near the forty-seventh parallel. The range to which it belongs
averages about 7,000 to 8,000 feet in height, and snow may be seen
along its summit-level the year round, while Rainier, with its immense
covering of snow, towers as high again above the range. In various
travels and expeditions in the territory, I had viewed the snow-peaks
of this range from all points of the compass, and since that time
having visited the mountain regions of Europe, and most of those of
North America, I assert that Washington Territory contains mountain
scenery in quantity and quality sufficient to make half a dozen
Switzerlands, while there is on the continent none more grand and
imposing than is presented in the Cascade Range north of the Columbia
River.
About noon on the 8th of July [1857] we finally started. The party
consisted of four soldiers--two of them equipped to ascend the
mountain, and the other two to take care of our horses when we should
be compelled to leave them. We started the soldiers on the direct
route, with orders to stop at Mr. Wren's, on the eastern limit of the
Nesqually plains, ten or twelve miles distant, and wait for us, while
the doctor and I went by the Nesqually Reservation in order to pick up
old Wah-pow-e-ty, the Indian guide.
We remained all night at Wren's, and the next morning entered that
immense belt of timber with which the western slope of the Cascade
Range is covered throughout its entire length. I had become familiar
with the Indian trail that we followed, the year previous, in our
pursuit of Indians. The little patches of prairie are so rare that
they constitute in that immense forest landmarks for the guidance of
the traveler. Six miles from Wren's we came to Pawhtummi, a little
_camas_ prairie about 500 yards long, and 100 in breadth, a resort for
the Indians in the proper season to gather the _camas_-root. Six miles
farther we came to a similar prairie, circular in form, not more than
400 yards in diameter, called Koaptil. Another six or seven miles took
us to the Tanwut, a small stream with a patch of prairie bordering it,
where the trail crossed. Ten or twelve miles more brought us to the
Mishawl Prairie, where we camped for the night, this being the end of
the journey for our horses, and the limit of our knowledge of the
country.
This prairie takes its name from the stream near by, and is situated
between it and the Owhap on a high table-land or bluff, not more than
one or two miles from where these enter the Nesqually. It is perhaps
half a mile long, and 200 or 300 yards wide at the widest point. The
grass was abundant, and it was an excellent place to leave our horses.
Fifteen months before, I had visited this spot, and camped near by
with a small detachment of troops, searching for Indians who had
hidden away in these forests, completely demoralized and nearly
starving. A family of two or three men, and quite a number of women
and children, had camped in the fork of the Mishawl and Nesqually,
about two miles from this prairie, and were making fishtraps to catch
salmon. When we fell in with them we learned that the Washington
Territory volunteers had been before us, and with their immensely
superior force had killed the most of them without regard to age or
sex. Our own little command in that expedition captured about thirty
of these poor, half-starved, ignorant creatures, and no act of
barbarity was perpetrated by us to mar the memory of that success.
We accordingly camped in the Mishawl Prairie. When I was here before
it was in March, and the rainy season was still prevailing; the
topographical engineer of the expedition and I slept under the same
blankets on a wet drizzly night, and next morning treated each other
to bitter reproaches for having each had more than his share of the
covering. Now the weather was clear and beautiful, and the scene
lovely in comparison. I can imagine nothing more gloomy and cheerless
than a fir-forest in Washington Territory on a rainy winter day. The
misty clouds hang down below the tops of the tallest trees, and
although it does not rain, but drizzles, yet it is very wet and cold,
and penetrates every thread of clothing to the skin. The summers of
this region are in extraordinary contrast with the winters. Clear,
beautiful, and dry, they begin in May and last till November; while in
the winter, although in latitude 47° and 48°, it rarely freezes or
snows--often, however, raining two weeks without stopping a permeating
drizzle.
On this 9th of July, 1857, the weather was beautiful; it had not
rained for weeks. The Mishawl--a raging mountain torrent, when last I
saw it--was now a sluggish rivulet of clear mountain-spring water. We
started early on our journey, having made our preparations the
evening before. We calculated to be gone about six days. Each member
of the party had to carry his own provisions and bedding; everything
was therefore reduced to the minimum. Each took a blanket, twenty-four
crackers of hard bread, and about two pounds of dried beef. We took
Dogue (a German) and Carroll (an Irishman) with us; they were both
volunteers for the trip; one carried the hatchet and the other the
rope. I carried a field-glass, thermometer, and a large-sized
revolver. Wah-pow-e-ty carried his rifle, with which we hoped to
procure some game. The soldiers carried no arms. Bell and Doneheh were
left behind to take care of the horses and extra provisions, until our
return.
We each had a haversack for our provisions, and a tin canteen for
water. The doctor very unwisely filled his with whisky instead of
water. Having sounded Wah-pow-e-ty as to the route, we learned he had
once been on the upper Nesqually when a boy, with his father, and that
his knowledge of the country was very limited. We ascertained,
however, that we could not follow the Nesqually at first; that there
was a fall in the river a short distance above the mouth of the
Mishawl, and that the mountains came down so abrupt and precipitous
that we could not follow the stream, and that the mountain must be
crossed first and a descent made to the river above the fall.
That mountain proved a severer task than we anticipated. There was no
path and no open country--only a dense forest, obstructed with
undergrowth and fallen timber. The sun was very hot when it could
reach us through the foliage; not a breath of air stirred, and after
we crossed the Mishawl, not a drop of water was to be had until we got
down to low ground again. We toiled from early morning until three
o'clock in the afternoon before we reached the summit. As the doctor
had taken whisky instead of water in his canteen, he found it
necessary to apply to the other members of the party to quench his
thirst, and our canteens were speedily empty. The doctor sought relief
in whisky, but it only aggravated his thirst, and he poured out the
contents of his canteen. The severe exertion required for the ascent
brought on painful cramps in his legs, and at one time, about the
middle of the day, I concluded that we should be obliged to leave him
to find his way back to camp while we went on without him; but he made
an agreement with Wah-pow-e-ty to carry his pack for him in addition
to his own, for ten dollars, and the doctor was thus enabled to go on.
Here was an illustration of the advantage of training. The doctor was
large, raw-boned, and at least six feet high, looking as if he could
have crushed with a single blow the insignificant old Indian, who was
not much over five feet, and did not weigh more than half as much as
the doctor; but, inured to this kind of toil, he carried double the
load that any of the party did, while the doctor, who was habituated
to a sedentary life, had all he could do, carrying no load whatever,
to keep up with the Indian.
Early in the afternoon we reached the summit of the first ascent,
where we enjoyed, in addition to a good rest, a magnificent view of
the Puget Sound Valley, with Mount Olympus and the Coast Range for a
background. Here on this summit, too, munching our biscuit of hard
bread and our dried beef, we enjoyed a refreshing breeze as we looked
down on the beautiful plains of the Nesqually, with its numerous clear
and beautiful little lakes. There was nothing definite except
forest--of which there was a great excess--lakes, and plains of
limited area, the sound, and a great background of mountains. No
habitations, farms, or villages were to be seen; not a sign of
civilization or human life.
After a good rest we pushed on, taking an easterly course, and
keeping, or trying to keep, on the spur of the mountain; the forest
was so thick, however, that this was next to an impossibility. We were
not loth to go down into ravines in the hope of finding some water,
for we needed it greatly. It was a long time, and we met with many
disappointments, before we could find enough to quench our thirst. Our
progress was exceedingly slow on account of the undergrowth. At
sundown we camped in the grand old forest, the location being chosen
on account of some water in a partially dry ravine. The distance
passed over from Mishawl Prairie we estimated at about ten or eleven
miles. On good roads thirty miles would have wearied us much less.
We started early the next morning, and for a time tried to keep the
high ground, but found it so difficult that we finally turned down to
the right, and came upon the Nesqually River about the middle of the
afternoon. There was no material difference in the undergrowth, but
there was an advantage gained in having plenty of water to quench our
thirst. We made about ten miles this day, and camped about sundown.
There seemed nothing but forest before us; dark, gloomy forest,
remarkable for large trees, and its terrible solitude. But few living
things were to be seen. The Nesqually is a very wide muddy torrent,
fordable in places where the stream is much divided by islands.
We already here began to suffer from the loss of appetite, which was
to us such a difficulty throughout the entire trip. Even the four
crackers and two ounces of dried beef, which was our daily limit, we
found ourselves unable to master, and yet so much was necessary to
keep up our strength. I have never been able to settle in my mind
whether this was due to the sameness of the food or the great fatigue
we underwent.
The third morning we made an early start, and followed up the stream
in almost a due east direction all day until about five o'clock, when
the doctor broke down, having been unable to eat anything during the
day. With considerable cramming I managed to dispose of the most of my
rations. We kept the north side of the river, and had no streams to
cross; in fact, there did not appear to be any streams on either side
putting into the river. The valley seemed several miles in width,
densely timbered, and the undergrowth a complete thicket. Not more
than ten miles were made by us. Just before we stopped for the night,
we passed through a patch of dead timber of perhaps 100 acres, with an
abundance of blackberries. Opposite our camp, on the south side of the
river, there was the appearance of quite a tributary coming in from
the southeast.
We did not get started until about eleven o'clock on the fourth
morning. After cutting up a deer which Wah-pow-e-ty brought in early
in the morning, we dried quite a quantity of it by the fire. As we
anticipated, it proved of much assistance, for we already saw that six
days would be a very short time in which to make the trip. By night we
reached a muddy tributary coming in from the north, and evidently
having its source in the melting snows of Rainier. The summit of the
mountain was visible from our camp, and seemed close at hand; but
night set in with promise of bad weather. The valley had become quite
narrow. Our camp was at the foot of a mountain spur several thousand
feet high, and the river close at hand. The gloomy forest, the wild
mountain scenery, the roaring of the river, and the dark overhanging
clouds, with the peculiar melancholy sighing which the wind makes
through a fir forest, gave to our camp at this point an awful
grandeur.
On the fifth morning the clouds were so threatening, and came down so
low on the surrounding mountains, that we were at a loss what course
to pursue--whether to follow up the main stream or the tributary at
our camp, which evidently came from the nearest snow. We finally
followed the main stream, which very soon turned in toward the
mountain, the valley growing narrower, the torrent more and more
rapid, and our progress slower and slower, especially when we were
compelled to take to the timber. We often crossed the torrent, of
which the water was intensely cold, in order to avoid the obstructions
of the forest. Sometimes, however, the stream was impassable, and then
we often became so entangled in the thickets as almost to despair of
farther advance. Early in the evening we reached the foot of an
immense glacier and camped. For several miles before camping the bed
of the stream was paved with white granite bowlders, and the mountain
gorge became narrower and narrower. The walls were in many places
perpendicular precipices, thousands of feet high, their summits hid in
the clouds. Vast piles of snow were to be seen along the stream--the
remains of avalanches--for earth, trees, and rocks were intermingled
with the snow.
As it was near night we camped, thinking it best to begin the ascent
in the early morning; besides, the weather promised to become worse.
The foliage of the pine-trees here was very dense, and on such a
cloudy day it was dark as night in the forest. The limbs of the trees
drooped upon the ground, a disposition evidently given to them by the
snow, which must be late in disappearing in this region.
We followed thus far the main branch of the Nesqually, and here it
emerged from an icy cavern at the foot of an immense glacier. The ice
itself was of a dark-blue tinge. The water was white, and whenever I
waded the torrent my shoes filled with gravel and sand. The walls of
this immense mountain gorge were white granite, and, just where the
glacier terminated, the immense vein of granite that was visible on
both sides seemed to form a narrow throat to the great ravine, which
is much wider both above and below. The water seems to derive its
color from the disintegration of this granite.[18]
We made our camp under a pine of dense foliage, whose limbs at the
outer end drooped near the ground. We made our cup of tea, and found
the water boil at 202° Fahrenheit. Night set in with a drizzling rain,
and a more solitary, gloomy picture than we presented at that camp it
is impossible to conceive. Tired, hungry, dirty, clothes all in
rags--the effects of our struggles with the brush--we were not the
least happy; the solitude was oppressive. The entire party, except
myself, dropped down and did not move unless obliged to. I went up to
the foot of the glacier, and explored a little before night set in. I
also tried to make a sketch of the view looking up the glacier; but I
have never looked at it since without being forcibly reminded what a
failure it is as a sketch.
On the morning of the sixth day we set out again up the glacier. A
drizzling rain prevailed through the night, and continued this
morning. We had a little trouble in getting upon the glacier, as it
terminated everywhere in steep faces that were very difficult to
climb. Once up, we did not meet with any obstructions or interruptions
for several hours, although the slippery surface of the glacier, which
formed inclined planes of about twenty degrees, made it very fatiguing
with our packs. About noon the weather thickened; snow, sleet, and
rain prevailed, and strong winds, blowing hither and thither, almost
blinded us. The surface of the glacier, becoming steeper, began to be
intersected by immense crevasses crossing our path, often compelling
us to travel several hundred yards to gain a few feet. We finally
resolved to find a camp. But getting off the glacier was no easy task.
We found that the face of the lateral moraine was almost
perpendicular, and composed of loose stones, sand, and gravel,
furnishing a very uncertain foothold, besides being about fifty feet
high. Wah-pow-e-ty and I finally succeeded in getting up, and with the
aid of the rope we assisted our companions to do the same. When we
reached the top we were a little surprised to find that we had to go
down-hill again to reach the mountain side. Here a few stunted pines
furnished us fuel and shelter, and we rested for the remainder of the
day. I explored a little in the evening by ascending the ridge from
the glacier, and discovered that it would be much the best route to
pursue in ascending to the summit.
When night set in, the solitude of our camp was very oppressive. We
were near the limit of perpetual snow. The water for our tea we
obtained from the melting of the ice near by. The atmosphere was very
different from what it was below, and singularly clear when not
obstructed by fog, rain, or snow. There were no familiar objects to
enable one to estimate distance. When I caught a glimpse of the top of
Rainier through the clouds, I felt certain that we could reach it in
three hours. The only living things to be seen were some animals, with
regard to which we still labor under an error. These little creatures
would make their appearance on the side of the mountain in sight of
our camp, and feed upon herbage that grew on the soil where the snow
left it bare. The moment anyone stirred from camp, a sound between a
whistle and scream would break unexpectedly and from some unknown
quarter, and immediately all the animals that were in sight would
vanish in the earth. Upon visiting the spot where they disappeared, we
would find a burrow which was evidently the creatures' home.
Everywhere round the entrance we found great numbers of tracks, such
as a lamb or kid would make. The animals that we saw were about the
size of kids, and grazed and moved about so much like them, that,
taken in connection with the tracks we saw, we jumped at once to the
conclusion that they were mountain sheep, of which we all had heard a
great deal, but none of our party had ever seen any. My report of
these animals, which was published in the _Washington Republican_ on
our return, was severely ridiculed by some of the naturalists who were
hunting for undescribed insects and animals in that country at the
time. We are still at a loss to understand the habits of the
creatures, and to reconcile the split hoofs which the tracks indicated
with their burrow in the earth.[19]
On the following morning--the seventh day from our camp on the
Mishawl--the sky showed signs of clear weather, and we began the
ascent of the main peak. Until about noon we were enveloped in clouds,
and only occasionally did we get a glimpse of the peak. Soon after
midday we reached suddenly a colder atmosphere, and found ourselves
all at once above the clouds, which were spread out smooth and even as
a sea, above which appeared the snowy peaks of St. Helens, Mount
Adams, and Mount Hood, looking like pyramidal icebergs above an ocean.
At first we could not see down through the clouds into the valleys.
Above, the atmosphere was singularly clear, and the reflection of the
sun upon the snow very powerful. The summit of Rainier seemed very
close at hand.
About two o'clock in the afternoon the clouds rolled away like a
scroll; in a very short time they had disappeared, and the Cascade
Range lay before us in all its greatness. The view was too grand and
extensive to be taken in at once, or in the short time we had to
observe. The entire scene, with few exceptions, was covered with
forests, with here and there barren rocky peaks that rose up out of
the ridges; now and then a mountain lake, much more blue than the sky,
and the Nesqually, winding like a thread of silver through the dark
forests. From the foot of the glacier for several miles the bed of the
river was very white, from the granite bowlders that covered the bed
of the stream. The water, too, was of a decidedly chalkier color near
its source.
We had no time, however, to study the beauties that lay before us. We
had already discovered that there was no telling from appearances how
far we had to go. The travel was very difficult; the surface of the
snow was porous in some places, and at each step we sunk to our knees.
Carroll and the Indian gave out early in the afternoon, and returned
to camp. The doctor began to lag behind. Dogue stuck close to me.
Between four and five o'clock we reached a very difficult point. It
proved to be the crest of the mountain, where the comparatively smooth
surface was much broken up, and inaccessible pinnacles of ice and deep
crevasses interrupted our progress. It was not only difficult to go
ahead, but exceedingly dangerous; a false step, or the loss of a
foot-hold, would have been certain destruction. Dogue was evidently
alarmed, for every time that I was unable to proceed, and turned back
to find another passage, he would say, "_I guess, Lieutenant, we
petter go pack._"
Finally we reached what may be called the top, for although there were
points higher yet,[20] the mountain spread out comparatively flat, and
it was much easier to get along. The soldier threw himself down
exhausted, and said he could go no farther. The doctor was not in
sight. I went on to explore by myself, but I returned in a quarter of
an hour without my hat, fully satisfied that nothing more could be
done. It was after six o'clock, the air was very cold, and the wind
blew fiercely, so that in a second my hat which it carried away was
far beyond recovery. The ice was forming in my canteen, and to stay on
the mountain at such a temperature was to freeze to death, for we
brought no blankets with us, and we could not delay, as it would be
impossible to return along the crest of the mountain after dark. When
I returned to where I had left the soldier, I found the doctor there
also, and after a short consultation we decided to return.
Returning was far easier and more rapid than going. The snow was much
harder and firmer, and we passed over in three hours, coming down,
what required ten in going up. We were greatly fatigued by the day's
toil, and the descent was not accomplished without an occasional rest
of our weary limbs. In one place the snow was crusted over, and for a
short distance the mountain was very steep, and required the skillful
use of the stick to prevent our going much faster than we desired. The
soldier lost his footing, and rolled helplessly to the foot of the
declivity, thirty or forty yards distant, and his face bore the traces
of the scratching for many a day after, as if he had been through a
bramble-bush.
We found the Indian and Carroll in the camp. The latter had a long
story to tell of his wanderings to find camp, and both stated that the
fatigue was too much for them. There was no complaint on the part of
any of us about the rarity of the atmosphere. The doctor attributed to
this cause the fact that he could not go but a few yards at a time,
near the summit, without resting; but I am inclined to think this was
due to our exhaustion. My breathing did not seem to be in the least
affected.
We were much disappointed not to have had more time to explore the
summit of the mountain. We had, however, demonstrated the feasibility
of making the ascent. Had we started at dawn of day we should have had
plenty of time for the journey. From what I saw I should say the
mountain top was a ridge perhaps two miles in length and nearly half a
mile in width, with an angle about half-way, and depressions between
the angle and each end of the ridge which give to the summit the
appearance of three small peaks as seen from the east or west. When
viewed from north or south, a rounded summit is all that can be seen;
while viewed from positions between the cardinal points of the
compass, the mountain generally has the appearance of two peaks.