Astoria

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The Shoshonies, however, who, as has been observed, have still "horse to
ride and weapon to wear," are somewhat bolder in their spirit, and more
open and wide in their wanderings. In the autumn, when salmon disappear
from the rivers, and hunger begins to pinch, they even venture down into
their ancient hunting grounds, to make a foray among the buffaloes. In
this perilous enterprise they are occasionally joined by the Flatheads,
the persecutions of the Blackfeet having produced a close alliance
and cooperation between these luckless and maltreated tribes. Still,
notwithstanding their united force, every step they take within the
debatable ground is taken in fear and trembling, and with the utmost
precaution: and an Indian trader assures us that he has seen at least
five hundred of them, armed and equipped for action, and keeping watch
upon the hill tops, while about fifty were hunting in the prairie. Their
excursions are brief and hurried; as soon as they have collected and
jerked sufficient buffalo meat for winter provisions, they pack their
horses, abandon the dangerous hunting grounds, and hasten back to the
mountains, happy if they have not the terrible Blackfeet rattling after
them.

Such a confederate band of Shoshonies and Flatheads was the one met
by our travellers. It was bound on a visit to the Arrapahoes, a tribe
inhabiting the banks of the Nebraska. They were armed to the best of
their scanty means, and some of the Shoshonies had bucklers of buffalo
hide, adorned with feathers and leathern fringes, and which have a
charmed virtue in their eyes, from having been prepared, with mystic
ceremonies, by their conjurers.

In company with this wandering band our travellers proceeded all day.
In the evening they encamped near to each other in a defile of the
mountains, on the borders of a stream running north, and falling into
Bighorn River. In the vicinity of the camp, they found gooseberries,
strawberries, and currants in great abundance. The defile bore traces of
having been a thoroughfare for countless herds of buffaloes, though not
one was to be seen. The hunters succeeded in killing an elk and several
black-tailed deer.

They were now in the bosom of the second Bighorn ridge, with another
lofty and snow-crowned mountain full in view to the west. Fifteen miles
of western course brought them, on the following day, down into an
intervening plain, well stocked with buffalo. Here the Snakes and
Flatheads joined with the white hunters in a successful hunt, that soon
filled the camp with provisions.

On the morning of the 9th of September, the travellers parted company
with their Indian friends, and continued on their course to the west.
A march of thirty miles brought them, in the evening, to the banks of a
rapid and beautifully clear stream about a hundred yards wide. It is the
north fork or branch of the Bighorn River, but bears its peculiar
name of the Wind River, from being subject in the winter season to a
continued blast which sweeps its banks and prevents the snow from lying
on them. This blast is said to be caused by a narrow gap or funnel
in the mountains, through which the river forces its way between
perpendicular precipices, resembling cut rocks.

This river gives its name to a whole range of mountains consisting
of three parallel chains, eighty miles in length, and about twenty or
twenty-five broad. One of its peaks is probably fifteen thousand feet
above the level of the sea, being one of the highest of the Rocky
Sierra. These mountains give rise, not merely to the Wind or Bighorn
River, but to several branches of the Yellowstone and the Missouri on
the east, and of the Columbia and Colorado on the west; thus dividing
the sources of these mighty streams.

For five succeeding days, Mr. Hunt and his party continued up the course
of the Wind River, to the distance of about eighty miles, crossing and
recrossing it, according to its windings, and the nature of its banks;
sometimes passing through valleys, at other times scrambling over rocks
and hills. The country in general was destitute of trees, but they
passed through groves of wormwood, eight and ten feet in height, which
they used occasionally for fuel, and they met with large quantities of
wild flax.

The mountains were destitute of game; they came in sight of two grizzly
bears, but could not get near enough for a shot; provisions, therefore,
began to be scanty. They saw large flights of the kind of thrush
commonly called the robin, and many smaller birds of migratory species;
but the hills in general appeared lonely and with few signs of animal
life. On the evening of the 14th September, they encamped on the forks
of the Wind or Bighorn River. The largest of these forks came from the
range of Wind River Mountains.

The hunters who served as guides to the party in this part of their
route, had assured Mr. Hunt that, by following up Wind River, and
crossing a single mountain ridge, he would come upon the head waters
of the Columbia. This scarcity of game, however, which already had been
felt to a pinching degree, and which threatened them with famine among
the sterile heights which lay before them, admonished them to change
their course. It was determined, therefore, to make for a stream, which
they were informed passed the neighboring mountains, to the south of
west, on the grassy banks of which it was probable they would meet with
buffalo. Accordingly, about three o'clock on the following day, meeting
with a beaten Indian road which led in the proper direction, they struck
into it, turning their backs upon Wind River.

In the course of the day, they came to a height that commanded an
almost boundless prospect. Here one of the guides paused, and, after
considering the vast landscape attentively, pointed to three mountain
peaks glistening with snow, which rose, he said, above a fork of
Columbia River. They were hailed by the travellers with that joy with
which a beacon on a seashore is hailed by mariners after a long and
dangerous voyage.

It is true there was many a weary league to be traversed before they
should reach these landmarks, for, allowing for their evident height and
the extreme transparency of the atmosphere, they could not be much less
than a hundred miles distant. Even after reaching them, there would yet
remain hundreds of miles of their journey to be accomplished. All these
matters were forgotten in the joy at seeing the first landmarks of the
Columbia, that river which formed the bourne of the expedition. These
remarkable peaks were known as the Tetons; as guiding points for many
days, to Mr. Hunt, he gave them the names of the Pilot Knobs.

The travellers continued their course to the south of west for about
forty miles, through a region so elevated that patches of snow lay on
the highest summits and on the northern declivities. At length they came
to the desired stream, the object of their search, the waters of which
flowed to the west. It was, in fact, a branch of the Colorado, which
falls into the Gulf of California, and had received from the hunters
the name of Spanish River, from information given by the Indians that
Spaniards resided upon its lower waters.

The aspect of this river and its vicinity was cheering to the wayworn
and hungry travellers. Its banks were green, and there were grassy
valleys running from it various directions, into the heart of the rugged
mountains, with herds of buffalo quietly grazing. The hunters sallied
forth with keen alacrity, and soon returned laden with provisions.

In this part of the mountains Mr. Hunt met with three different kinds of
gooseberries. The common purple, on a low and very thorny bush; a yellow
kind, of an excellent flavor, growing on a stock free from thorns; and
a deep purple, of the size and taste of our winter grape, with a thorny
stalk. There were also three kinds of currants, one very large and well
tasted, of a purple color, and growing on a bush eight or nine feet
high. Another of a yellow color, and of the size and taste of the large
red currant, the bush four or five feet high; and the third a beautiful
scarlet, resembling the strawberry in sweetness, though rather insipid,
and growing on a low bush.

On the 17th they continued down the course of the river, making fifteen
miles to the southwest. The river abounded with geese and ducks, and
there were signs of its being inhabited by beaver and otters: indeed
they were now approaching regions where these animals, the great objects
of the fur trade, are said to abound. They encamped for the night
opposite the end of a mountain in the west, which was probably the last
chain of the Rocky Mountains. On the following morning they abandoned
the main course of the Spanish River, and taking a northwest direction
for eight miles, came upon one of its little tributaries, issuing out of
the bosom of the mountains, and running through green meadows, yielding
pasturage to herds of buffalo. As these were probably the last of that
animal they would meet with, they encamped on the grassy banks of the
river, determined to spend several days in hunting, so as to be able to
jerk sufficient meat to supply them until they should reach the waters
of the Columbia, where they trusted to find fish enough for their
support. A little repose, too, was necessary for both men and horses,
after their rugged and incessant marching; having in the course of the
last seventeen days traversed two hundred and sixty miles of rough, and
in many parts sterile, mountain country.




CHAPTER XXX.

A Plentiful Hunting Camp.-Shoshonie Hunters--Hoback's River
--Mad River--Encampment Near the Pilot Knobs.--A
Consultation.--Preparations for a Perilous Voyage.

FIVE days were passed by Mr. Hunt and his companions in the fresh
meadows watered by the bright little mountain stream. The hunters made
great havoc among the buffaloes, and brought in quantities of meat; the
voyageurs busied themselves about the fires, roasting and stewing for
present purposes, or drying provisions for the journey; the pack-horses,
eased of their burdens, rolled on the grass, or grazed at large about
the ample pasture; those of the party who had no call upon their
services, indulged in the luxury of perfect relaxation, and the camp
presented a picture of rude feasting and revelry, of mingled bustle
and repose, characteristic of a halt in a fine hunting country. In the
course of one of their excursions, some of the men came in sight of
a small party of Indians, who instantly fled in great apparent
consternation. They immediately retreated to camp with the intelligence:
upon which Mr. Hunt and four others flung themselves upon their horses,
and sallied forth to reconnoitre. After riding for about eight miles,
they came upon a wild mountain scene. A lonely green valley stretched
before them, surrounded by rugged heights. A herd of buffalo were
careering madly through it, with a troop of savage horsemen in full
chase, plying them with their bows and arrows. The appearance of Mr.
Hunt and his companions put an abrupt end to the hunt; the buffalo
scuttled off in one direction, while the Indians plied their lashes and
galloped off in another, as fast as their steeds could carry them. Mr.
Hunt gave chase; there was a sharp scamper, though of short continuance.
Two young Indians, who were indifferently mounted, were soon overtaken.
They were terribly frightened, and evidently gave themselves up for
lost. By degrees their fears were allayed by kind treatment; but they
continued to regard the strangers with a mixture of awe and wonder, for
it was the first time in their lives they had ever seen a white man.

They belonged to a party of Snakes who had come across the mountains on
their autumnal hunting excursion to provide buffalo meat for the
winter. Being persuaded of the peaceful intentions of Mr. Hunt and his
companions, they willingly conducted them to their camp. It was pitched
in a narrow valley on the margin of a stream. The tents were of dressed
skins, some of them fantastically painted; with horses grazing about
them. The approach of the party caused a transient alarm in the camp,
for these poor Indians were ever on the look-out for cruel foes. No
sooner, however, did they recognize the garb and complexion of their
visitors, than their apprehensions were changed into Joy; for some of
them had dealt with white men, and knew them to be friendly, and to
abound with articles of singular value. They welcomed them, therefore,
to their tents, set food before them; and entertained them to the best
of their power.

They had been successful in their hunt, and their camp was full of
jerked buffalo meat, all of the choicest kind, and extremely fat. Mr.
Hunt purchased enough of them, in addition to what had been killed
and cured by his own hunters, to load all the horses excepting those
reserved for the partners and the wife of Pierre Dorion. He found, also,
a few beaver skins in their camp, for which he paid liberally, as an
inducement to them to hunt for more; informing them that some of his
party intended to live among the mountains, and trade with the native
hunters for their peltries. The poor Snakes soon comprehended the
advantages thus held out to them, and promised to exert themselves to
procure a quantity of beaver skins for future traffic. Being now well
supplied with provisions, Mr. Hunt broke up his encampment on the 24th
of September, and continued on to the west. A march of fifteen miles,
over a mountain ridge, brought them to a stream about fifty feet in
width, which Hoback, one of their guides, who had trapped about the
neighborhood when in the service of Mr. Henry, recognized for one of the
head waters of the Columbia. The travellers hailed it with delight,
as the first stream they had encountered tending toward their point of
destination. They kept along it for two days, during which, from the
contribution of many rills and brooks, it gradually swelled into a small
river. As it meandered among rocks and precipices, they were frequently
obliged to ford it, and such was its rapidity that the men were often in
danger of being swept away. Sometimes the banks advanced so close upon
the river that they were obliged to scramble up and down their rugged
promontories, or to skirt along their bases where there was scarce a
foothold. Their horses had dangerous falls in some of these passes. One
of them rolled, with his load, nearly two hundred feet down hill into
the river, but without receiving any injury. At length they emerged from
these stupendous defiles, and continued for several miles along the bank
of Hoback's River, through one of the stern mountain valleys. Here it
was joined by a river of greater magnitude and swifter current, and
their united waters swept off through the valley in one impetuous
stream, which, from its rapidity and turbulence, had received the name
of the Mad River. At the confluence of these streams the travellers
encamped. An important point in their arduous journey had been attained;
a few miles from their camp rose the three vast snowy peaks called the
Tetons, or the Pilot Knobs, the great landmarks of the Columbia, by
which they had shaped their course through this mountain wilderness. By
their feet flowed the rapid current of Mad River, a stream ample enough
to admit of the navigation of canoes, and down which they might possibly
be able to steer their course to the main body of the Columbia.
The Canadian voyageurs rejoiced at the idea of once more launching
themselves upon their favorite element; of exchanging their horses for
canoes, and of gliding down the bosoms of rivers, instead of scrambling
over the backs of mountains. Others of the party, also, inexperienced in
this kind of travelling, considered their toils and troubles as drawing
to a close. They had conquered the chief difficulties of this great
rocky barrier, and now flattered themselves with the hope of an easy
downward course for the rest of their journey. Little did they dream
of the hardships and perils by land and water, which were yet to be
encountered in the frightful wilderness that intervened between them and
the shores of the Pacific!




CHAPTER XXXI.

A Consultation Whether to Proceed by Land or Water--
Preparations for Boat-Building.--An Exploring Party.--A
Party of Trappers Detached.--Two Snake Visitors.--Their
Report Concerning the River.--Confirmed by the Exploring
Party.--Mad River Abandoned.--Arrival at Henry's Fort.--
Detachment of Robinson, Hoback, and Rezner to Trap.--Mr.
Miller Resolves to Accompany Them.--Their Departure.

ON the banks of Mad River Mr. Hunt held a consultation with the other
partners as to their future movements. The wild and impetuous current
of the river rendered him doubtful whether it might not abound with
impediments lower down, sufficient to render the navigation of it slow
and perilous, if not impracticable. The hunters who had acted as guides
knew nothing of the character of the river below; what rocks, and
shoals, and rapids might obstruct it, or through what mountains and
deserts it might pass. Should they then abandon their horses, cast
themselves loose in fragile barks upon this wild, doubtful, and unknown
river; or should they continue their more toilsome and tedious, but
perhaps more certain wayfaring by land?

The vote, as might have been expected, was almost unanimous for
embarkation; for when men are in difficulties every change seems to be
for the better. The difficulty now was to find timber of sufficient size
for the construction of canoes, the trees in these high mountain regions
being chiefly a scrubbed growth of pines and cedars, aspens, haws, and
service-berries, and a small kind of cotton-tree, with a leaf resembling
that of the willow. There was a species of large fir, but so full of
knots as to endanger the axe in hewing it. After searching for some
time, a growth of timber, of sufficient size, was found lower down the
river, whereupon the encampment was moved to the vicinity.

The men were now set to work to fell trees, and the mountains echoed to
the unwonted sound of their axes. While preparations were thus going on
for a voyage down the river, Mr. Hunt, who still entertained doubts of
its practicability, despatched an exploring party, consisting of
John Reed, the clerk, John Day, the hunter, and Pierre Dorion, the
interpreter, with orders to proceed several days' march along the
stream, and notice its course and character.

After their departure, Mr. Hunt turned his thoughts to another object of
importance. He had now arrived at the head waters of the Columbia, which
were among the main points embraced by the enterprise of Mr. Astor.
These upper streams were reputed to abound in beaver, and had as yet
been unmolested by the white trapper. The numerous signs of beaver
met with during the recent search for timber gave evidence that the
neighborhood was a good "trapping ground." Here, then, it was proper to
begin to cast loose those leashes of hardy trappers, that are detached
from trading parties, in the very heart of the wilderness. The men
detached in the present instance were Alexander Carson, Louis St.
Michel, Pierre Detaye, and Pierre Delaunay. Trappers generally go in
pairs, that they may assist, protect, and comfort each other in their
lonely and perilous occupations. Thus Carson and St. Michel formed
one couple, and Detaye and Delaunay another. They were fitted out with
traps, arms, ammunition, horses, and every other requisite, and were to
trap upon the upper part of Mad River, and upon the neighboring streams
of the mountains. This would probably occupy them for some months; and,
when they should have collected a sufficient quantity of peltries, they
were to pack them upon their horses and make the best of their way to
the mouth of Columbia River, or to any intermediate post which might
be established by the company. They took leave of their comrades and
started off on their several courses with stout hearts and cheerful
countenances; though these lonely cruisings into a wild and hostile
wilderness seem to the uninitiated equivalent to being cast adrift in
the ship's yawl in the midst of the ocean.

Of the perils that attend the lonely trapper, the reader will have
sufficient proof, when he comes, in the after part of this work, to
learn the hard fortunes of these poor fellows in the course of their
wild peregrinations.

The trappers had not long departed, when two Snake Indians wandered
into the camp. When they perceived that the strangers were fabricating
canoes, they shook their heads and gave them to understand that the
river was not navigable. Their information, however, was scoffed at by
some of the party, who were obstinately bent on embarkation, but was
confirmed by the exploring party, who returned after several days'
absence. They had kept along the river with great difficulty for two
days, and found it a narrow, crooked, turbulent stream, confined in
a rocky channel, with many rapids, and occasionally overhung with
precipices. From the summit of one of these they had caught a bird's-eye
view of its boisterous career for a great distance through the heart of
the mountain, with impending rocks and cliffs. Satisfied from this view
that it was useless to follow its course, either by land or water, they
had given up all further investigation.

These concurring reports determined Mr. Hunt to abandon Mad River, and
seek some more navigable stream. This determination was concurred in by
all his associates excepting Mr. Miller, who had become impatient of
the fatigue of land travel, and was for immediate embarkation at all
hazards. This gentleman had been in a gloomy and irritated state of mind
for some time past, being troubled with a bodily malady that rendered
travelling on horseback extremely irksome to him, and being, moreover,
discontented with having a smaller share in the expedition than his
comrades. His unreasonable objections to a further march by land were
overruled, and the party prepared to decamp.

Robinson, Hoback, and Rezner, the three hunters who had hitherto served
as guides among the mountains, now stepped forward, and advised Mr. Hunt
to make for the post established during the preceding year by Mr. Henry,
of the Missouri Fur Company. They had been with Mr. Henry, and, as far
as they could judge by the neighboring landmarks, his post could not be
very far off. They presumed there could be but one intervening ridge of
mountains, which might be passed without any great difficulty. Henry's
post, or fort, was on an upper branch of the Columbia, down which they
made no doubt it would be easy to navigate in canoes.

The two Snake Indians being questioned in the matter, showed a perfect
knowledge of the situation of the post, and offered, with great
alacrity, to guide them to the place. Their offer was accepted, greatly
to the displeasure of Mr. Miller, who seemed obstinately bent upon
braving the perils of Mad River.

The weather for a few days past had been stormy, with rain and sleet.
The Rocky Mountains are subject to tempestuous winds from the west;
these sometimes come in flaws or currents, making a path through the
forests many yards in width, and whirling off trunks and branches to
a great distance. The present storm subsided on the third of October,
leaving all the surrounding heights covered with snow; for while rain
had fallen in the valley, it had snowed on the hill tops.

On the 4th, they broke up their encampment, and crossed the river, the
water coming up to the girths of their horses. After travelling four
miles, they encamped at the foot of the mountain, the last, as they
hoped, which they should have to traverse. Four days more took them
across it, and over several plains, watered by beautiful little streams,
tributaries of Mad River. Near one of their encampments there was a hot
spring continually emitting a cloud of vapor. These elevated plains,
which give a peculiar character to the mountains, are frequented by
large gangs of antelopes, fleet as the wind.

On the evening of the 8th of October, after a cold wintry day, with
gusts of westerly wind and flurries of snow, they arrived at the
sought-for post of Mr. Henry. Here he had fixed himself, after being
compelled by the hostilities of the Blackfeet, to abandon the upper
waters of the Missouri. The post, however, was deserted, for Mr. Henry
had left it in the course of the preceding spring, and, as it afterwards
appeared, had fallen in with Mr. Lisa, at the Arickara village on the
Missouri, some time after the separation of Mr. Hunt and his party.

The weary travellers gladly took possession of the deserted log huts
which had formed the post, and which stood on the bank of a stream
upwards of a hundred yards wide, on which they intended to embark.
There being plenty of suitable timber in the neighborhood, Mr. Hunt
immediately proceeded to construct canoes. As he would have to leave
his horses and their accoutrements here, he determined to make this a
trading post, where the trappers and hunters, to be distributed about
the country, might repair; and where the traders might touch on their
way through the mountains to and from the establishment at the mouth of
the Columbia. He informed the two Snake Indians of this determination,
and engaged them to remain in that neighborhood and take care of the
horses until the white men should return, promising them ample rewards
for their fidelity. It may seem a desperate chance to trust to the faith
and honesty of two such vagabonds; but, as the horses would have, at all
events, to be abandoned, and would otherwise become the property of the
first vagrant horde that should encounter them, it was one chance in
favor of their being regained.