and lodge-pole, and all his worldly goods, unaware until he
got there of the snare into which he had fallen. The French trappers,
generally, decreed to kill the man and take possession of the woman. But
Meek, Kit Carson, and others of the American trappers of the better
sort, interfered to prevent this truly savage act. Meek took the woman's
horse by the head, Carson the man's, the daughter following, and led
them out of camp. Few of the Frenchmen cared to interrupt either of
these two men, and they were suffered to depart in peace. When at a safe
distance, Meek stopped, and demanded as some return for having saved the
man's life, a present of tobacco, a luxury which, from the Indian's
pipe, he suspected him to possess. About enough for two chews was the
result of this demand, complied with rather grudgingly, the Indian
vieing with the trapper in his devotion to the weed. Just at this time,
owing to the death of Fontenelle, and a consequent delay in receiving
supplies, tobacco was scarce among the mountaineers.
Bridger's brigade of trappers met with no other serious interruptions on
their summer's march. They proceeded to Henry's Lake, and crossing the
Rocky Mountains, traveled through the Pine Woods, always a favorite
region, to Lewis' Lake on Lewis' Fork of the Snake River; and finally up
the Grovant Fork, recrossing the mountains to Wind River, where the
rendezvous for this year was appointed.
Here, once more, the camp was visited by a last years' acquaintance.
This was none other than Mr. Gray, of the Flathead Mission, who was
returning to the States on business connected with the missionary
enterprise, and to provide himself with a helpmeet for life,--a
co-laborer and sufferer in the contemplated toil of teaching savages the
rudiments of a religion difficult even to the comprehension of an old
civilization.
Mr. Gray was accompanied by two young men (whites) who wished to return
to the States, and also by a son of one of the Flathead chiefs. Two
other Flathead Indians, and one Iroquois and one Snake Indian, were
induced to accompany Mr. Gray. The undertaking was not without danger,
and so the leaders of the Fur Company assured him. But Mr. Gray was
inclined to make light of the danger, having traveled with entire safety
when under the protection of the Fur Companies the year before. He
proceeded without interruption until he reached Ash Hollow, in the
neighborhood of Fort Laramie, when his party was attacked by a large
band of Sioux, and compelled to accept battle. The five Indians, with
the whites, fought bravely, killing fifteen of the Sioux, before a
parley was obtained by the intervention of a French trader who chanced
to be among the Sioux. When Mr. Gray was able to hold a 'talk' with the
attacking party he was assured that his life and that of his two white
associates would be spared, but that they wanted to kill the strange
Indians and take their fine horses. It is not at all probable that Mr.
Gray consented to this sacrifice; though he has been accused of doing
so.
No doubt the Sioux took advantage of some hesitation on his part, and
rushed upon his Indian allies in an unguarded moment. However that may
be, his allies were killed and he was allowed to escape, after giving up
the property belonging to them, and a portion of his own.
This affair was the occasion of much ill-feeling toward Mr. Gray, when,
in the following year, he returned to the mountains with the tale of
massacre of his friends and his own escape. The mountain-men, although
they used their influence to restrain the vengeful feelings of the
Flathead tribe, whispered amongst themselves that Gray had preferred his
own life to that of his friends. The old Flathead chief too, who had
lost a son by the massacre, was hardly able to check his impulsive
desire for revenge; for he held Mr. Gray responsible for his son's life.
Nothing more serious, however, grew out of this unhappy tragedy than a
disaffection among the tribe toward Mr. Gray, which made his labors
useless, and finally determined him to remove to the Wallamet Valley.
There were no outsiders besides Gray's party at the rendezvous of this
year, except Captain Stuart, and he was almost as good a mountaineer as
any. This doughty English traveler had the bad fortune together with
that experienced leader Fitzpatrick, of being robbed by the Crows in the
course of the fall hunt, in the Crow country. These expert horse thieves
had succeeded in stealing nearly all the horses belonging to the joint
camp, and had so disabled the company that it could not proceed. In this
emergency, Newell, who had long been a sub-trader and was wise in Indian
arts and wiles, was sent to hold a talk with the thieves. The talk was
held, according to custom, in the Medicine lodge, and the usual amount
of smoking, of long silences, and grave looks, had to be participated
in, before the subject on hand could be considered. Then the chiefs
complained as usual of wrongs at the hands of the white men; of their
fear of small-pox, from which some of their tribe had suffered; of
friends killed in battle with the whites, and all the list of ills that
Crow flesh is heir to at the will of their white enemies. The women too
had their complaints to proffer, and the number of widows and orphans in
the tribe was pathetically set forth. The chiefs also made a strong
point of this latter complaint; and on it the wily Newell hung his hopes
of recovering the stolen property.
"It is true," said he to the chiefs, "that you have sustained heavy
losses. But that is not the fault of the Blanket chief (Bridger.) If
your young men have been killed, they were killed when attempting to rob
or kill our Captain's men. If you have lost horses, your young men have
stolen five to our one. If you are poor in skins and other property, it
is because you sold it all for drink which did you no good. Neither is
Bridger to blame that you have had the small-pox. Your own chief, in
trying to kill your enemies the Blackfeet, brought that disease into the
country.
"But it is true that you have many widows and orphans to support, and
that is bad. I pity the orphans, and will help you to support them, if
you will restore to my captain the property stolen from his camp.
Otherwise Bridger will bring more horses, and plenty of ammunition, and
there will be more widows and orphans among the Crows than ever before."
This was a kind of logic easy to understand and quick to convince among
savages. The bribe, backed by a threat, settled the question of the
restoration of the horses, which were returned without further delay,
and a present of blankets and trinkets was given, ostensibly to the
bereaved women, really to the covetous chiefs.