The Oregon Trail

F >> Francis Parkman, Jr. >> The Oregon Trail


Having at length satisfied their curiosity, they next proceeded to
business. The men occupied themselves in procuring supplies for their
onward journey; either buying them with money or giving in exchange
superfluous articles of their own.

The emigrants felt a violent prejudice against the French Indians,
as they called the trappers and traders. They thought, and with some
justice, that these men bore them no good will. Many of them were firmly
persuaded that the French were instigating the Indians to attack and
cut them off. On visiting the encampment we were at once struck with
the extraordinary perplexity and indecision that prevailed among
the emigrants. They seemed like men totally out of their elements;
bewildered and amazed, like a troop of school-boys lost in the woods. It
was impossible to be long among them without being conscious of the high
and bold spirit with which most of them were animated. But the FOREST is
the home of the backwoodsman. On the remote prairie he is totally at a
loss. He differs much from the genuine "mountain man," the wild prairie
hunter, as a Canadian voyageur, paddling his canoe on the rapids of the
Ottawa, differs from an American sailor among the storms of Cape Horn.
Still my companion and I were somewhat at a loss to account for this
perturbed state of mind. It could not be cowardice; these men were of
the same stock with the volunteers of Monterey and Buena Vista. Yet, for
the most part, they were the rudest and most ignorant of the frontier
population; they knew absolutely nothing of the country and its
inhabitants; they had already experienced much misfortune, and
apprehended more; they had seen nothing of mankind, and had never put
their own resources to the test.

A full proportion of suspicion fell upon us. Being strangers we were
looked upon as enemies. Having occasion for a supply of lead and a few
other necessary articles, we used to go over to the emigrant camps to
obtain them. After some hesitation, some dubious glances, and fumbling
of the hands in the pockets, the terms would be agreed upon, the
price tendered, and the emigrant would go off to bring the article in
question. After waiting until our patience gave out, we would go in
search of him, and find him seated on the tongue of his wagon.

"Well, stranger," he would observe, as he saw us approach, "I reckon I
won't trade!"

Some friend of his followed him from the scene of the bargain and
suggested in his ear, that clearly we meant to cheat him, and he had
better have nothing to do with us.

This timorous mood of the emigrants was doubly unfortunate, as it
exposed them to real danger. Assume, in the presence of Indians a bold
bearing, self-confident yet vigilant, and you will find them tolerably
safe neighbors. But your safety depends on the respect and fear you are
able to inspire. If you betray timidity or indecision, you convert them
from that moment into insidious and dangerous enemies. The Dakotas saw
clearly enough the perturbation of the emigrants and instantly availed
themselves of it. They became extremely insolent and exacting in their
demands. It has become an established custom with them to go to the camp
of every party, at it arrives in succession at the fort, and demand a
feast. Smoke's village had come with the express design, having made
several days' journey with no other object than that of enjoying a cup
of coffee and two or three biscuits. So the "feast" was demanded, and
the emigrants dared not refuse it.

One evening, about sunset, the village was deserted. We met old men,
warriors, squaws, and children in gay attire, trooping off to the
encampment, with faces of anticipation; and, arriving here, they seated
themselves in a semicircle. Smoke occupied the center, with his warriors
on either hand; the young men and boys next succeeded, and the squaws
and children formed the horns of the crescent. The biscuit and coffee
were most promptly dispatched, the emigrants staring open-mouthed at
their savage guests. With each new emigrant party that arrived at Fort
Laramie this scene was renewed; and every day the Indians grew more
rapacious and presumptuous. One evening they broke to pieces, out of
mere wantonness, the cups from which they had been feasted; and this
so exasperated the emigrants that many of them seized their rifles and
could scarcely be restrained from firing on the insolent mob of Indians.
Before we left the country this dangerous spirit on the part of the
Dakota had mounted to a yet higher pitch. They began openly to threaten
the emigrants with destruction, and actually fired upon one or two
parties of whites. A military force and military law are urgently called
for in that perilous region; and unless troops are speedily stationed at
Fort Laramie, or elsewhere in the neighborhood, both the emigrants and
other travelers will be exposed to most imminent risks.

The Ogallalla, the Brules, and other western bands of the Dakota, are
thorough savages, unchanged by any contact with civilization. Not one
of them can speak a European tongue, or has ever visited an American
settlement. Until within a year or two, when the emigrants began to
pass through their country on the way to Oregon, they had seen no whites
except the handful employed about the Fur Company's posts. They esteemed
them a wise people, inferior only to themselves, living in leather
lodges, like their own, and subsisting on buffalo. But when the swarm
of MENEASKA, with their oxen and wagons, began to invade them, their
astonishment was unbounded. They could scarcely believe that the earth
contained such a multitude of white men. Their wonder is now giving way
to indignation; and the result, unless vigilantly guarded against, may
be lamentable in the extreme.

But to glance at the interior of a lodge. Shaw and I used often to
visit them. Indeed, we spent most of our evenings in the Indian village;
Shaw's assumption of the medical character giving us a fair pretext. As
a sample of the rest I will describe one of these visits. The sun had
just set, and the horses were driven into the corral. The Prairie Cock,
a noted beau, came in at the gate with a bevy of young girls, with whom
he began to dance in the area, leading them round and round in a circle,
while he jerked up from his chest a succession of monotonous sounds, to
which they kept time in a rueful chant. Outside the gate boys and young
men were idly frolicking; and close by, looking grimly upon them, stood
a warrior in his robe, with his face painted jet-black, in token that
he had lately taken a Pawnee scalp. Passing these, the tall dark lodges
rose between us and the red western sky. We repaired at once to the
lodge of Old Smoke himself. It was by no means better than the others;
indeed, it was rather shabby; for in this democratic community, the
chief never assumes superior state. Smoke sat cross-legged on a buffalo
robe, and his grunt of salutation as we entered was unusually cordial,
out of respect no doubt to Shaw's medical character. Seated around the
lodge were several squaws, and an abundance of children. The complaint
of Shaw's patients was, for the most part, a severe inflammation of the
eyes, occasioned by exposure to the sun, a species of disorder which
he treated with some success. He had brought with him a homeopathic
medicine chest, and was, I presume, the first who introduced that
harmless system of treatment among the Ogallalla. No sooner had a robe
been spread at the head of the lodge for our accommodation, and we
had seated ourselves upon it, than a patient made her appearance; the
chief's daughter herself, who, to do her justice, was the best-looking
girl in the village. Being on excellent terms with the physician, she
placed herself readily under his hands, and submitted with a good grace
to his applications, laughing in his face during the whole process, for
a squaw hardly knows how to smile. This case dispatched, another of
a different kind succeeded. A hideous, emaciated old woman sat in the
darkest corner of the lodge rocking to and fro with pain and hiding
her eyes from the light by pressing the palms of both hands against
her face. At Smoke's command, she came forward, very unwillingly, and
exhibited a pair of eyes that had nearly disappeared from excess of
inflammation. No sooner had the doctor fastened his grips upon her than
she set up a dismal moaning, and writhed so in his grasp that he lost
all patience, but being resolved to carry his point, he succeeded at
last in applying his favorite remedies.

"It is strange," he said, when the operation was finished, "that I
forgot to bring any Spanish flies with me; we must have something here
to answer for a counter-irritant!"

So, in the absence of better, he seized upon a red-hot brand from the
fire, and clapped it against the temple of the old squaw, who set up an
unearthly howl, at which the rest of the family broke out into a laugh.

During these medical operations Smoke's eldest squaw entered the lodge,
with a sort of stone mallet in her hand. I had observed some time before
a litter of well-grown black puppies, comfortably nestled among some
buffalo robes at one side; but this newcomer speedily disturbed their
enjoyment; for seizing one of them by the hind paw, she dragged him out,
and carrying him to the entrance of the lodge, hammered him on the head
till she killed him. Being quite conscious to what this preparation
tended, I looked through a hole in the back of the lodge to see the
next steps of the process. The squaw, holding the puppy by the legs, was
swinging him to and fro through the blaze of a fire, until the hair was
singed off. This done, she unsheathed her knife and cut him into small
pieces, which she dropped into a kettle to boil. In a few moments
a large wooden dish was set before us, filled with this delicate
preparation. We felt conscious of the honor. A dog-feast is the greatest
compliment a Dakota can offer to his guest; and knowing that to refuse
eating would be an affront, we attacked the little dog and devoured him
before the eyes of his unconscious parent. Smoke in the meantime was
preparing his great pipe. It was lighted when we had finished our
repast, and we passed it from one to another till the bowl was empty.
This done, we took our leave without further ceremony, knocked at the
gate of the fort, and after making ourselves known were admitted.

One morning, about a week after reaching Fort Laramie, we were holding
our customary Indian levee, when a bustle in the area below announced
a new arrival; and looking down from our balcony, I saw a familiar red
beard and mustache in the gateway. They belonged to the captain, who
with his party had just crossed the stream. We met him on the stairs as
he came up, and congratulated him on the safe arrival of himself and his
devoted companions. But he remembered our treachery, and was grave and
dignified accordingly; a tendency which increased as he observed on our
part a disposition to laugh at him. After remaining an hour or two at
the fort he rode away with his friends, and we have heard nothing of him
since. As for R., he kept carefully aloof. It was but too evident that
we had the unhappiness to have forfeited the kind regards of our London
fellow-traveler.



CHAPTER X

THE WAR PARTIES


The summer of 1846 was a season of much warlike excitement among all the
western bands of the Dakota. In 1845 they encountered great reverses.
Many war parties had been sent out; some of them had been totally cut
off, and others had returned broken and disheartened, so that the whole
nation was in mourning. Among the rest, ten warriors had gone to the
Snake country, led by the son of a prominent Ogallalla chief, called The
Whirlwind. In passing over Laramie Plains they encountered a superior
number of their enemies, were surrounded, and killed to a man.
Having performed this exploit the Snakes became alarmed, dreading the
resentment of the Dakota, and they hastened therefore to signify their
wish for peace by sending the scalp of the slain partisan, together with
a small parcel of tobacco attached, to his tribesmen and relations. They
had employed old Vaskiss, the trader, as their messenger, and the scalp
was the same that hung in our room at the fort. But The Whirlwind proved
inexorable. Though his character hardly corresponds with his name, he is
nevertheless an Indian, and hates the Snakes with his whole soul. Long
before the scalp arrived he had made his preparations for revenge. He
sent messengers with presents and tobacco to all the Dakota within three
hundred miles, proposing a grand combination to chastise the Snakes, and
naming a place and time of rendezvous. The plan was readily adopted and
at this moment many villages, probably embracing in the whole five or
six thousand souls, were slowly creeping over the prairies and tending
towards the common center at La Bonte's Camp, on the Platte. Here their
war-like rites were to be celebrated with more than ordinary solemnity,
and a thousand warriors, as it was said, were to set out for the enemy
country. The characteristic result of this preparation will appear in
the sequel.

I was greatly rejoiced to hear of it. I had come into the country almost
exclusively with a view of observing the Indian character. Having from
childhood felt a curiosity on this subject, and having failed completely
to gratify it by reading, I resolved to have recourse to observation.
I wished to satisfy myself with regard to the position of the Indians
among the races of men; the vices and the virtues that have sprung from
their innate character and from their modes of life, their government,
their superstitions, and their domestic situation. To accomplish my
purpose it was necessary to live in the midst of them, and become, as
it were, one of them. I proposed to join a village and make myself an
inmate of one of their lodges; and henceforward this narrative, so far
as I am concerned, will be chiefly a record of the progress of this
design apparently so easy of accomplishment, and the unexpected
impediments that opposed it.

We resolved on no account to miss the rendezvous at La Bonte's Camp. Our
plan was to leave Delorier at the fort, in charge of our equipage and
the better part of our horses, while we took with us nothing but our
weapons and the worst animals we had. In all probability jealousies and
quarrels would arise among so many hordes of fierce impulsive savages,
congregated together under no common head, and many of them strangers,
from remote prairies and mountains. We were bound in common prudence to
be cautious how we excited any feeling of cupidity. This was our plan,
but unhappily we were not destined to visit La Bonte's Camp in this
manner; for one morning a young Indian came to the fort and brought us
evil tidings. The newcomer was a dandy of the first water. His ugly face
was painted with vermilion; on his head fluttered the tail of a prairie
cock (a large species of pheasant, not found, as I have heard, eastward
of the Rocky Mountains); in his ears were hung pendants of shell, and a
flaming red blanket was wrapped around him. He carried a dragoon sword
in his hand, solely for display, since the knife, the arrow, and the
rifle are the arbiters of every prairie fight; but no one in this
country goes abroad unarmed, the dandy carried a bow and arrows in an
otter-skin quiver at his back. In this guise, and bestriding his yellow
horse with an air of extreme dignity, The Horse, for that was his name,
rode in at the gate, turning neither to the right nor the left, but
casting glances askance at the groups of squaws who, with their mongrel
progeny, were sitting in the sun before their doors. The evil tidings
brought by The Horse were of the following import: The squaw of Henry
Chatillon, a woman with whom he had been connected for years by the
strongest ties which in that country exist between the sexes, was
dangerously ill. She and her children were in the village of The
Whirlwind, at the distance of a few days' journey. Henry was anxious to
see the woman before she died, and provide for the safety and support
of his children, of whom he was extremely fond. To have refused him
this would have been gross inhumanity. We abandoned our plan of joining
Smoke's village, and of proceeding with it to the rendezvous, and
determined to meet The Whirlwind, and go in his company.

I had been slightly ill for several weeks, but on the third night
after reaching Fort Laramie a violent pain awoke me, and I found myself
attacked by the same disorder that occasioned such heavy losses to the
army on the Rio Grande. In a day and a half I was reduced to extreme
weakness, so that I could not walk without pain and effort. Having
within that time taken six grains of opium, without the least beneficial
effect, and having no medical adviser, nor any choice of diet, I
resolved to throw myself upon Providence for recovery, using, without
regard to the disorder, any portion of strength that might remain to
me. So on the 20th of June we set out from Fort Laramie to meet The
Whirlwind's village. Though aided by the high-bowed "mountain saddle,"
I could scarcely keep my seat on horseback. Before we left the fort we
hired another man, a long-haired Canadian, with a face like an owl's,
contrasting oddly enough with Delorier's mercurial countenance. This was
not the only re-enforcement to our party. A vagrant Indian trader, named
Reynal, joined us, together with his squaw Margot, and her two nephews,
our dandy friend, The Horse, and his younger brother, The Hail Storm.
Thus accompanied, we betook ourselves to the prairie, leaving the beaten
trail, and passing over the desolate hills that flank the bottoms of
Laramie Creek. In all, Indians and whites, we counted eight men and one
woman.

Reynal, the trader, the image of sleek and selfish complacency, carried
The Horse's dragoon sword in his hand, delighting apparently in this
useless parade; for, from spending half his life among Indians, he had
caught not only their habits but their ideas. Margot, a female animal
of more than two hundred pounds' weight, was couched in the basket of
a travail, such as I have before described; besides her ponderous bulk,
various domestic utensils were attached to the vehicle, and she was
leading by a trail-rope a packhorse, who carried the covering of
Reynal's lodge. Delorier walked briskly by the side of the cart, and
Raymond came behind, swearing at the spare horses, which it was his
business to drive. The restless young Indians, their quivers at their
backs, and their bows in their hand, galloped over the hills, often
starting a wolf or an antelope from the thick growth of wild-sage
bushes. Shaw and I were in keeping with the rest of the rude cavalcade,
having in the absence of other clothing adopted the buckskin attire
of the trappers. Henry Chatillon rode in advance of the whole. Thus we
passed hill after hill and hollow after hollow, a country arid, broken
and so parched by the sun that none of the plants familiar to our more
favored soil would flourish upon it, though there were multitudes of
strange medicinal herbs, more especially the absanth, which covered
every declivity, and cacti were hanging like reptiles at the edges of
every ravine. At length we ascended a high hill, our horses treading
upon pebbles of flint, agate, and rough jasper, until, gaining the top,
we looked down on the wild bottoms of Laramie Creek, which far below us
wound like a writhing snake from side to side of the narrow interval,
amid a growth of shattered cotton-wood and ash trees. Lines of tall
cliffs, white as chalk, shut in this green strip of woods and meadow
land, into which we descended and encamped for the night. In the morning
we passed a wide grassy plain by the river; there was a grove in front,
and beneath its shadows the ruins of an old trading fort of logs. The
grove bloomed with myriads of wild roses, with their sweet perfume
fraught with recollections of home. As we emerged from the trees, a
rattlesnake, as large as a man's arm, and more than four feet long,
lay coiled on a rock, fiercely rattling and hissing at us; a gray hare,
double the size of those in New England, leaped up from the tall ferns;
curlew were screaming over our heads, and a whole host of little prairie
dogs sat yelping at us at the mouths of their burrows on the dry plain
beyond. Suddenly an antelope leaped up from the wild-sage bushes, gazed
eagerly at us, and then, erecting his white tail, stretched away like a
greyhound. The two Indian boys found a white wolf, as large as a calf in
a hollow, and giving a sharp yell, they galloped after him; but the wolf
leaped into the stream and swam across. Then came the crack of a rifle,
the bullet whistling harmlessly over his head, as he scrambled up the
steep declivity, rattling down stones and earth into the water below.
Advancing a little, we beheld on the farther bank of the stream, a
spectacle not common even in that region; for, emerging from among the
trees, a herd of some two hundred elk came out upon the meadow, their
antlers clattering as they walked forward in dense throng. Seeing us,
they broke into a run, rushing across the opening and disappearing
among the trees and scattered groves. On our left was a barren prairie,
stretching to the horizon; on our right, a deep gulf, with Laramie
Creek at the bottom. We found ourselves at length at the edge of a
steep descent; a narrow valley, with long rank grass and scattered trees
stretching before us for a mile or more along the course of the
stream. Reaching the farther end, we stopped and encamped. An old huge
cotton-wood tree spread its branches horizontally over our tent. Laramie
Creek, circling before our camp, half inclosed us; it swept along the
bottom of a line of tall white cliffs that looked down on us from the
farther bank. There were dense copses on our right; the cliffs, too,
were half hidden by shrubbery, though behind us a few cotton-wood trees,
dotting the green prairie, alone impeded the view, and friend or enemy
could be discerned in that direction at a mile's distance. Here we
resolved to remain and await the arrival of The Whirlwind, who would
certainly pass this way in his progress toward La Bonte's Camp. To go
in search of him was not expedient, both on account of the broken and
impracticable nature of the country and the uncertainty of his position
and movements; besides, our horses were almost worn out, and I was in no
condition to travel. We had good grass, good water, tolerable fish
from the stream, and plenty of smaller game, such as antelope and deer,
though no buffalo. There was one little drawback to our satisfaction--a
certain extensive tract of bushes and dried grass, just behind us, which
it was by no means advisable to enter, since it sheltered a numerous
brood of rattlesnakes. Henry Chatillon again dispatched The Horse to the
village, with a message to his squaw that she and her relatives should
leave the rest and push on as rapidly as possible to our camp.

Our daily routine soon became as regular as that of a well-ordered
household. The weather-beaten old tree was in the center; our rifles
generally rested against its vast trunk, and our saddles were flung on
the ground around it; its distorted roots were so twisted as to form one
or two convenient arm-chairs, where we could sit in the shade and read
or smoke; but meal-times became, on the whole, the most interesting
hours of the day, and a bountiful provision was made for them. An
antelope or a deer usually swung from a stout bough, and haunches were
suspended against the trunk. That camp is daguerreotyped on my memory;
the old tree, the white tent, with Shaw sleeping in the shadow of it,
and Reynal's miserable lodge close by the bank of the stream. It was a
wretched oven-shaped structure, made of begrimed and tattered buffalo
hides stretched over a frame of poles; one side was open, and at the
side of the opening hung the powder horn and bullet pouch of the owner,
together with his long red pipe, and a rich quiver of otterskin, with a
bow and arrows; for Reynal, an Indian in most things but color, chose
to hunt buffalo with these primitive weapons. In the darkness of this
cavern-like habitation, might be discerned Madame Margot, her overgrown
bulk stowed away among her domestic implements, furs, robes, blankets,
and painted cases of PAR' FLECHE, in which dried meat is kept. Here
she sat from sunrise to sunset, a bloated impersonation of gluttony
and laziness, while her affectionate proprietor was smoking, or begging
petty gifts from us, or telling lies concerning his own achievements,
or perchance engaged in the more profitable occupation of cooking some
preparation of prairie delicacies. Reynal was an adept at this work; he
and Delorier have joined forces and are hard at work together over
the fire, while Raymond spreads, by way of tablecloth, a buffalo hide,
carefully whitened with pipeclay, on the grass before the tent. Here,
with ostentatious display, he arranges the teacups and plates; and then,
creeping on all fours like a dog, he thrusts his head in at the opening
of the tent. For a moment we see his round owlish eyes rolling wildly,
as if the idea he came to communicate had suddenly escaped him; then
collecting his scattered thoughts, as if by an effort, he informs us
that supper is ready, and instantly withdraws.