Pattie's Personal Narrative, 1824-1830; Willard's Inland Trade with New Mexico, 1825, and Downfall of the Fredonian Republic; and Malte-Brun's Account of Mexico
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Title: Pattie's Personal Narrative, 1824-1830; Willard's Inland Trade with New Mexico, 1825, and Downfall of the Fredonian Republic; and Malte-Brun's Account of Mexico
Author: James O. Pattie
Conrad Malte-Brun
Dr. Willard
Editor: Timothy Flint
Reuben Gold Thwaites
Release date: June 27, 2014 [eBook #46110]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PATTIE'S PERSONAL NARRATIVE, 1824-1830; WILLARD'S INLAND TRADE WITH NEW MEXICO, 1825, AND DOWNFALL OF THE FREDONIAN REPUBLIC; AND MALTE-BRUN'S ACCOUNT OF MEXICO ***
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
The text includes Original Edition page numbers in { }.
Footnotes in the text are in [ ].
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Obvious typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected
after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and
consultation of external sources.
More detail can be found at the end of the book.
Early Western Travels
1748-1846
Volume XVIII
Early Western Travels
1748-1846
A Series of Annotated Reprints of some of the best
and rarest contemporary volumes of travel, descriptive
of the Aborigines and Social and
Economic Conditions in the Middle
and Far West, during the Period
of Early American Settlement
Edited with Notes, Introductions, Index, etc., by
Reuben Gold Thwaites, LL.D.
Editor of "The Jesuit Relations and Allied Documents," "Original
Journals of the Lewis and Clark Expedition," "Hennepin's
New Discovery," etc.
Volume XVIII
Pattie's Personal Narrative, 1824-1830; Willard's Inland Trade
with New Mexico, 1825, and Downfall of the Fredonian
Republic; and Malte-Brun's Account of Mexico.
[Illustration: (Publisher's logo)]
Cleveland, Ohio
The Arthur H. Clark Company
1905
COPYRIGHT 1905, BY
THE ARTHUR H. CLARK COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The Lakeside Press
R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY
CHICAGO
CONTENTS OF VOLUME XVIII
PREFACE. _The Editor_ 9
PERSONAL NARRATIVE during an Expedition from St. Louis,
through The Vast Regions between that place and the Pacific
Ocean, and thence back through the City of Mexico to Vera
Cruz, during journeyings of six years; in which he and his
Father, who accompanied him, suffered unheard of Hardships
and Dangers, had Various Conflicts with the Indians,
and were made Captives, in which Captivity his Father died;
together with a Description of the Country, and the Various
Nations through which they passed. _James O. Pattie_, of
Kentucky, edited by _Timothy Flint_.
Copyright notice 24
The first Editor's Preface. _Timothy Flint_ 25
Author's Introduction 29
Text 37
The first Editor's Note. _Timothy Flint_ 325
Inland Trade with New Mexico. _Doctor Willard_, edited by
_Timothy Flint_ 327
Downfall of the Fredonian Republic. _Doctor Willard_, edited by
_Timothy Flint_ 365
Mexico. Some Account of its Inhabitants, Towns, Productions,
and Natural Curiosities. _Conrad Malte-Brun_ 370
ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOLUME XVIII
Facsimile of title-page, Pattie's Narrative 23
"Rescue of an Indian Child" 57
"Mr. Pattie wounded by an Indian Arrow" 161
"Shooting Mr. Pattie's Horse" 185
"Messrs. Pattie and Slover rescued from Famish" 217
"Burial of Mr. Pattie" 243
PREFACE TO VOLUME XVIII
Upon the return, in 1806, of the Lewis and Clark exploring expedition,
the first successfully to penetrate from the Mississippi River to the
Pacific Ocean, the Western imagination was aroused by visions of wealth
to be acquired from commercial relations with the Indians of the far
Northwest. Fur-trading expeditions were accordingly soon dispatched
up the Missouri and its tributaries; and, throughout several years,
the equally rich opportunities for Southwestern Indian commerce and
exploration were neglected.
Far to the Southwest lay the Spanish settlements of New Mexico,
isolated islands of a sluggish civilization. Practically all of their
imports were brought in by way of the Gulf of Mexico and Vera Cruz,
thence travelling a difficult road of over fifteen hundred miles from
the coast, making their cost almost prohibitive to the mixed race
of Spaniards and Mexicans who dwelt in the valleys of the upper Rio
Grande. Yet within easy reach of their frontier lay one of the chief
commercial peoples of the age, to be reached over a wilderness road
passing for the most part across level plains, watered by numerous
streams--the upper tributaries of the great western affluents of the
Mississippi. The common interests of these people and of the Americans
lay in an interchange of commodities; but the government of New Spain
looked with hostile suspicion upon the aggressive, vigorous race that
was even then forcing its borders. Behind the prospect of profit for
the overland Southwest trader, loomed the possibility of a gruesome
Spanish prison, and confiscation of the adventured goods.
After Zebulon M. Pike returned (1807) with his account of arrest and
detention in Santa Fé and Chihuahua, no American trader appears to
have sought this region for five years. A party then outfitting from
St. Louis was seized at the New Mexican frontier, hurried to an inland
dungeon, and kept in durance nine miserable years. News of this harsh
treatment, and of the revolutionary movement which was upheaving the
social structure of all New Spain, proved sufficiently deterrent to
keep any organized expeditions from risking the hazard of the Southwest
trade, until the third decade of the nineteenth century. More favorable
reports being then received, several caravans were fitted out, and the
real history of the Santa Fé trail began.
Among the early merchants of St. Louis, the name of Bernard Pratte,
near relative of the Chouteaus and Labbadies, was connected with
important fur-trading enterprises. In the summer of 1824 Pratte's
eldest son headed a caravan destined for the Santa Fé, his party being
rendezvoused at the company's post upon the Missouri, not far from the
present site of Omaha. There, while waiting for its final equipment,
the expedition was reinforced by four free-traders who had left their
home upon the Gasconade River, the frontier of Missouri settlement,
and with a small outfit had ascended the river to this point, bent on
trading and hunting upon its upper waters. Barred from their enterprise
by the lack of an authoritative license for dealing with the Indians,
the little band were easily persuaded to join Pratte's party. Two of
these recruits were the heroes of our tale--Sylvester Pattie and his
son James Ohio.
For three generations the Patties had been frontiersmen. Restlessly
they moved onward as the border advanced, always hovering upon the
outskirts of civilization, seeking to better their condition by taking
up fresh lands in untilled places, and remorselessly fighting the
aborigines who disputed their invasion. They longed unceasingly for new
adventures in the mysterious West, that allured them with its strange
fascination. Brave, honest, God-fearing, vigorous in mind and body,
dependent on their own resources, for food and for defense chiefly
dependent on the familiar rifle, the Patties belonged to that class of
Americans who conquered the wilderness, and yearly pushed the frontier
westward.
The career of the grandfather and father of our author, as in simple
phrase he relates it in his Introduction, is typical of those of the
founders of Kentucky, and the early settlers of the rich valley of
the Missouri. To have early emigrated from Virginia to Kentucky, to
have aided in the defense of Bryant's Station, and to have served
under Colonel Benjamin Logan, and the still more renowned Kentuckian,
George Rogers Clark, was unquestionable guaranty to the proud title of
pioneer. It was typical, also, that the grandfather, having acquired
some local fame and position, and attained the rank of magistrate, the
father, tiring of Kentucky, should, like the Boones, join the stream
of emigration to Missouri. There, history repeated itself. The War of
1812-15 breaking out, the frontier blockhouses must again withstand
the assaults of savages. Lieutenant Pattie's relief of Cap-au-Gris,
upon the Missouri, takes rank with Logan's Revolutionary exploits at
St. Asaph's. The war ended, and the country filling up, "Mr. Pattie,
possessing a wandering and adventurous spirit," once more removed to
the utmost borders of civilization, and built a mill upon the rapid
Gasconade. Here he was in a fair way to prosperity, when domestic
affliction sent him forth into the wilderness, taking with him his
eldest son, who "inheriting the love of a rifle through so many
generations, and nursed amid such scenes, he begged so earnestly of
his father that he might be allowed to accompany the expedition, that
he prevailed." Thus began that long series of adventures, so full
of hazard and suffering that their unvarnished narration would seem
the invention of romance, did not one often find counterparts in the
experiences of other Western wanderers.
Recruited to the number of a hundred and sixteen, Pratte's caravan
advanced first toward the Pawnee villages of the Platte. Because of
his long experience in border warfare, Sylvester Pattie was now chosen
commander, and thereafter arranged the details of march and guard.
The Pawnee were inclined to be friendly, their chiefs having recently
visited the Great Father at Washington; but in rescuing an ill-treated
native child, captured by them on a recent raid against a hostile
tribe, the whites were nearly embroiled with these pirates of the
plains. Securing the little waif, also some Indian guides, the Pawnee
were left behind August 11, 1824, and the advance to the Southwest
begun. Day after day the party toiled across the plains, their journey
filled with stirring incident. Once, prepared to fight a band of from
six to eight hundred well-mounted Comanche, the whites were rescued by
a rival tribe of horsemen, who, "with a noise like distant thunder,"
swept in between the hostile lines, and won the battle for them. Again,
amid a vagrant party of Indians, the father of the little captive
suddenly appeared, and presented the captain of the expedition with
tokens of his gratitude for the rescue. Upon the twentieth of August,
buffalo were first encountered; and twenty days later, on the ridge
between the waters of the Kansas and the Arkansas, young Pattie was
introduced to that then formidable enemy, the grizzly bear. From that
time forward, these fierce creatures attacked the camp almost nightly;
on one occasion, a member of the party was caught and so maimed by a
grizzly that he shortly after died of his wounds.
On the twentieth of October the caravan reached the mountains, and
after a difficult crossing descended into the attractive valley of
Taos, the New Mexican frontier. Pattie was surprised at the primitive
life and customs of the inhabitants of New Mexico, of which in a few
unadorned sentences he gives us a vivid picture. Passing on to Santa
Fé, the ancient capital, our adventurers were just in time to join
a punitive expedition against a hostile band of Indians, wherein the
junior Pattie had the good fortune to rescue from the hands of the
savages a charming young Spanish maiden, daughter of a former governor
of the province. The gratitude of the fair captive and of her father
was profusely expressed, and their friendship proved of lasting value
to the gallant narrator.
Obtaining permission from the New Mexican government to trap upon the
Gila River, the Patties organized a small party for that purpose.
Leaving Santa Fé on November 22, they passed down the Rio del Norte to
Socorro, and then struck across country to the Gila, visiting en route
the famous copper mines of Santa Rita. The trip extended through nearly
five months, and the hunters were probably the first Americans to visit
the upper valley of the Gila. Many of the natives having never seen
a white man, fled at their approach; but others were more bold, and
viciously attacked them with their arrows. James's appearance upon his
return to the New Mexican settlements was so haggard that the rescued
Spanish girl shed tears upon observing his plight.
Securing fresh supplies, the party set out to bring in their buried
furs from the Gila, only to find that the Indians had discovered and
rifled their cache; thus had their hardships and sufferings gone for
naught. Returning to the mines, they succeeded in repelling an attack
thereon by hostile Apache, and in wringing from them a treaty which
ensured the peaceful working of the deposits; whereupon the Spaniards
rented these works to Sylvester Pattie, whose American methods enabled
him to derive from them a profit unknown to their former operators. But
the tranquil life at Santa Rita proved too monotonous for the younger
Pattie. He was seized with "an irresistible desire to resume the
employment of trapping," and despite paternal remonstrances set out
January 26, 1826, with a few companions, for the Gila valley, where he
had already suffered and lost so much.
During the following eight months, the range of the trappers' journey
was wide. Passing down the Gila to its junction with the Colorado, they
ascended the banks of the latter stream, seeing in its now world-famous
cañons only walls of highly-colored rock that debarred them from the
water's edge. Crossing the continental divide, probably at the South
Pass, they emerged upon the plains, and once more hunted buffalo in
their native habitat. Turning north to the Big Horn and Yellowstone,
the adventurers pursued a somewhat ill-defined course, coming back
upon the upper Arkansas, and crossing to Santa Fé, where Pattie was
again deprived of the harvest of furs gathered with such wearisome
labor--this time by the duplicity of the Spanish governor, who claimed
that the young man's former license did not extend to this expedition.
After once more visiting the gentle Jacova, his young Spanish friend,
Pattie sought his father at Santa Rita. Delaying there but three days
for rest, he set forth upon another excursion afield--this time to
Sonora, Chihuahua, and other provinces of northern Mexico, returning by
way of El Paso, and reaching the mines by the middle of November.
The winter and spring were spent in occasional hunting excursions,
and in visits to the Spanish haciendas. In the spring, a new turn was
given to the fortunes of the Patties, by the embezzlement and flight
of a trusted Spanish subordinate, through whom were lost the savings
of several years. Forced to abandon their mining operations, father
and son sought to rehabilitate themselves by another extended trapping
expedition, and set forth with a company of thirty, again in the
direction of the Gila.
Engagements with hostile Indians were of frequent occurrence. Early in
November, many of their party having deserted and all of their horses
being stolen, the remainder built themselves canoes, and embarked upon
the river. Communication with the natives being only possible through
the sign language, our adventurers misunderstood their informants to
declare that a Spanish settlement existed at the mouth of the Colorado;
and in expectation of here finding succor, they continued down that
great waterway to its mouth. There they met with nothing but deserted
shores, and tidal waves which seriously alarmed and disturbed these
fresh-water voyagers. Finding the ascent of the swift current beyond
their powers, they had now no recourse but to bury their store of furs,
and strike across the rugged peninsula of Lower California toward
the Spanish settlements on the Pacific coast. The story of their
sufferings in the salt lakes and deserts of this barren land is told
with more vigor than delicacy. Arrived at a Dominican mission on the
western slope of the mountains, the weary travellers were received with
suspicion rather than hospitality. Being placed under surveillance,
they were forwarded to San Diego, then the residence of the governor of
the Spanish settlements of California.
We now come to a most interesting portion of Pattie's book--his
residence in California, in the time of the Mexican régime, and his
report of conditions and events in the "land of the golden fleece."
According to his account, he and his companions were at first treated
with severity, being imprisoned at San Diego for lack of passports,
and there detained for many months. The elder Pattie died in his cell,
without being permitted to see the son for whose presence he had
piteously pleaded in his latest hours. Young Pattie's hatred for the
Mexican governor was not unnatural; but the consequent bitterness of
expression quite distorts his narrative. A Mexican tradition reports
that the Patties were received by the inhabitants with wonder, and
treated kindly; also that the elder Pattie embraced the Catholic faith
before his death, and expressed his appreciation of the hospitality
shown them. We may infer even from the son's statements, since his
chief anathemas are reserved for the officers and the priests, that the
unofficial population disapproved of the governor's measures.
Pattie was at last released, in recognition of his services as an
interpreter, and in order that he might vaccinate the natives of the
missions, among whom a smallpox epidemic had broken out. The adventurer
now set forth up the coast, stopping in turn at each mission and
presidio, and presenting us with a graphic picture of the pastoral life
of the neophytes and rancheros. Arrived at San Francisco, he pushed on
to the Russian fort on Bodega Bay, returning to Monterey in time to
describe and participate in the Solis revolt of 1829. Here he consorted
with the small American colony, and in his narrative probably magnifies
his own part in this affair, which, seen through the mists of memory,
bulked larger than the facts would warrant. At Monterey he encountered
his old enemy, Governor Echeandia, who with apparent surprise found his
former captive among those who had aided in suppressing the revolt.
Proffered Mexican citizenship, Pattie represents himself as showering
reproaches on the governor for the indignities he had suffered. Advised
by his new friends to make a formal statement of his injuries, and the
losses suffered by refusal to permit the securing of his furs, Pattie
embarked for Mexico in May, 1830, together with the revolutionists
who were being sent to the capital for trial. Upon his departure he
conveys his impressions of Alta California in a few striking sentences:
"Those who traverse it [the California coast] ... must be constantly
excited to wonder and praise. It is no less remarkable for uniting the
advantages of healthfulness, a good soil, a temperate climate, and
yet one of exceeding mildness, a happy mixture of level and elevated
ground, and vicinity to the sea." He then proceeds to animadvert
upon the inhabitants and the conduct of the mission padres in their
treatment of the natives. The companions of his long and adventurous
journey he left settled among the Mexicans; most of them made
California their permanent home.
At the City of Mexico, Pattie visited the American diplomatic
representative, also the president of the republic, but failed to
obtain satisfaction for his losses or injuries. On the way to Vera
Cruz, Pattie's travelling party met with an incident then common
to travel in Mexico--being halted by the outlawed followers of the
recently-deposed president, their arms seized, one of their number
hanged, and the remainder relieved of their valuables. From Vera Cruz
our adventurer found passage to New Orleans; thence, through the kindly
help of compatriots, who loaned him money for the steamboat passage,
he ascended the Mississippi to Cincinnati and his early Kentucky
home. Here the narrative closes. The only clue we have in reference
to his after life, is the one given by H. H. Bancroft, the historian,
who thinks he was again in San Diego, California, after the American
advent.[1]
When poor Pattie arrived in Cincinnati, August 30, 1830, he not only
was penniless, but long incarceration in Mexican prisons had broken his
health and spirits. The tale of his adventures was doubtless received
with slight credence by his simple relatives. But the Reverend Timothy
Flint, the young editor of the _Western Monthly Review_ of Cincinnati,
who was already enamored of stories of Western pioneering, prevailed
upon Pattie to write an account of his curious experiences. Thus
originated the _Personal Narrative_, which we now republish in full for
the first time.[2]
Pattie appears to have written from memory, without the aid of notes
taken on the journey--a fact which accounts for the occasional
discrepancies in dates, and the obvious confusion of events. Upon the
whole, however, the narrative impresses the reader with a sense of its
verity, and has the charm of simplicity and vigor. The emendations of
the editor, we are assured, were chiefly in the matters of orthography
and punctuation, "with the occasional interposition of a topographical
illustration, which my acquaintance with the accounts of travellers
in New Mexico, and published views have enabled me to make." It is
probable that we thus owe to Flint most of the descriptions of scenery,
for there is abundant textual evidence that Pattie was not possessed of
a poetic fancy. To expand the dimensions of the book, Flint added an
article on "Inland Trade with New Mexico," composed chiefly of extracts
from the journal of a Doctor Willard, who in May, 1825, set out from
St. Charles, Missouri, with an overland party bound for Santa Fé.
Thence, practicing medicine on the way, he visited Chihuahua and the
northeastern provinces of Mexico, ending his journey at Matamoras. This
article, together with another by the same author, on the "Downfall
of the Fredonian Republic," also included in the volume, had appeared
three years before in Flint's magazine. The volume closes with an
extract on Mexican manners and customs, from Malte-Brun's _Géographie
universelle_.
A thrilling tale of pure adventure, ranging all the way from encounters
with grizzly bears, and savages who had never before seen a white man,
to a revolution in a Latin-American state, Pattie's narrative has long
been a classic. Its chief value to the student of Western history
depends upon the vast extent of country over which the author passed,
the ethnological data which he presents, especially in relation to the
Southwestern tribes, and his graphic picture of the contact between
two civilizations in the Southwest, with the inevitable encroachments
of the more progressive race. One sees in his pages the beginnings of
the drama to be fought out in the Mexican War--the rich and beautiful
country, which excited the cupidity of the American pioneer; the
indolence and effeminacy of the inhabitants, which inspired the virile
backwoodsmen's contempt; and the vanguard of the American advance,
already touching the Rockies, and ready to push on to the Pacific.
The Spanish-American official, displaying his little brief authority,
but irritated the restless borderer, whose advent he dreaded, and
whose pressure finally proved irresistible. As a part of the vanguard
of the American host that was to crowd the Mexican from the fair
northern provinces of his domain, Pattie's wanderings are typical, and
suggestive of more than mere adventure. His book is well worthy of
reproduction in our series.
The present Editor is under obligations to Louise Phelps Kellogg,
Ph.D., and Edith Kathryn Lyle, Ph.D., for assistance in preparing this
volume for the press.
R. G. T.
MADISON, WIS., July, 1905.
FOOTNOTES to Preface:
[1] Bancroft, _History of California_, iii, p. 171, note 44.
[2] The first edition was published at Cincinnati in 1831; this is,
however, less commonly seen than one dated 1833. Both are, however,
from the same plates, and differ only in date and style of title-page
and form of copyright clause. We follow the earlier edition, in these
respects. In 1847, one Bilson published a book in New York under the
title, _The Hunters of Kentucky; or, the trials and toils of traders
and trappers during an expedition to the Rocky Mountains, New Mexico
and California_, in which much of Pattie's narrative was incorporated
verbatim. _Harper's Magazine_, xxi, pp. 80-94, also gives a résumé of
Pattie's adventures, with slight embellishments.
PATTIE'S PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF A VOYAGE TO THE PACIFIC AND IN
MEXICO JUNE 20, 1824--AUGUST 30, 1830
Reprint of the original edition: Cincinnati, 1831
[Illustration: (Facsimile of Title-page, Pattie's Narrative )]
THE
PERSONAL NARRATIVE
OF
JAMES O. PATTIE,
OF
KENTUCKY,
DURING AN EXPEDITION FROM ST. LOUIS, THROUGH THE VAST REGIONS
BETWEEN THAT PLACE AND THE PACIFIC OCEAN, AND THENCE BACK
THROUGH THE CITY OF MEXICO TO VERA CRUZ, DURING JOURNEYINGS
OF SIX YEARS; IN WHICH HE AND HIS FATHER, WHO
ACCOMPANIED HIM, SUFFERED UNHEARD OF HARDSHIPS
AND DANGERS, HAD VARIOUS CONFLICTS WITH THE INDIANS,
AND WERE MADE CAPTIVES, IN WHICH
CAPTIVITY HIS FATHER DIED; TOGETHER
WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THE COUNTRY,
AND THE VARIOUS NATIONS THROUGH
WHICH THEY PASSED.
EDITED BY TIMOTHY FLINT.
CINCINNATI:
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY JOHN H. WOOD.
1831.
DISTRICT OF OHIO, TO WIT:
[Illustration: (small logo with L. S. in the center)]
Be it Remembered, that on the 18th day of Oct., Anno Domini 1831;
John H. Wood, of the said District, hath deposited in this office,
the title of a Book, the title of which is in the words following,
to wit:
"The Personal Narrative of James O. Pattie, of Kentucky, during an
expedition from St. Louis, through the vast regions between that
place and the Pacific ocean, and thence back through the city of
Mexico to Vera Cruz, during journeyings of six years; in which he
and his father who accompanied him, suffered unheard of hardships
and dangers; had various conflicts with the Indians, and were made
captives, in which captivity his father died, together with a
description of the country, and the various nations through which
they passed."
The right whereof he claims as proprietor, in conformity with
an act of Congress, entitled "An act to amend the several acts
respecting copyrights."
_Attest_, WILLIAM MINER,
_Clerk of the District_.
EDITOR'S PREFACE[1]
It has been my fortune to be known as a writer of works of the
imagination. I am solicitous that this Journal should lose none of
its intrinsic interest, from its being supposed that in preparing it
for the press, I have drawn from the imagination, either in regard
to the incidents or their coloring. For, in the literal truth of the
facts, incredible as some of them may appear, my grounds of conviction
are my acquaintance with the Author, the impossibility of inventing a
narrative like the following, the respectability of his relations, the
standing which his father sustained, the confidence reposed in him by
the Hon. J. S. Johnston,[2] the very respectable senator in congress
from Louisiana, who introduced him to me, the concurrent testimony
of persons now in this city, who saw him at different points in New
Mexico, and the reports, which reached the United States, during the
expedition of many of the incidents here recorded.
When my family first arrived at St. Charles' in 1816, the fame of the
exploits of his father, as an officer of the rangers, was fresh in the
narratives of his associates and fellow soldiers. I have been on the
ground, at Cap au Gris, where he was besieged by the Indians. I am not
unacquainted with the scenery through which he passed on the Missouri,
and I, too, for many years was a sojourner in the prairies.
These circumstances, along with a conviction of the truth of the
narrative, tended to give me an interest in it, and to qualify me in
some degree to judge of the internal evidences contained in the journal
itself, of its entire authenticity. It will be perceived at once, that
Mr. Pattie, with Mr. McDuffie, thinks more of action than literature,
and is more competent to perform exploits, than blazon them in eloquent
periods. My influence upon the narrative regards orthography, and
punctuation {iv} and the occasional interposition of a topographical
illustration, which my acquaintance with the accounts of travellers
in New Mexico, and published views of the country have enabled me to
furnish. The reader will award me the confidence of acting in good
faith, in regard to drawing nothing from my own thoughts. I have found
more call to suppress, than to add, to soften, than to show in stronger
relief many of the incidents. Circumstances of suffering, which in many
similar narratives have been given in downright plainness of detail,
I have been impelled to leave to the reader's imagination, as too
revolting to be recorded.
The very texture of the narrative precludes ornament and amplification.
The simple record of events as they transpired, painted by the hungry,
toil-worn hunter, in the midst of the desert, surrounded by sterility,
espying the foot print of the savage, or discerning him couched behind
the tree or hillock, or hearing the distant howl of wild beasts, will
naturally bear characteristics of stern disregard of embellishment.
To alter it, to attempt to embellish it, to divest it of the peculiar
impress of the narrator and his circumstances, would be to take from
it its keeping, the charm of its simplicity, and its internal marks of
truth. In these respects I have been anxious to leave the narrative as
I found it.
The journalist seems in these pages a legitimate descendant of those
western pioneers, the hunters of Kentucky, a race passing unrecorded
from history. The pencil of biography could seize upon no subjects of
higher interest. With hearts keenly alive to the impulses of honor and
patriotism, and the charities of kindred and friends; they possessed
spirits impassible to fear, that no form of suffering or death could
daunt; and frames for strength and endurance, as if ribbed with brass
and sinewed with steel. For them to traverse wide deserts, climb
mountains, swim rivers, grapple with the grizzly bear, and encounter
the savage, in a sojourn in the wilderness of years, far from the
abodes of civilized men, was but a spirit-stirring and holiday mode of
life.
{v} To me, there is a kind of moral sublimity in the contemplation of
the adventures and daring of such men. They read a lesson to shrinking
and effeminate spirits, the men of soft hands and fashionable life,
whose frames the winds of heaven are not allowed to visit too roughly.
They tend to re-inspire something of that simplicity of manners, manly
hardihood, and Spartan energy and force of character, which formed
so conspicuous a part of the nature of the settlers of the western
wilderness.
Every one knows with what intense interest the community perused
the adventures of Captain Riley,[3] and other intrepid mariners
shipwrecked and enslaved upon distant and barbarous shores. It is far
from my thoughts to detract from the intrepidity of American mariners,
which is known, wherever the winds blow, or the waves roll; or to
depreciate the interest of the recorded narratives of their sufferings.
A picture more calculated to arouse American sympathies cannot be
presented, than that of a ship's crew, driven by the fierce winds
and the mountain waves upon a rock bound shore, and escaping death
in the sea, only to encounter captivity from the barbarians on the
land. Yet much of the courage, required to encounter these emergencies
is passive, counselling only the necessity of submission to events,
from which there is no escape, and to which all resistance would be
unavailing.
The courage requisite to be put forth in an expedition such as that in
which Mr. Pattie and his associates were cast, must be both active and
passive, energetic and ever vigilant, and never permitted to shrink,
or intermit a moment for years. At one time it is assailed by hordes
of yelling savages, and at another, menaced with the horrible death
of hunger and thirst in interminable forests, or arid sands. Either
position offers perils and sufferings sufficiently appalling. But fewer
spirits, I apprehend, are formed to brave those of the field,
'Where wilds immeasurably spread,
Seem lengthening as they go.'
than of the ocean, where the mariner either soon finds rest beneath its
tumultuous bosom, or joyfully spreads his sails again to the breeze.
INTRODUCTION
The grandfather of the author of this Journal, was born in Caroline
county, Virginia, in 1750. Soon after he was turned of twenty-one, he
moved to Kentucky, and became an associate with those fearless spirits
who first settled in the western forests. To qualify him to meet the
dangers and encounter the toils of his new position, he had served in
the revolutionary war, and had been brought in hostile contact with the
British in their attempt to ascend the river Potomac.
He arrived in Kentucky, in company with twenty emigrant families, in
1781, and settled on the south side of the Kentucky river. The new
settlers were beginning to build houses with internal finishing. His
pursuit, which was that of a house carpenter, procured him constant
employment, but he sometimes diversified it by teaching school. Soon
after his arrival, the commencing settlement experienced the severest
and most destructive assaults from the Indians. In August, 1782, he was
one of the party who marched to the assistance of Bryant's station,[4]
and shared in the glory of relieving that place by the memorable defeat
of the savages.
Not long afterwards he was called upon by Col. Logan[5] to join a party
led by him against the Indians, who had gained a bloody victory over
the Kentuckians at the Blue Licks.[6] He was present on the spot, where
the bodies of the slain lay unburied, and assisted in their interment.
During his absence on this expedition, Sylvester Pattie, father of the
author, was born, August 25, 1782.
In November of the same year, his grand-father was summoned to join a
party commanded by Col. Logan, in an expedition against the Indians at
the Shawnee towns, in the limits of the present state of Ohio.[7] They
crossed the Ohio just below {viii} the mouth of the Licking, opposite
the site of what is now Cincinnati, which was at that time an unbroken
forest, without the appearance of a human habitation. They were here
joined by Gen. Clark[8] with his troops from the falls of the Ohio, or
what is now Louisville. The united force marched to the Indian towns,
which they burnt and destroyed.
Returning from this expedition, he resumed his former occupations,
witnessing the rapid advance of the country from immigration. When the
district, in which he resided, was constituted Bracken county, he was
appointed one of the judges of the court of quarter sessions, which
office he filled sixteen years, until his place was vacated by an act
of the legislature reducing the court to a single judge.
Sylvester Pattie, the father of the author, as was common at that
period in Kentucky, married early, having only reached nineteen. He
settled near his father's house, and there remained until there began
to be a prevalent disposition among the people to move to Missouri.
March 14, 1812, he removed to that country, the author being then eight
years old. Born and reared amidst the horrors of Indian assaults and
incursions, and having lived to see Kentucky entirely free from these
dangers, it may seem strange, that he should have chosen to remove a
young family to that remote country, then enduring the same horrors of
Indian warfare, as Kentucky had experienced twenty-five years before.
It was in the midst of the late war with England, which, it is well
known, operated to bring the fiercest assaults of savage incursion upon
the remote frontiers of Illinois and Missouri.
To repel these incursions, these then territories, called out some
companies of rangers, who marched against the Sac and Fox Indians,
between the Mississippi and the lakes, who were at that time active
in murdering women and children, and burning their habitations
during the absence of the male heads of families.[9] When Pattie was
appointed lieutenant in one of these companies, he left his family at
St. Charles' where he was then residing.[10] It may be imagined, that
the condition of his wife was sufficiently lonely, as this village
contained but one American {ix} family besides her own, and she was
unable to converse with its French inhabitants. His company had several
skirmishes with the Indians, in each of which it came off successful.
The rangers left him in command of a detachment, in possession of
the fort at Cap au Gris.[11] Soon after the main body of the rangers
had marched away, the fort was besieged by a body of English and
Indians. The besiegers made several attempts to storm the fort, but
were repelled by the garrison.--The foe continued the siege for a
week, continually firing upon the garrison, who sometimes, though not
often, for want of ammunition, returned the fire. Lieutenant Pattie,
perceiving no disposition in the enemy to withdraw, and discovering
that his ammunition was almost entirely exhausted, deemed it necessary
to send a despatch to Bellefontaine,[12] near the point of the junction
of the Missouri and Mississippi, where was stationed a considerable
American force. He proposed to his command, that a couple of men should
make their way through the enemy, cross the Mississippi, and apprize
the commander of Bellefontaine of their condition. No one was found
willing to risk the attempt, as the besiegers were encamped entirely
around them. Leaving Thomas McNair[13] in command in his place, and
putting on the uniform of one of the English soldiers, whom they had
killed during one of the attempts to storm the fort, he passed by
night safely through the camp of the enemy, and arrived at the point
of his destination, a distance of over forty miles: 500 soldiers were
immediately dispatched from Bellefontaine to the relief of the besieged
at Cap au Gris. As soon as this force reached the fort, the British and
Indians decamped, not, however, without leaving many of their lifeless
companions behind them.
Lieutenant Pattie remained in command of Cap au Gris, being essentially
instrumental in repressing the incursions of the Sacs and Foxes, and
disposing them to a treaty of peace, until the close of the war.[14] In
1813 he received his discharge, and returned to his family, with whom
he enjoyed domestic happiness in privacy and repose for some years. St.
Louis and St. Charles {x} were beginning rapidly to improve; American
families were constantly immigrating to these towns. The timber in
their vicinity is not of the best kind for building. Pine could no
where be obtained in abundance, nearer than on the Gasconade, a stream
that enters on the south side of the Missouri, about one hundred and
fifty miles up that river. Mr. Pattie, possessing a wandering and
adventurous spirit, meditated the idea of removing to this frontier and
unpeopled river, to erect Mills upon it, and send down pine lumber in
rafts to St. Louis, and the adjoining country. He carried his plan into
operation, and erected a Saw and Grist Mill upon the Gasconade.[15] It
proved a very fortunate speculation, as there was an immediate demand
at St. Louis and St. Charles for all the plank the mill could supply.
In this remote wilderness, Mr. Pattie lived in happiness and
prosperity, until the mother of the author was attacked by consumption.
Although her husband was, as has been said, strongly endowed with the
wandering propensity, he was no less profoundly attached to his family;
and in this wild region, the loss of a beloved wife was irreparable.
She soon sunk under the disorder, leaving nine young children. Not long
after, the youngest died, and was deposited by her side in this far
land.
The house, which had been the scene of domestic quiet, cheerfulness
and joy, and the hospitable home of the stranger, sojourning in these
forests, became dreary and desolate. Mr. Pattie, who had been noted
for the buoyancy of his gay spirit, was now silent, dejected, and
even inattentive to his business; which, requiring great activity and
constant attention, soon ran into disorder.
About this time, remote trapping and trading expeditions up the
Missouri, and in the interior of New Mexico began to be much talked
of. Mr. Pattie seemed to be interested in these expeditions, which
offered much to stir the spirit and excite enterprize. To arouse him
from his indolent melancholy, his friends advised him to sell his
property, convert it into merchandize and equipments for trapping and
hunting, and to join in such an undertaking. To a man born and reared
under the circumstances {xi} of his early life--one to whom forests,
and long rivers, adventures, and distant mountains, presented pictures
of familiar and birth day scenes--one, who confided in his rifle, as a
sure friend, and who withal, connected dejection and bereavement with
his present desolate residence; little was necessary to tempt him to
such an enterprise.
In a word, he adopted the project with that undoubting and unshrinking
purpose, with which to will is to accomplish. Arrangements were soon
made. The Children were provided for among his relations. The Author
was at school; but inheriting the love of a rifle through so many
generations, and nursed amid such scenes, he begged so earnestly of his
father that he might be allowed to accompany the expedition, that he
prevailed. The sad task remained for him to record the incidents of the
expedition, and the sufferings and death of his father.
COMMENCEMENT OF THE EXPEDITION
I pass by, as unimportant in this Journal, all the circumstances of
our arrangements for setting out on our expedition; together with
my father's sorrow and mine, at leaving the spot where his wife and
my mother was buried, the place, which had once been so cheerful,
and was now so gloomy to us. We made our purchases at St. Louis. Our
company consisted of five persons. We had ten horses packed with traps,
trapping utensils, guns, ammunition, knives, tomahawks, provisions,
blankets, and some surplus arms, as we anticipated that we should be
able to gain some additions to our number by way of recruits, as we
proceeded onward. But when the trial came, so formidable seemed the
danger, fatigue, distance, and uncertainty of the expedition, that not
an individual could be persuaded to share our enterprize.
June 20, 1824, we crossed the Missouri at a small town called
Newport,[16] and meandered the river as far as Pilcher's fort,[17]
without any incident worthy of record, except that one of our
associates, who had become too unwell to travel, was left at Charaton,
the remotest village on this frontier of any size.[18] We arrived at
Pilcher's fort, on the 13th day of July. There we remained, until the
28th, waiting the arrival of a keel boat from below, that was partly
freighted with merchandize for us, with which we intended to trade with
the Indians.
On the 28th, our number diminished to four, we set off for a trading
establishment eight miles above us on the Missouri, belonging to
Pratte, Choteau and Company.[19] In this place centres most of the
trade with the Indians on the upper Missouri. Here we met with
Sylvester, son of Gen. Pratte,[20] who was on his way {14} to New
Mexico, with purposes similar to ours. His company had preceded him,
and was on the river Platte waiting for him.
We left this trading establishment for the Council Bluffs, six miles
above.[21] When we arrived there, the commanding officer demanded to
see our license for trading with the Indians. We informed him, that
we neither had any, nor were aware that any was necessary. We were
informed, that we could be allowed to ascend the river no higher
without one. This dilemma brought our onward progress to a dead stand.
We were prompt, however, in making new arrangements. We concluded to
sell our surplus arms in exchange for merchandize, and change our
direction from the upper Missouri, to New Mexico. One of our number
was so much discouraged with our apparent ill success, and so little
satisfied with this new project, that he came to the determination to
leave our ranks. The remainder, though dispirited by the reduction of
our number, determined not to abandon the undertaking. Our invalid
having rejoined us, we still numbered four. We remained some time at
this beautiful position, the Council Bluffs. I have seen much that is
beautiful, interesting and commanding in the wild scenery of nature,
but no prospect above, around, and below more so than from this spot.
Our object and destination being the same as Mr. Pratte's, we concluded
to join his company on the Platte.
We left the Bluffs, July 30th, and encamped the night after our
departure on a small stream, called the Elkhorn.[22] We reached it at a
point thirty miles S. W. from the Bluffs. The Pawnee Indians sometimes
resort upon the banks of this stream. The country is so open and bare
of timber, that it was with difficulty we could find sufficient wood to
cook with, even on the banks of the river, where wood is found, if at
all, in the prairie country.
Early the next morning we commenced our march up the bottoms of the
stream, which we continued to ascend, until almost night fall, when we
concluded to cross it to a small grove of timber that we descried on
the opposite shore, where we encamped {15} for the night, securing our
horses with great care, through fear that they would be stolen by the
Indians.
In the morning, as we were making arrangements to commence our march,
we discovered a large body of Indians, running full speed towards us.
When they had arrived within a hundred yards of us, we made signs, that
they must halt, or that we should fire upon them. They halted, and
we inquired of them, as one of our number spoke their language, to
what nation they belonged? They answered the Pawnee.[23] Considering
them friendly, we permitted them to approach us. It was on our way, to
pass through their town, and we followed them thither. As soon as we
arrived at their town, they conducted us to the lodge of their chief,
who posted a number of his warriors at the door, and called the rest of
his chiefs, accompanied by an interpreter. They formed a circle in the
centre of the lodge. The elder chief then lighting a pipe, commenced
smoking; the next chief holding the bowl of his pipe. This mode of
smoking differed from that of any Indians we had yet seen. He filled
his mouth with the smoke, then puffed it in our bosoms, then on his
own, and then upward, as he said, toward the Great Spirit, that he
would bestow upon us plenty of fat buffaloes, and all necessary aid on
our way. He informed us, that he had two war parties abroad. He gave
us a stick curiously painted with characters, I suppose something like
hieroglyphics, bidding us, should we see any of his warriors, to give
them that stick; in which case they would treat us kindly. The pipe was
then passed round, and we each of us gave it two or three light whiffs.
We were then treated with fat buffaloe meat, and after we had eaten, he
gave us counsel in regard to our future course, particularly not to let
our horses loose at night. His treatment was altogether paternal.
Next morning we left the village of this hospitable old chief,
accompanied by a pilot, dispatched to conduct us to Mr. Pratte's
company on the Platte. This is one of the three villages of the
Republican Pawnees. It is situated on the little Platte River,[24] in
the centre of an extensive prairie plain; having near{16} it a small
strip of wood extending from the village to the river. The houses are
cone-shaped, like a sugar loaf. The number of lodges may amount to six
hundred.
The night after we left this village, we encamped on the banks of a
small creek called the Mad Buffaloe. Here we could find no wood for
cooking, and made our first experiment of the common resort in these
wide prairies; that is, we were obliged to collect the dung of the
buffaloe for that purpose. Having taken our supper, some of us stood
guard through the night, while the others slept, according to the
advice of the friendly chief. Next morning we commenced our march at
early dawn, and by dint of hard travelling through the prairies, we
arrived about sunset, on the main Platte, where we joined Mr. Pratte
and his company. We felt, and expressed gratitude to the pilot, who,
by his knowledge of the country, had conducted us by the shortest and
easiest route. We did not forget the substantial expression of our good
will, in paying him. He started for his own village the same evening,
accompanying us here, and returning, on foot, although he could have
had a horse for the journey.
At this encampment, on the banks of the Platte, we remained four days,
during which time we killed some antelopes and deer, and dressed their
skins to make us moccasins. Among our arrangements with Mr. Pratte, one
was, that my father should take the command of this company, to which
proposition my father and our associates consented. The honor of this
confidence was probably bestowed upon him, in consequence of most of
the company having served under him, as rangers, during the late war.
Those who had not, had been acquainted with his services by general
report.
In conformity with the general wish, my father immediately entered upon
his command, by making out a list of the names of the whole company,
and dividing it into four messes; each mess having to furnish two men,
to stand guard by reliefs, during the night. The roll was called,
and the company was found to be a hundred and sixteen. We had three
hundred mules, and some {17} horses. A hundred of them were packed with
goods and baggage. The guard was posted as spies, and all the rest
were ordered to commence the arrangements of packing for departure.
The guard was detached, to keep at some distance from the camp,
reconnoitre, and discover if any Indians were lurking in the vicinity.
When on the march, the guards were ordered to move on within sight
of our flank, and parallel to our line of march. If any Indians were
descried, they were to make a signal by raising their hats; or if not
in sight of us, to alarm us by a pistol shot. These arrangements gave
us a chance always to have some little time to make ready for action.
It may be imagined, that such a caravan made no mean figure, or
inconsiderable dust, in moving along the prairies. We started on the
morning of the 6th of August,[25] travelling up the main Platte, which
at this point is more than a hundred yards wide, very shallow, with a
clean sand bottom, and very high banks. It is skirted with a thin belt
of cotton-wood and willow trees, from which beautiful prairie plains
stretch out indefinitely on either side. We arrived in the evening at a
village of the Pawnee Loups.[26] It is larger than the village of the
Republican Pawnees, which we had left behind us. The head chief of this
village received us in the most affectionate and hospitable manner,
supplying us with such provisions as we wanted. He had been all the
way from these remote prairies, on a visit to the city of Washington.
He informed us, that before he had taken the journey, he had supposed
that the white people were a small tribe, like his own, and that he had
found them as numberless as the spires of grass on his prairies. The
spectacle, however, that had struck him with most astonishment, was
bullets as large as his head, and guns of the size of a log of wood.
His people cultivate corn, beans, pumpkins and watermelons.
Here we remained five days, during which time Mr. Pratte purchased six
hundred Buffalo skins, and some horses. A Pawnee war party came in
from an expedition against a hostile tribe of whom they had killed and
scalped four, and taken twenty horses. We were affected at the sight of
a little child, taken {18} captive, whose mother they had killed and
scalped. They could not account for bringing in this child, as their
warfare is an indiscriminate slaughter, of men, women and children.
A day or two after their arrival, they painted themselves for a
celebration of their victory, with great labor and care. The chiefs
were dressed in skins of wild animals, with the hair on.--These skins
were principally those of the bear, wolf, panther and spotted or ring
tailed panther. They wore necklaces of bear's and panther's claws. The
braves, as a certain class of the warriors are called, in addition
to the dress of the other chiefs, surmounted their heads with a
particular feather from a species of eagle, that they call the war
eagle.[27] This feather is considered worth the price of ten ordinary
horses. None but a brave is permitted to wear it as a badge. A brave,
gains his name and reputation as much by cunning and dexterity in
stealing and robbing, as by courage and success in murdering. When by
long labor of the toilette, they had painted and dressed themselves
to their liking, they marched forth in the array of their guns, bows,
arrows and war clubs, with all the other appendages of their warfare.
They then raised a tall pole, on the top of which were attached the
scalps of the foes they had killed. It must be admitted, that they
manifested no small degree of genius and inventiveness, in making
themselves frightful and horrible. When they began their triumphal
yelling, shouting, singing and cutting antic capers, it seemed to us,
that a recruit of fiends from the infernal regions could hardly have
transcended them in genuine diabolical display. They kept up this
infernal din three days. During all this time, the poor little captive
child, barely fed to sustain life, lay in sight, bound hand and foot.
When their rage at length seemed sated, and exhausted, they took down
the pole, and gave the scalps to the women.
We now witnessed a new scene of yells and screams, and infuriated
gestures; the actors kicking the scalps about, and throwing them
from one to the other with strong expressions of rage and contempt.
When they also ceased, in the apparent satisfaction of gratified
revenge, the men directed their attention {19} to the little captive.
It was removed to the medicine lodge, where the medicine men perform
their incantations, and make their offerings to the Great Spirit. We
perceived that they were making preparations to burn the child. Alike
affected with pity and horror, our party appealed, as one man, to
the presiding chief, to spare the child. Our first proposition was to
purchase it. It was received by the chief with manifest displeasure.
In reply to our strong remonstrances, he gravely asked us, if we,
seeing a young rattlesnake in our path, would allow it to move off
uninjured, merely because it was too small and feeble to bite? We
undertook to point out the want of resemblance in the circumstances
of the comparison, observing that the child, reared among them, would
know no other people, and would imbibe their habits and enmities,
and become as one of them. The chief replied, that he had made the
experiment, and that the captive children, thus spared and raised, had
only been instrumental, as soon as they were grown, of bringing them
into difficulties. 'It is' said he, 'like taking the eggs of partridges
and hatching them; you may raise them ever so carefully in a cage; but
once turn them loose, and they show their nature, not only by flying
away, but by bringing the wild partridges into your corn fields: eat
the eggs, and you have not only the food, but save yourself future
trouble.' We again urged that the child was too small to injure them,
and of too little consequence to give them the pleasure of revenge in
its destruction. To enforce our arguments, we showed him a roll of red
broad cloth, the favorite color with the Indians. This dazzled and
delighted him, and he eagerly asked us, how much we would give him. We
insisted upon seeing the child, before we made him an offer. He led us
to the lodge, where lay the poor little captive, bound so tight with
thongs of raw hide, that the flesh had so swelled over the hard and
dried leather, that the strings could no longer be perceived. It was
almost famished, having scarcely tasted food for four days, and seemed
rather dead than alive. With much difficulty we disengaged its limbs
from the thongs, and perceiving that it seemed to revive, we offered
him {20} ten yards, of the red cloth. Expatiating upon the trouble
and danger of his warriors in the late expedition, he insisted, that
the price was too little. Having the child in our possession, and
beginning to be indignant at this union of avarice and cruelty, our
company exchanged glances of intelligence. A deep flush suffused the
countenance of my father. 'My boys,' said he, 'will you allow these
unnatural devils to burn this poor child, or practice extortion upon
us, as the price of its ransom?' The vehemence and energy, with which
these questions were proposed, had an effect, that may be easily
imagined, in kindling the spirits of the rest of us. We carried it by
acclamation, to take the child, and let them seek their own redress.
My father again offered the chief ten yards of cloth, which was refused
as before. Our remark then was, that we would carry off the child,
with, or without ransom, at his choice.--Meanwhile the child was sent
to our encampment, and our men ordered to have their arms in readiness,
as we had reason to fear that the chief would let loose his warriors
upon us, and take the child by force. The old chief looked my father
full in the face, with an expression of apparent astonishment. 'Do you
think' said he, 'you are strong enough to keep the child by force?'
'We will do it,' answered my father, 'or every man of us die in the
attempt, in which case our countrymen will come, and gather up our
bones, and avenge our death, by destroying your nation.' The chief
replied with well dissembled calmness, that he did not wish to incur
the enmity of our people, as he well knew that we were more powerful
than they; alledging, beside, that he had made a vow never to kill any
more white men; and he added, that if we would give the cloth, and
add to it a paper of vermillion, the child should be ours. To this we
consented, and the contract was settled.
We immediately started for our encampment, where we were aware our men
had been making arrangements for a battle. We had hardly expected,
under these circumstances, that the chief would have followed us alone
into a camp, where every thing appeared hostile. But he went on with us
unhesitatingly, {21} until he came to the very edge of it. Observing
that our men had made a breast work of the baggage, and stood with
their arms leaning against it ready for action, he paused a moment,
as if faltering in his purpose to advance. With the peculiar Indian
exclamation, he eagerly asked my father, if he had thought that he
would fight his friends, the white people, for that little child? The
reply was, that we only meant to be ready for them, if they had thought
to do so. With a smiling countenance the chief advanced, and took my
father's hand exclaiming, that they were good friends. 'Save your
powder and lead,' he added, 'to kill buffaloes and your enemies.' So
saying he left us for his own lodge.
This tribe is on terms of hostility with two or three of the tribes
nearest their hunting grounds. They make their incursions on horseback,
and often extend them to the distance of six or seven hundred miles.
They chiefly engage on horseback, and their weapons, for the most
part, consist of a bow and arrows, a lance and shield, though many of
them at present have fire arms. Their commander stations himself in
the rear of his warriors, seldom taking a part in the battle, unless
he should be himself attacked, which is not often the case. They show
no inconsiderable military stratagem in their marches, keeping spies
before and behind, and on each flank, at the distance of a few days
travel; so that in their open country, it is almost impossible to come
upon them by surprise. The object of their expeditions is quite as
often to plunder and steal horses, as to destroy their enemies. Each
one is provided with the Spanish noose, to catch horses. They often
extend these plundering expeditions as far as the interior of New
Mexico. When they have reached the settled country, they lurk about
in covert places, until an opportunity presents to seize on their
prey. They fall upon the owner of a large establishment of cattle
and horses, kill him during the night, or so alarm him as to cause
him to fly, and leave his herds and family unprotected; in which case
they drive off his horses, and secrete them in the mountains. In these
fastnesses of nature they consider them safe; {22} aware that the
Mexicans, partly through timidity, and partly through indolence, will
not pursue them to any great distance.
We left this village on the 11th of August, taking with us two of its
inhabitants, each having a trap to catch, and a hoe to dig the beavers
from their burrows. During this day's march we traversed a wide plain,
on which we saw no game but antelopes[28] and white wolves. At five
in the evening, our front guard gave the preconcerted alarm by firing
their pistols, and falling back a few moments afterwards, upon the
main body.--We shortly afterwards discovered a large body of Indians
on horseback, approaching us at full speed. When they were within
hailing distance, we made them a signal to halt: they immediately
halted. Surveying us a moment, and discovering us to be whites, one of
them came towards us. We showed him the painted stick given us by the
Pawnee Republican chief. He seemed at once to comprehend all that it
conveyed, and we were informed, that this was a band of the Republican
Pawnee warriors. He carried the stick among them. It passed from
hand to hand, and appeared at once to satisfy them in regard to our
peaceable intentions, for they continued their march without disturbing
us. But our two associate Indians, hearing their yells, as they rode
off, took them to be their enemies, from whom they had taken the child.
They immediately disappeared, and rejoined us no more. We travelled
a few miles further, and encamped for the night on a small stream,
called Smoking river. It is a tributary stream of the main Platte.
On this stream a famous treaty had been made between the Pawnees and
Shienne;[29] and from the friendly smoking of the calumet on this
occasion it received its name.
Next morning we made an early start, and marched rapidly all day, in
order to reach water at night. We halted at sunset to repose ourselves,
and found water for our own drinking, but none for our mules and
horses. As soon as the moon arose, we started again, travelling hard
all night, and until ten the next morning. At this time we reached a
most singular spring fountain, forming a basin four hundred yards in
diameter, in the centre {23} of which the water boiled up five or six
feet higher, than it was near the circumference. We encamped here, to
rest, and feed our mules and horses, the remainder of the day, during
which we killed some antelopes, that came here to drink.
Near this place was a high mound, from which the eye swept the whole
horizon, as far as it could reach, and on this mound we stationed our
guard.
Next morning we commenced the toil of our daily march, pursuing a S. W.
course, over the naked plains, reaching a small and, as far as I know,
a nameless stream at night, on the borders of which were a few sparse
trees, and high grass. Here we encamped for the night. At twelve next
day we halted in consequence of a pouring rain, and encamped for the
remainder of the day. This was the first point, where we had the long
and anxiously expected pleasure of seeing buffaloes. We killed one,
after a most animating sport in shooting at it.
Next day we made an early start, as usual, and travelled hard all day
over a wide plain, meeting with no other incidents, than the sight
of buffaloes, which we did not molest. We saw, in this day's march,
neither tree nor rising ground. The plains are covered with a short,
fine grass, about four inches high, of such a kind, as to be very
injurious to the hoofs of animals, that travel over it. It seems to
me, that ours would not have received more injury from travelling over
a naked surface of rock. In the evening we reached a small collection
of water, beside which we encamped. We had to collect our customary
inconvenient substitute for fuel, not only this evening, but the whole
distance hence to the mountains.
On the morning of the 17th, we commenced, as usual, our early march,
giving orders to our advance guard to kill a buffaloe bull, and make
moccasins for some of our horses, from the skin, their feet having
become so tender from the irritation of the sharp grass, as to make
them travel with difficulty. This was soon accomplished, furnishing
the only incident of this day's travel. We continued the next day to
make our way over the same wearying plain, without water or timber,
having been obliged {24} to provide more of our horses with buffaloe
skin moccasins. This day we saw numerous herds of buffaloe bulls. It is
a singular fact, in the habits of these animals, that during one part
of the year, the bulls all range in immense flocks without a cow among
them, and all the cows equally without the bulls. The herd, which we
now saw, showed an evident disposition to break into our caravan. They
seemed to consider our horses and mules, as a herd of their cows. We
prevented their doing it, by firing on them, and killing several.
This evening we arrived on one of the forks of the Osage,[30] and
encamped. Here we caught a beaver, the first I had ever seen. On
the 20th, we started late, and made a short day's travel, encamping
by water. Next morning we discovered vast numbers of buffaloes, all
running in one direction, as though they were flying from some sort
of pursuit. We immediately detached men to reconnoitre and ascertain,
whether they were not flying from the Indians. They soon discovered a
large body of them in full chase of these animals, and shooting at them
with arrows. As their course was directly towards our camp, they were
soon distinctly in sight. At this moment one of our men rode towards
them, and discharged his gun. This immediately turned their attention
from the pursuit of the game, to us. The Indians halted a moment, as if
in deliberation, and rode off in another direction with great speed.
We regretted that we had taken no measures to ascertain, whether they
were friendly or not. In the latter case we had sufficient ground to
apprehend, that they would pursue us at a distance, and attack us in
the night. We made our arrangements, and resumed our march in haste,
travelling with great caution, and posting a strong guard at night.
The next day, in company with another, I kept guard on the right flank.
We were both strictly enjoined not to fire on the buffaloes, while
discharging this duty. Just before we encamped, which was at four in
the afternoon, we discovered a herd of buffaloe cows, the first we had
seen, and gave notice on our arrival at the camp. Mr. Pratte insisted,
that we had mistaken, and said, that we were not yet far enough
advanced into the country, {25} to see cows, they generally herding
in the most retired depths of the prairies. We were not disposed to
contest the point with him, but proposed a bet of a suit of the finest
cloth, and to settle the point by killing one of the herd, if the
commander would permit us to fire upon it. The bet was accepted, and
the permission given. My companion was armed with a musket, and I with
a rifle. When we came in sight of the herd, it was approaching a little
pond to drink. We concealed ourselves, as they approached, and my
companion requested me to take the first fire, as the rifle was surer
and closer than the musket. When they were within shooting distance,
I levelled one; as soon as it fell, the herd, which consisted of a
thousand or more, gathered in crowds around the fallen one. Between us
we killed eleven, all proving, according to our word, to be cows. We
put our mules in requisition to bring in our ample supply of meat. Mr.
Pratte admitted, that the bet was lost, though we declined accepting it.
About ten at night it commenced raining; the rain probably caused us to
intermit our caution; for shortly after it began, the Indians attacked
our encampment, firing a shower of arrows upon us. We returned their
fire at random, as they retreated: they killed two of our horses, and
slightly wounded one of our men; we found four Indians killed by our
fire, and one wounded. The wounded Indian informed our interpreter,
that the Indians, who attacked us, were Arrickarees.[31] We remained
encamped here four days, attending our wounded man, and the wounded
Indian, who died, however, the second day, and here we buried him.
We left this encampment on the 26th, and through the day met with
continued herds of buffaloes and wild horses, which, however, we did
not disturb. In the evening we reached a fork of the Platte, called
Hyde Park.[32] This stream, formerly noted for beavers, still sustains
a few. Here we encamped, set our traps, and caught four beavers. In
the morning we began to ascend this stream, and during our progress,
we were obliged to keep men in advance, to affrighten the buffaloes
and wild horses {26} from our path. They are here in such prodigious
numbers, as literally to have eaten down the grass of the prairies.
Here we saw multitudes of prairie dogs.[33] They have large village
establishments of burrows, where they live in society. They are
sprightly, bold and self important animals, of the size of a Norwegian
rat. On the morning of the 28th, our wounded companion was again unable
to travel, in consequence of which we were detained at our encampment
three days. Not wholly to lose the time, we killed during these three
days no buffaloes, of which we saved only the tongues and hump ribs.
On the morning of the 31st, our wounded associate being somewhat
recovered, we resumed our march. Ascending the stream, in the course
of the day we came upon the dead bodies of two men, so much mangled,
and disfigured by the wild beasts, that we could only discover that
they were white men. They had been shot by the Indians with arrows, the
ground near them being stuck full of arrows. They had been scalped.
Our feelings may be imagined, at seeing the mangled bodies of people
of our own race in these remote and unpeopled prairies. We consoled
ourselves with believing that they died like brave men. We had soon
afterwards clear evidence of this fact, for, on surveying the vicinity
at the distance of a few hundred yards, we found the bodies of five
dead Indians. The ground all around was torn and trampled by horse and
footmen. We collected the remains of the two white men, and buried
them. We then ascended the stream a few miles, and encamped. Finding
signs of Indians, who could have left the spot but a few hours before,
we made no fire for fear of being discovered, and attacked in the
night. Sometime after dark, ten of us started up the creek in search
of their fires. About four miles from our encampment, we saw them a
few hundred yards in advance. Twenty fires were distinctly visible.
We counselled with each other, whether to fire on them or not. Our
conclusion was, that the most prudent plan was to return, and apprize
our companions of what we had seen. In consequence of our information,
on our return, sixty men were chosen, headed by my father, who set off
in order {27} to surround their camp before daylight. I was one of the
number, as I should have little liked to have my father go into battle
without me, when it was in my power to accompany him. The remainder
were left in charge of our camp, horses, and mules. We had examined
our arms and found them in good order. About midnight we came in sight
of their fires, and before three o'clock were posted all around them,
without having betrayed ourselves. We were commanded not to fire a gun,
until the word was given. As it was still sometime before daylight,
we became almost impatient for the command. As an Indian occasionally
arose and stood for a moment before the fire, I involuntarily took
aim at him with the thought, how easily I could destroy him, but my
orders withheld me. Twilight at length came, and the Indians began
to arise. They soon discovered two of our men, and instantly raising
the war shout, came upon us with great fury. Our men stood firm,
until they received the order which was soon given. A well directed
and destructive fire now opened on them, which they received, and
returned with some firmness. But when we closed in upon them they fled
in confusion and dismay. The action lasted fifteen minutes. Thirty of
their dead were left on the field, and we took ten prisoners, whom we
compelled to bury the dead. One of our men was wounded, and died the
next day. We took our prisoners to our encampment, where we questioned
them with regard to the two white men, we had found, and buried the
preceding day. They acknowledged, that their party killed them, and
assigned as a reason for so doing, that when the white men were asked
by the chief to divide their powder and balls with him, they refused.
It was then determined by the chief, that they should be killed, and
the whole taken. In carrying this purpose into effect, the Indians lost
four of their best young men, and obtained but little powder and lead,
as a compensation.
We then asked them to what nation they belonged? They answered the
Crow.[34] This nation is distinguished for bravery and skill in war.
Their bows and arrows were then given them, and they were told, that we
never killed defenceless prisoners, but {28} that they must tell their
brothers of us, and that we should not have killed any of their nation,
had not they killed our white brothers; and if they did so in future,
we should kill all we found of them, as we did not fear any number,
they could bring against us. They were then allowed to go free, which
delighted them, as they probably expected that we should kill them,
it being their custom to put all their prisoners to death by the most
shocking and cruel tortures. That they may not lose this diabolical
pleasure by the escape of their prisoners, they guard them closely day
and night. One of them, upon being released, gave my father an eagle's
feather, saying, you are a good and brave man, I will never kill
another white man.
We pursued our journey on the 1st of September. Our advance was made
with great caution, as buffaloes were now seen in immense herds, and
the danger from Indians was constant. Wandering tribes of these people
subsist on the buffaloes, which traverse the interior of these plains,
keeping them constantly in sight.
On the morning of the 2d, we started early. About ten o'clock we saw a
large herd of buffaloes approaching us with great speed. We endeavored
to prevent their running among our pack mules, but it was in vain. They
scattered them in every direction over the plain; and although we rode
in among the herd, firing on them, we were obliged to follow them an
hour, before we could separate them sufficiently to regain our mules.
After much labor we collected all, with the exception of one packed
with dry goods, which the crowd drove before them. The remainder of the
day, half our company were employed as a guard, to prevent a similar
occurrence. When we encamped for the night, some time was spent in
driving the buffaloes a considerable distance from our camp. But for
this precaution, we should have been in danger of losing our horses and
mules entirely.
The following morning, we took a S. S. W. course, which led us from the
stream, during this day's journey. Nothing occurred worthy of mention,
except that we saw a great number of {29} wolves, which had surrounded
a small herd of buffaloe cows and calves, and killed and eaten several.
We dispersed them by firing on them. We judged, that there were at
least a thousand. They were large and as white as sheep. Near this
point we found water, and encamped for the night.
On the morning of the 4th, a party was sent out to kill some buffaloe
bulls, and get their skins to make moccasins for our horses, which
detained us until ten o'clock. We then packed up and travelled six
miles. Finding a lake, we encamped for the night. From this spot, we
saw one of the most beautiful landscapes, that ever spread out to the
eye. As far as the plain was visible in all directions, innumerable
herds of wild horses, buffaloes, antelopes, deer, elk, and wolves,
fed in their wild and fierce freedom. Here the sun rose, and set, as
unobscured from the sight, as on the wastes of ocean. Here we used the
last of our salt, and as for bread, we had seen none, since we had left
the Pawnee village. I hardly need observe, that these are no small
deprivations.
[Illustration: Rescue of an Indian Child]
The next day we travelled until evening, nothing occurring, that
deserves record. Our encampment was near a beautiful spring, called
Bellefontaine, which is visited by the Indians, at some seasons of the
year. Near it were some pumpkins, planted by the Indians. I cooked one,
but did not find it very palateable: The next day we encamped without
water. Late in the evening of the following day we reached a stream,
and encamped. As we made our arrangements for the night, we came upon
a small party of Indians. They ran off immediately, but we pursued
them, caught four, and took them to the camp they had left, a little
distant from ours. It contained between twenty and thirty women and
children, beside three men. The women were frightened at our approach,
and attempted to run. The Indians in our possession said something to
them in their own language, that induced them to stop; but it was some
time, before they were satisfied, that we intended them no harm. We
returned to our camp, and were attending to our mules and horses. Our
little Indian boy was playing about the camp, as usual. {30} Suddenly
our attention was arrested by loud screams or cries; and looking up,
we saw our little boy in the arms of an Indian, whose neck he was
closely clasping, as the Indian pressed him to his bosom, kissing him,
and crying at the same time. As we moved towards the spot, the Indian
approached us, still holding the child in his arms; and falling on his
knees, made us a long speech, which we understood only through his
signs. During his speech, he would push the child from him, and then
draw it back to him, and point to us. He was the father of this boy,
whom we saved from being burnt by the Pawnees. He gave us to understand
by his signs, that his child was carried off by his enemies. When the
paroxysm of his joy was past, we explained, as well as we could, how
we obtained the child. Upon hearing the name Pawnee, he sprang upon
his feet, and rushed into his tent. He soon came out, bringing with
him two Indian scalps, and his bow and arrows, and insisted, that we
should look at the scalps, making signs to tell us, that they were
Pawnee scalps, which he took at the time he lost his child. After he
finished this explanation, he would lay the scalps a short distance
from him, and shoot his arrows through them, to prove his great enmity
to this nation. He then presented my father a pair of leggins and a
pipe, both neatly decorated with porcupine quills; and accompanied by
his child, withdrew to his tent, for the night. Just as the morning
star became visible, we were aroused from our slumbers, by the crying
and shouting of the Indians in their tent. We arose, and approached it,
to ascertain the cause of the noise. Looking in, we saw the Indians all
laying prostrate with their faces to the ground. We remained observing
them, until the full light of day came upon them.--They then arose, and
placed themselves around the fire. The next movement was to light a
pipe, and begin to smoke. Seeing them blow the smoke first towards the
point where the sun arose, and then towards heaven, our curiosity was
aroused, to know the meaning of what we had seen. The old chief told
us by signs, that they had been thanking the Great Spirit for allowing
them to see another day. We then purchased a few beaver {31} skins of
them, and left them. Our encampment for the evening of this day, was
near a small spring, at the head of which we found a great natural
curiosity. A rock sixteen yards in circumference, rises from eighty to
ninety feet in height, according to our best judgment, from a surface
upon which, in all directions, not the smallest particle of rock, not
even a pebble can be found. We were unable to reach the top of it,
although it was full of holes, in which the hawks and ravens built
their nests. We gave the spring the name of Rock Castle spring. On the
morning of the 9th, we left this spot, and at night reached the foot
of a large dividing ridge, which separates the waters of the Platte
from those of the Arkansas.[35] After completing our arrangements for
the night, some of us ascended to the top of the ridge, to look out for
Indians; but we saw none.
The succeeding morning we crossed the ridge, and came to water in the
evening, where we encamped. Here we killed a white bear,[36] which
occupied several of us at least an hour. It was constantly in chase of
one or another of us, thus withholding us from shooting at it, through
fear of wounding each other. This was the first, I had ever seen. His
claws were four inches long, and very sharp. He had killed a buffaloe
bull, eaten a part of it, and buried the remainder. When we came upon
him, he was watching the spot, where he had buried it, to keep off the
wolves, which literally surrounded him.
On the 11th, we travelled over some hilly ground. In the course of the
day, we killed three white bears, the claws of which I saved, they
being of considerable value among the Indians, who wear them around
the neck, as the distinguishing mark of a brave. Those Indians, who
wear this ornament, view those, who do not, as their inferiors. We came
to water, and encamped early. I was one of the guard for the night,
which was rather cloudy. About the middle of my guard, our horses
became uneasy, and in a few moments more, a bear had gotten in among
them, and sprung upon one of them. The others were so much alarmed,
that they burst their fastenings, and darted off at full speed. Our
camp was soon aroused, and {32} in arms, for defence, although much
confused, from not knowing what the enemy was, nor from what direction
to expect the attack. Some, however, immediately set off in pursuit of
our horses. I still stood at my post, in no little alarm, as I did not
know with the rest, if the Indians were around us or not. All around
was again stillness, the noise of those in pursuit of the horses being
lost in the distance. Suddenly my attention was arrested, as I gazed
in the direction, from which the alarm came, by a noise like that of
a struggle at no great distance from me. I espied a hulk, at which I
immediately fired. It was the bear devouring a horse, still alive. My
shot wounded him. The report of my gun, together with the noise made by
the enraged bear, brought our men from the camp, where they awaited a
second attack from the unknown enemy in perfect stillness.--Determined
to avenge themselves, they now sallied forth, although it was so dark,
that an object ten steps in advance could not be seen. The growls of
the bear, as he tore up the ground around him with his claws, attracted
all in his direction. Some of the men came so near, that the animal
saw them, and made towards them. They all fired at him, but did not
touch him. All now fled from the furious animal, as he seemed intent
on destroying them. In this general flight one of the men was caught.
As he screamed out in his agony, I, happening to have reloaded my gun,
ran up to relieve him. Reaching the spot in an instant, I placed the
muzzle of my gun against the bear, and discharging it, killed him. Our
companion was literally torn in pieces. The flesh on his hip was torn
off, leaving the sinews bare, by the teeth of the bear. His side was
so wounded in three places, that his breath came through the openings;
his head was dreadfully bruised, and his jaw broken. His breath came
out from both sides of his windpipe, the animal in his fury having
placed his teeth and claws in every part of his body. No one could have
supposed, that there was the slightest possibility of his recovery,
through any human means. We remained in our encampment three days,
attending upon him, without seeing any change for the worse or better
in his situation. {33} He had desired us from the first to leave
him, as he considered his case as hopeless as ourselves did. We then
concluded to move from our encampment, leaving two men with him, to
each of whom we gave one dollar a day, for remaining to take care of
him, until he should die, and to bury him decently.
On the 14th we set off, taking, as we believed, a final leave of our
poor companion. Our feelings may be imagined, as we left this suffering
man to die in this savage region, unfriended and unpitied. We travelled
but a few miles before we came to a fine stream and some timber.
Concluding that this would be a better place for our unfortunate
companion, than the one where he was, we encamped with the intention of
sending back for him. We despatched men for him, and began to prepare a
shelter for him, should he arrive. This is a fork of Smoke Hill river,
which empties into the Platte.[37] We set traps, and caught eight
beavers, during the night. Our companions with the wounded man on a
litter, reached us about eight o'clock at night.
In the morning we had our painful task of leave taking to go through
again. We promised to wait for the two we left behind at the Arkansas
river. We travelled all day up this stream.--I counted, in the course
of the day, two hundred and twenty white bears. We killed eight, that
made an attack upon us; the claws of which I saved. Leaving the stream
in the evening we encamped on the plain. A guard of twenty was relieved
through the night, to prevent the bears from coming in upon us. Two
tried to do it and were killed.
In the morning we began our march as usual: returning to the stream,
we travelled until we came to its head.[38] The fountain, which is its
source, boils up from the plain, forming a basin two hundred yards in
circumference, as clear as crystal, about five feet in depth. Here we
killed some wild geese and ducks. After advancing some distance farther
we encamped for the night. Buffaloes were not so numerous, during this
day's journey, as they had been some time previous, owing, we judged,
to the great numbers of white bears.
{34} On the 17th we travelled until sunset, and encamped near water. On
the 18th we found no water, but saw great numbers of wild horses and
elk. The succeeding morning we set off before light, and encamped at 4
o'clock in the afternoon by a pond, the water of which was too brackish
to drink. On the 20th we found water to encamp by. In the course of
the day I killed two fat buffaloe cows. One of them had a calf, which
I thought I would try to catch alive. In order to do so, I concluded
it would be well to be free from any unnecessary incumbrances, and
accordingly laid aside my shot-pouch, gun and pistols. I expected it
would run, but instead of that, when I came within six or eight feet
of it, it turned around, and ran upon me, butting me like a ram, until
I was knocked flat upon my back. Every time I attempted to rise, it
laid me down again. At last I caught by one of its legs, and stabbed
it with my butcher knife, or I believe it would have butted me to
death. I made up my mind, that I would never attempt to catch another
buffaloe calf alive, and also, that I would not tell my companions what
a capsizing I had had, although my side did not feel any better for
the butting it had received. I packed on my horse as much meat as he
could carry, and set out for the camp, which I reached a little after
dark. My father was going in search of me, believing me either lost, or
killed. He had fired several guns, to let me know the direction of the
camp. We travelled steadily on the 21st, and encamped at night on a
small branch of the Arkansas. During the day, we had seen large droves
of buffaloes running in the same direction, in which we travelled, as
though they were pursued. We could, however, see nothing in pursuit.
They appeared in the same confusion all night. On the 22d, we marched
fast all day, the buffaloes still running before us. In the evening we
reached the main Arkansas, and encamped. The sky indicating rain, we
exerted ourselves, and succeeded in pitching our tents and kindling
fires, before the rain began to fall. Our meat was beginning to roast,
when we saw some Indians about half a mile distant, looking at us from
a hill. We immediately tied our {35} mules and horses. A few minutes
after, ten Indians approached us with their guns on their shoulders.
This open, undisguised approach made us less suspicious of them, than
we should otherwise have been. When they were within a proper distance,
they stopped, and called out _Amigo_, _Amigo_. One of our number
understood them, and answered _Amigo_, which is friend, when they came
up to us. They were Commanches,[39] and one of them was a chief. Our
interpreter understood and spoke their language quite well. The chief
seemed bold, and asked who was our captain? My father was pointed out
to him. He then asked us to go and encamp with him, saying that his
people and the whites were good friends. My father answered, that we
had encamped before we knew where they were, and that if we moved now,
we feared that the goods would be wet. The chief said, this was very
good; but that, as we now knew where his camp was, we must move to
it. To this my father returned, that if it did not rain next morning,
we would; but as before, that we did not wish to get the goods wet to
night. The chief then said, in a surly manner, 'you don't intend then
to move to my camp to night?' My father answered, 'No!' The chief said
he should, or he would come upon us with his men, kill us, and take
every thing we had. Upon this my father pushed the chief out of the
tent, telling him to send his men as soon as he pleased; that we would
kill them, as fast as they came. In reply the chief pointed his finger
to the spot, where the sun would be at eight o'clock the next morning,
and said, 'If you do not come to my camp, when the sun is there, I
will set all my warriors upon you.' He then ran off through the rain
to his own camp. We began, immediately, a kind of breastwork, made by
chopping off logs, and putting them together. Confidently expecting
an attack in the night, we tied our horses and mules in a sink hole
between us and the river. It was now dark. I do not think an eye was
closed in our camp that night; but the morning found us unmolested;
nor did we see any Indians, before the sun was at the point spoken
of. When it had reached it, an army of between six and eight hundred
mounted {36} Indians, with their faces painted as black as though they
had come from the infernal regions, armed with fuzees and spears and
shields appeared before us. Every thing had been done by the Indians to
render this show as intimidating as possible. We discharged a couple
of guns at them to show that we were not afraid, and were ready to
receive them. A part advanced towards us; but one alone, approaching
at full speed, threw down his bow and arrows, and sprang in among us,
saying in broken English 'Commanches no good, me Iotan, good man.'
He gave us to understand, that the Iotan nation was close at hand,
and would not let the Commanches hurt us, and then started back. The
Commanches fired some shots at us, but from such a distance, that we
did not return them. In less than half an hour, we heard a noise like
distant thunder. It became more and more distinct, until a band of
armed Indians, whom we conjectured to be Iotans,[40] became visible
in the distance. When they had drawn near, they reined up their horses
for a moment, and then rushed in between us and Commanches, who charged
upon the Iotans. The latter sustained the charge with firmness. The
discharge of their fire arms and the clashing of their different
weapons, together with their war-yell, and the shrieks of the wounded
and dying were fit accompaniments to the savage actors and scene. I do
not pretend to describe this deadly combat between two Indian nations;
but, as far as I could judge, the contest lasted fifteen minutes. I was
too deeply interested in watching the event, to note it particularly.
We wished to assist the Iotans, but could not distinguish them from
the mass, so closely were the parties engaged. We withheld our fire
through fear of injuring the Iotans, whom we considered our friends. It
was not long before we saw, to our great satisfaction, the Commanches
dismounted, which was the signal of their entire defeat. The Iotans
then left the Commanches, and returned to their women and children,
whom they had left some distance behind. They brought them to our camp,
and pitched their own tents all around us, except that of the chief,
which was placed in the centre with ours. A guard of warriors was then
posted around {37} the encampment, and an order given for the wounded
Iotans to be brought into the tent of the chief. There were ten, two
of whom died before night. A message was now sent to the chief of the
Commanches, in obedience to which he came to the Iotan chief. A council
then seemed to be held, and a peace was made, the terms of which were,
that the Iotan chief should pay the Commanche chief two horses for
every warrior, he had lost in the battle, over the number of Iotans
killed. We gave the Iotan chief goods to the amount of one hundred
dollars, which pleased him exceedingly. He expressed himself perfectly
satisfied with this recompense for the warriors he had lost in our
defence. The knowledge, that a party as large as ours was traversing
the country, had soon spread in all directions from the reports of
Indians, who had met with us, and we became to these savage tribes a
matter of interest, as a source of gain to be drawn from us by robbing,
kindness or trade.--Our movements were observed. The Commanches
determined to possess themselves of their object by force; and the
Iotans interfered in our defence, that they might thus gain their point
by extortion from friends.
Not a single Commanche was allowed to enter our camp, as arrangements
were making for the Iotans to trade with us. All, who had any beaver
skins, or dressed deer skins, were sent for. A guard was placed around
in a circle, inside of which the skins were thrown down. Each Indian
then inquired for the article he wanted. In this way we exchanged with
them butcher knives, paint, and powder and ball, for beaver and deer
skins, to the amount of fifteen hundred dollars, allowing them what we
considered the value of the skins.
The old Commanche chief came to the Iotan chief to ask permission
to talk with us, but was forbidden; and we were told not to have
any dealings with him. We did not. The Iotan chief then gave us the
character of the Commanche chief. He seemed to be thinking some time
before he began. 'I know,' said he, 'you must think it strange that I
should fight with the Commanches, and then pay them for their warriors
killed, over {38} our own number lost, and make peace with them. I will
give you my reasons for doing so. Four years ago, this Commanche chief
with his followers, went in company with my father, who was a chief,
and a few of his followers, in search of buffaloes. After they had
killed what they wanted, they divided the meat. The Commanche took all
the best of it, leaving the remains for my father. The old man put up
with it, and said nothing. On their return, close to this place they
met a band of Nabahoes,[41] a nation that had long been at war with
ours, and killed a great number of our people. My father wanted to kill
them, and began to fire upon them. The Commanches joined the Nabahoes,
and together they killed my father and most of his men. He then paid
for the lives he had taken, in horses, giving twenty for my father,
and four for each warrior. I only give two horses for a warrior. I am
now happy. I have killed three times as many of them, as they did of
us, and paid less for it. I know they can never get the upper hand
of me again. This Commanche chief is a mean man, for whenever he has
power, he makes others do as he pleases, or he kills them, and takes
all they have. He wanted to act in this way with you; but I do not
think he could, for you know how to shoot better than he does; and
you would not give up, as long as you had powder and ball and one man
alive.' My father as commander, said, 'his men were all good soldiers,
and knew how to get the advantage in fighting; and that we had plenty
of ammunition and good guns, and were not in the least afraid of being
beaten by them.' 'I think so,' replied the chief; 'But I thank the
Great Spirit, that it happened as it did. I have taken revenge for the
death of my father, and his people, and gained, I hope, at the same
time the love of a good and brave people by defending them.' We assured
him that he had, expressing our thanks for his aid, and regret for
those who had been killed in our defence. 'Yes,' said the chief, 'they
were brave men; but they loved my father, whom they have now gone to
see, where they will have plenty to eat, and drink, without having to
fight for it.' These were his thoughts, as near as I can express them.
The Commanche chief made a second application for permission to talk
with us, which was now granted. His object in conversing {39} with
us, was, as he said, to make friends with us, and induce us to give
him some powder and ball. We told him that we would willingly make
peace with him; but not give him any thing, as we did not break the
peace. He had threatened to kill us, and take our property without any
provocation from us, and certainly, if any present was necessary, it
must come from him. We did not, however, wish any present from him,
and would make peace with him, provided he promised never to kill, or
try to kill a white man. He answered, that he had neither done it, or
intended to do it; that with regard to us, he only sought to frighten
us, so that we should come to his camp, before the Iotans came up, whom
he knew to be not far distant, in order that he might precede them
in trading with us, adding that as he had been so disappointed, he
thought we ought to give him a little powder and ball. Our answer was,
that we had no more ammunition to spare; and that we could not depart
from our resolution of not purchasing a treaty from him; but we would
give him a letter of recommendation to the next company that came in
this direction, by means of which he might trade with them, and obtain
what he wanted of these articles. He consented to a treaty on these
conditions, and lighting his pipes we smoked friends.
He then asked us if we came through the Pawnee village? We answered in
the affirmative. His next question was, had they plenty of ammunition?
Our reply was again, yes. We were then given to understand, that he was
then at war with them, and had been for a number of years, and that he
should soon either make peace with them, or have a general engagement.
He would prefer peace, as they were at war with the Spaniards, as well
as himself. By uniting forces, they could beat the Spaniards, though in
case of a treaty or not, he intended to go against the Spaniards, as
soon as he should return from the country of the Pawnees. He added, 'I
suppose you are friends with the Spaniards, and are now going to trade
with them.' Our commander replied, that we were going to trade with
them, but not to fight for them. That, said the chief, is {40} what
I wanted to know. I do not want war with your people, and should we
accidentally kill any of them, you must not declare war against us, as
we will pay you for them in horses or beaver skins. We did not express
our natural feeling, that the life of one man was worth more than all
the horses or beaver skins, his nation could bring forth; but told him,
that we would not injure his people, unless they did ours, on purpose.
He returned, apparently satisfied, to his camp. We were detained here
until the fourth of November by our promise of awaiting the arrival of
the two men, we had left with our wounded companion. They came, and
brought with them his gun and ammunition. He died the fifth day, after
we had left him, and was buried as decently, as the circumstances would
allow.
On the 5th of November[42] we again set off in company with a party of
Iotans. The Arkansas is here wide and shallow, like the Platte; and
has wide but thinly timbered bottoms on both sides. Extending from the
bottom ten or twelve miles on the south side, are low hills composed
principally of sand. We found travelling upon them very fatiguing,
particularly as we met with no water. Late in the evening we reached
water, and encamped.
The next morning we resumed our journey. We were exceedingly diverted,
during the day, to see the Iotan Indians in company with us, chase
the buffaloes on horseback. They killed them with their arrows. The
force, with which they shoot these arrows, is astonishing. I saw one
of them shoot an arrow through a buffaloe bull, that had been driven
close to our camp. We were again upon level plains, stretching off
in all directions beyond the reach of the eye. The few high mounds
scattered over them could not but powerfully arrest the curiosity. From
the summit of one I again looked down upon innumerable droves of wild
animals, dotting the surface, as they seemed to forget their savage
natures, and fed, or reposed in peace. I indulged the thoughts natural
to such a position and scene. The remembrance of home, with its duties
and pleasures, came upon my mind in strong contrast with my actual
circumstances. {41} I was interrupted by the discharge of guns, and the
screams and yells of Indians. The Iotans had found six Nabahoes a half
a mile from us, and were killing them. Three were killed. The others,
being well mounted, made their escape. The Iotans came to our camp with
their scalps, leaving their bodies to be eaten by wild animals. My
father sent men to bury them. The Iotans danced around these scalps all
night, and in the morning took up the bodies, we had buried, and cut
them in pieces. They then covered themselves with the skins of bears
and panthers, and, taking the hearts of the dead men, cut them into
pieces of the size of a mouthful, and laid them upon the ground, and
kneeling put their hands on the ground, and crawled around the pieces
of hearts, growling as though they were enraged bears, or panthers,
ready to spring upon them, and eat them. This is their mode of showing
hatred to their enemies. Not relishing such detestable conduct, we so
manifested our feelings, that these Indians went to their own camps.
We encamped the evening of the next day near water. Nothing worthy of
record occurred during the journey of the four succeeding days, except
that we came to a small creek called Simaronee.[43] Here we encamped,
and killed some buffaloes, and shod our horses. We travelled up this
stream some distance, and left it on the 15th.
On the 16th we encamped on a creek, where we found four gentle mules,
which we caught. I could not account for their being there. Nothing of
importance occurred in the two last days.
From the 17th to the 20th, we journied without interruption. The
latter day we came in view of a mountain covered with snow, called
Taos mountain. This object awakened in our minds singular but pleasant
feelings. On the 23d we reached its foot. Here Mr. Pratte concealed a
part of his goods by burying them in the ground. We were three days
crossing this mountain.
On the evening of the 26th, we arrived at a small town in Taos, called
St. Ferdinando,[44] situated just at the foot of the mountain on the
west side. The alcalde asked us for the invoice {42} of our goods,
which we showed him, and paid the customary duties on them. This was
a man of a swarthy complexion having the appearance of pride and
haughtiness. The door-way of the room, we were in, was crowded with
men, women and children, who stared at us, as though they had never
seen white men before, there being in fact, much to my surprize and
disappointment, not one white person among them. I had expected to find
no difference between these people and our own, but their language.
I was never so mistaken. The men and women were not clothed in our
fashion, the former having short pantaloons fastened below the waist
with a red belt and buck skin leggins put on three or four times
double. A Spanish knife is stuck in by the side of the leg, and a small
sword worn by the side. A long jacket or blanket is thrown over, and
worn upon the shoulders. They have few fire arms, generally using upon
occasions which require them, a bow and spear, and never wear a hat,
except when they ride. When on horse back, they face towards the right
side of the animal. The saddle, which they use, looks as ours would,
with something like an arm chair fastened upon it.
The women wear upon the upper part of the person a garment resembling
a shirt, and a short petticoat fastened around the waist with a red
or blue belt, and something of the scarf kind wound around their
shoulders. Although appearing as poorly, as I have described, they are
not destitute of hospitality; for they brought us food, and invited us
into their houses to eat, as we walked through the streets.
The first time my father and myself walked through the town together,
we were accosted by a woman standing in her own door-way. She made
signs for us to come in. When we had entered, she conducted us up a
flight of steps into a room neatly whitewashed, and adorned with images
of saints, and a crucifix of brass nailed to a wooden cross. She gave
us wine, and set before us a dish composed of red pepper, ground and
mixed with corn meal, stewed in fat and water. We could not eat it.
She then brought forward some tortillas and milk. Tortillas {43} are a
thin cake made of corn and wheat ground between two flat stones by the
women. This cake is called in Spanish, _metate_. We remained with her
until late in the evening, when the bells began to ring. She and her
children knelt down to pray. We left her, and returned. On our way we
met a bier with a man upon it, who had been stabbed to death, as he was
drinking whiskey.
This town stands on a beautiful plain, surrounded on one side by the
Rio del Norte,[45] and on the other by the mountain, of which I have
spoken, the summit being covered with perpetual snow.
We set off for Santa Fe on the 1st of November. Our course for the
first day led us over broken ground. We passed the night in a small
town, called Callacia, built on a small stream, that empties into the
del Norte. The country around this place presents but a small portion
of level surface.
The next day our path lay over a point of the mountain. We were the
whole day crossing. We killed a grey bear, that was exceedingly fat.
It had fattened on a nut of the shape and size of a bean, which grows
on a tree resembling the pine, called by the Spanish, pinion. We took
a great part of the meat with us. We passed the night again in a town
called Albukerque.[46]
The following day we passed St. Thomas,[47] a town situated on the
bank of the del Norte, which is here a deep and muddy stream, with
bottoms from five to six miles wide on both sides. These bottoms
sustain numerous herds of cattle. The small huts of the shepherds, who
attend to them, were visible here and there. We reached another town
called Elgidonis, and stopped for the night. We kept guard around our
horses all night, but in the morning four of our mules were gone. We
hunted for them until ten o'clock, when two Spaniards came, and asked
us, what we would give them, if they would find our mules? We told
them to bring the mules, and we would pay them a dollar. They set off,
two of our men following them without their knowledge and went into a
thicket, where they had tied the mules, and returned with them to us.
As may be supposed, we gave them both a good whipping. It seemed at
first, that the whole {44} town would rise against us in consequence.
But when we related the circumstances fairly to the people, the officer
corresponding to our justice of the peace, said, we had done perfectly
right, and had the men put in the stocks.
We recommenced our journey, and passed a mission of Indians under the
control of an old priest. After crossing a point of the mountain, we
reached Santa Fe,[48] on the 5th. This town contains between four and
five thousand inhabitants. It is situated on a large plain. A handsome
stream runs through it, adding life and beauty to a scene striking and
agreeable from the union of amenity and cultivation around, with the
distant view of the snow clad mountains. It is pleasant to walk on the
flat roofs of the houses in the evening, and look on the town and plain
spread below. The houses are low, with flat roofs as I have mentioned.
The churches are differently constructed from the other buildings and
make a beautiful show. They have a great number of large bells, which,
when disturbed, make a noise, that would almost seem sufficient to
awaken the dead.
We asked the governor for permission to trap beaver in the river Helay.
His reply was that, he did not know if he was allowed by the law to
do so; but if upon examination it lay in his power, he would inform
us on the morrow, if we would come to his office at 9 o'clock in the
morning. According to this request, we went to the place appointed,
the succeeding day, which was the 9th of November. We were told by the
governor, that he had found nothing, that would justify him, in giving
us the legal permission, we desired. We then proposed to him to give us
liberty to trap, upon the condition, that we paid him five per cent on
the beaver we might catch. He said, he would consider this proposition,
and give us an answer the next day at the same hour. The thoughts of
our hearts were not at all favorable to this person, as we left him.
About ten o'clock at night an express came from the river Pacus,[49]
on which the nobles have their country seats and large farming
establishments, stating, that a large body of Indians had come upon
several families, whom they had either robbed, or {45} murdered. Among
the number two Americans had been killed, and the wife of one taken
prisoner, in company with four Spanish women, one of whom was daughter
of the former governor, displaced because he was an European. The
drum and fife and French horn began to sound in a manner, that soon
awakened, and alarmed the whole town. The frightened women, and the
still more fear-stricken men, joining in a full chorus of screams and
cries, ran some to where the drum was beating in the public square, and
others to our quarters. Upon the first sound of alarm we had prepared
to repel the enemy, whatever it might be, provided it troubled us. When
this group came rushing towards us, the light of the moon enabled us to
discern them with sufficient clearness to prevent our doing them any
injury. We did not sleep any more that night, for the women, having got
the wrong story, as most women do in a case of the kind, told us that
the Commanches were in town, killing the people. We awaited an attack,
without, however, hearing any sound of fire arms. Our conclusion was,
that they were skulking around, dealing out death in darkness and
silence with their arrows; and in the feelings, which were its natural
result, the remainder of the night passed. The first light of morning
showed us a body of four hundred men ready to mount their horses. At
sunrise the governor came to us to ask, if we would aid in the attempt
to recapture the prisoners taken by the Commanches, relating to us the
real cause of the alarm of the preceding night. We complied readily
with his request, as we were desirous of gaining the good will of the
people. Our arrangements were soon made, and we set off in company with
the troops I have mentioned.
The 12th was spent in travelling. We stopped for the night at St.
John's, a small town.[50] On the 13th we reached the spot, where the
murders and robbery were committed. Here we took the course the Indians
had marked in their retreat, stopping only for refreshments. We pressed
on all night, as we found their fires still smoking. At eight on the
morning of the 15th, the trail being fresh, we increased our speed, and
at twelve came in sight of them, as they advanced toward a low gap in
{46} the mountains. We now halted, and counselled together with regard
to the next movements. The commander of the Spaniards proposed, that my
father should direct the whole proceedings, promising obedience on his
own part and that of his troops.
The gap in the mountains, of which I spoke, was made by a stream. The
Indians were now entering it. My father formed a plan immediately, and
submitted it to the Spanish commander, who promised to aid in carrying
it into effect. In conformity to it, the Spaniards were directed to
keep in rear of the Indians, without being seen by them. We took a
circuitous route, screened from sight by the highland, that lay between
us and the Indians, in order to gain unobserved a hollow in advance
of them, in which we might remain concealed, until they approached
within gunshot of us. Our main object was to surprize them, and not
allow them time to kill their captives, should they be still alive.
The party in the rear were to close in, upon hearing the report of our
guns, and not allow them to return to the plain. Our plan seemed to
assure us success. We succeeded in reaching the hollow, in which we
placed ourselves in the form of a half circle, extending from one side
of it to the other, our horses being tied behind us. Every man was then
ordered to prime, and pick his gun afresh. The right flank was to fire
first, the left reserving theirs to give a running fire, that should
enable the right to re-load. The Indians, surrounding the prisoners,
were to be taken as the first aim, to prevent the immediate murder of
them by their captors. My post was in the centre of the line. We waited
an hour and a half behind our screens of rocks and trees, before our
enemies made their appearance. The first object, that came in sight,
were women without any clothing, driving a large drove of sheep and
horses. These were immediately followed by Indians. When the latter
were within thirty or forty yards of us, the order to fire was given.
The women ran towards us the moment they heard the report of our guns.
In doing this they encountered the Indians behind them, and three fell
pierced by the spears of these savages. The cry among us now was, 'save
the women!' Another young man and {47} myself sprang forward, to rescue
the remaining two. My companion fell in the attempt. An Indian had
raised his spear, to inflict death upon another of these unfortunate
captives, when he received a shot from one of our men, that rendered
him incapable of another act of cruelty. The captives, one of whom was
a beautiful young lady, the daughter of the governor before spoken of,
both reached me. The gratitude of such captives, so delivered, may be
imagined. Fears, thanks and exclamations in Spanish were the natural
expression of feeling in such a position. My companions aided me in
wrapping blankets around them, for it was quite cold; and making the
best arrangements in our power for their comfort and safety. This was
all done in less time, than is required to relate it, and we returned
to our post.
The Indians stood the second fire, and then retreated. We pursued
keeping up a quick fire, expecting every moment to hear the Spaniards
in the rear following our example to check them in their retreat; but
we could discover the entrance upon the plain, before we heard any
thing from our Spanish muskets. The Indians then began to yell; but
the Spaniards, after one discharge from their fire arms, fled. Being
mounted on good horses the Indians did not pursue them, but satisfied
as to our numbers, now that we were upon the plain, they rallied,
and rushed upon us. Our commander now ordered us to retreat into the
woods, and to find shelter behind trees, and take aim that every
shot might tell, as it was of the utmost importance, not to waste
ammunition, saying, 'stand resolute, my boys, and we make them repent,
if they follow us, although those ---- Spaniards have deserted us, when
we came to fight for them. We are enough for these ---- devils alone.'
As they came near us, we gave them a scattering though destructive
fire, which they returned bravely, still pressing towards us. It was
a serious contest for about ten minutes, after they approached within
pistol shot of us. From their yells, one would have thought that the
infernal regions were open before them, and that they were about to be
plunged in headlong. They finally began to retreat again, and we soon
{48} put them completely to flight. The Spaniards, though keeping a
safe distance, while this was going forward, saw the state of affairs,
and joined us in the pursuit, still taking especial care not to come
near enough to the Indians, to hurt them, or receive any injury
themselves. After the Indians rallied, we lost ten men, and my father
received a slight wound in the shoulder.
We removed our horses and the rescued captives into the plain, and
encamped. The Spaniards had killed an Indian already wounded, and were
riding over the dead bodies of those on the ground, spearing them and
killing any, who still breathed. My father commanded them to desist,
or he would fire upon them, and the Spanish officer added his order to
the same effect. The latter then demanded of us, the two women, whom
we had rescued, with as much assurance, as though himself had been the
cause of their deliverance. My father replied, by asking what authority
or right he had, to make such a request, when his cowardice withheld
him from aiding in their release? The officer became enraged, and said,
that he was unable to rally his men, and that he did not consider the
captives any safer in our hands than in those of the Indians, as we
were not christians. This insult, coupled with such a lame apology,
only made my father laugh, and reply, that if cowardice constituted a
claim to christianity, himself and his men were prime and undoubted
christians. He added further, that if the rescued women preferred to
accompany him, rather than remain, until he should have buried his
brave comrades, who fell in their defence, and accept his protection,
he had nothing to say. The subjects of our discussion, being present
while it took place, decided the point before they were appealed
to. The youngest said, that nothing would induce her to leave her
deliverers, and that when they were ready to go, she would accompany
them, adding, that she should pray hourly for the salvation of those,
who had resigned their lives in the preservation of hers. The other
expressed herself willing to remain with her, and manifested the same
confidence and gratitude. The enraged officer and his men set off on
their return to Santa Fe.
{49} The sun was yet an hour from its setting. We availed ourselves
of the remaining light to make a breastwork with the timber, that had
drifted down the stream, that we might be prepared for the Indians,
in case they should return. We finished it, and posted our sentinels
by sunset. The governor's daughter now inquired for the individual,
who first met her in her flight from the Indians, and so humanely and
bravely conducted her out of danger, and provided for her comfort. I
cannot describe the gratitude and loveliness, that appeared in her
countenance, as she looked on me, when I was pointed out to her. Not
attaching any merit to the act, I had performed, and considering it
merely as a duty, I did not know how to meet her acknowledgments, and
was embarrassed.
On the morning of the 16th we buried our dead. My father's shoulder
was a little stiff, and somewhat swollen. We saddled our horses, and
began our return journey. I gave up my horse to one of the ladies, and
made my way on foot. We drove the sheep, which escaped the balls,
before us. Our last look at the ground of our late contest gave a
view sufficiently painful to any one, who had a heart; horses and
their riders lay side by side. The bodies of robbers surrounded by the
objects of their plunder would probably remain, scattered as they were,
unburied and exposed to the wild beasts.
We halted in the evening for the refreshment of ourselves and horses.
This done, we again set off travelling all night. The sheep giving out,
we were obliged to leave them. At twelve next day we reached Pacus.
Here we met the father of the youngest of the two ladies accompanied
by a great number of Spaniards. The old man was transported almost
to frenzy, when he saw his daughter. We remained here for the day.
On the morning of the 18th we all set off together, the old governor
insisting, that my father and myself must ride in the carriage with
him; but we excused ourselves, and rode by the side of it with the
interpreter. The father caressed us exceedingly, and said a great many
things about me in particular, which I did not think, I deserved.
{50} The next day at two in the afternoon, we arrived at Santa Fe.
We were received with a salute, which we returned with our small
arms. The governor came in the evening, and invited my father and the
interpreter to sup with him. He ordered some fat beeves to be killed
for the rest of us. The father of Jacova, for that was the name of
the young lady, I had rescued, came, and invited us all to go, and
drink coffee at his son-in-law's, who kept a coffee-house. We went,
and when we had finished our coffee, the father came, and took me by
the hand, and led me up a flight of steps, and into a room, where
were his two daughters. As soon as I entered the room, Jacova and her
sister both came, and embraced me, this being the universal fashion of
interchanging salutations between men and women among these people,
even when there is nothing more, than a simple introduction between
strangers. After I had been seated an hour, looking at them, as they
made signs, and listening to their conversation, of which I did not
understand a syllable, I arose with the intention of returning to
my companions for the night. But Jacova, showing me a bed, prepared
for me, placed herself between me and the door. I showed her that my
clothes were not clean. She immediately brought me others belonging to
her brother-in-law. I wished to be excused from making use of them, but
she seemed so much hurt, that I finally took them, and reseated myself.
She then brought me my leather hunting shirt, which I had taken off to
aid in protecting her from the cold, and begged the interpreter who was
now present, to tell me, that she intended to keep it, as long as she
lived. She then put it on, to prove to me that she was not ashamed of
it.
I went to bed early, and arose, and returned to my companions, before
any of the family were visible. At eight the governor and my father
came to our quarters, and invited us all to dine with him at two in
the afternoon. Accordingly we all dressed in our best, and went at
the appointed time. A band of musicians played during dinner. After
it was finished, and the table removed, a fandango was begun. The
ladies flocked in, in great numbers. The instruments, to which the
dancers moved, were {51} a guitar and violin. Six men and six women
also added their voices. Their mode of dancing was a curiosity to me.
The women stood erect, moving their feet slowly, without any spring or
motion of the body, and the men half bent, moved their feet like drum
sticks. This dance is called _ahavave_. I admired another so much, that
I attempted to go through it. It was a waltz, danced to a slow and
charming air. It produces a fine effect, when twenty or thirty perform
it together. The dancing continued, until near morning, when we retired
to rest.
At eight the following morning we received a license, allowing us to
trap in different parts of the country. We were now divided into small
parties. Mr. Pratte added three to our original number, they making the
company, to which my father and myself belonged, seven. On the 22d, we
set off. Our course lay down the del Norte to the Helay, a river never
before explored by white people.[51] We left our goods with a merchant,
until we should return in the spring. Our whole day's journey lay over
a handsome plain covered with herds of the different domestic animals.
We reached Picacheh a small town in the evening. Jacova and her father
overtook us here, on their way home, which was eighty miles distant
from Santa Fe.
In the morning we began our journey, together. During the day we passed
several small villages and stopped for the night in one called St.
Philip, situated on the banks of the del Norte, surrounded by large
vineyards. Jacova's father insisted upon our drinking plentifully of
the wine made at this place.
The morning of the 24th saw us again on our journey. Our companion, the
old governor, was much amused at seeing us kill wild geese and prairie
wolves with our rifles, the latter being abundant in this country.
In the evening we reached another small town, called St. Louis. All
these inconsiderable villages contain a church. The succeeding day we
traversed the same beautiful plain country, which had made our journey
so far, delightful. The same multitude of domestic animals still grazed
around our path.
{52} On the 27th, we arrived at the residence of Jacova and her
father. It was a large and even magnificent building. We remained here
until the 30th, receiving the utmost attention and kindness. At our
departure, the kind old governor pressed a great many presents upon us;
but we refused all, except a horse for each one of us, some flour and
dried meat.
Seven hunters coming up with us, who were going in our direction,
we concluded to travel with them, as our united strength would
better enable us to contend with the hostile Indians, through whose
country our course lay. We made our way slowly, descending the river
bank, until we reached the last town or settlement in this part of
the province, called Socoro.[52] The population of the part of the
country, through which we travelled was entirely confined to a chain
of settlements along the bottoms of the del Norte, and those of some
of the rivers, which empty into it. I did not see, during the whole of
this journey, an enclosed field, and not even a garden.
After remaining one day here, in order to recruit our horses, we
resumed our course down the river, Dec. 3d. The bottoms, through
which we now passed, were thinly timbered, and the only growth was
cotton-wood and willow. We saw great numbers of bears, deer and
turkeys. A bear having chased one of our men into the camp, we killed
it.
On the 7th we left the del Norte, and took a direct course for the
Copper mines.[53] We next travelled from the river over a very
mountainous country four days, at the expiration of which time we
reached this point of our destination. We were here but one night,
and I had not leisure to examine the mode, in which the copper was
manufactured. In the morning we hired two Spanish servants to accompany
us; and taking a north-west course pursued our journey, until we
reached the Helay on the 14th. We found the country the greater part
of the two last days hilly and somewhat barren with a growth of pine,
live oak, _pinion_, cedar and some small trees, of which I did not know
the name. We caught thirty beavers, the first night we encamped on this
river. The next morning, accompanied by another man, {53} I began to
ascend the bank of the stream to explore, and ascertain if beaver were
to be found still higher, leaving the remainder of the party to trap
slowly up, until they should meet us on our return. We threw a pack
over our shoulders, containing a part of the beavers, we had killed,
as we made our way on foot. The first day we were fatigued by the
difficulty of getting through the high grass, which covered the heavily
timbered bottom. In the evening we arrived at the foot of mountains,
that shut in the river on both sides, and encamped. We saw during the
day several bears, but did not disturb them, as they showed no ill
feeling towards us.
On the morning of the 13th we started early, and crossed the river,
here a beautiful clear stream about thirty yards in width, running
over a rocky bottom, and filled with fish. We made but little advance
this day, as bluffs came in so close to the river, as to compel us to
cross it thirty-six times. We were obliged to scramble along under the
cliffs, sometimes upon our hands and knees, through a thick tangle of
grape-vines and under-brush. Added to the unpleasantness of this mode
of getting along in itself, we did not know, but the next moment would
bring us face to face with a bear, which might accost us suddenly. We
were rejoiced, when this rough ground gave place again to the level
bottom. At night we reached a point, where the river forked, and
encamped on the point between the forks. We found here a boiling spring
so near the main stream, that the fish caught in the one might be
thrown into the other without leaving the spot, where it was taken. In
six minutes it would be thoroughly cooked.
The following morning my companion and myself separated, agreeing to
meet after four days at this spring. We were each to ascend a fork of
the river. The banks of that which fell to my lot, were very brushy,
and frequented by numbers of bears, of whom I felt fearful, as I had
never before travelled alone in the woods. I walked on with caution
until night, and encamped near a pile of drift wood, which I set on
fire, thinking thus to frighten any animals that might approach during
the night. {54} I placed a spit, with a turkey I had killed upon it,
before the fire to roast. After I had eaten my supper I laid down by
the side of a log with my gun by my side. I did not fall asleep for
some time. I was aroused from slumber by a noise in the leaves, and
raising my head saw a panther stretched on the log by which I was
lying, within six feet of me. I raised my gun gently to my face, and
shot it in the head. Then springing to my feet, I ran about ten steps,
and stopped to reload my gun, not knowing if I had killed the panther
or not. Before I had finished loading my gun, I heard the discharge
of one on the other fork, as I concluded, the two running parallel
with each other, separated only by a narrow ridge. A second discharge
quickly followed the first, which led me to suppose, that my comrade
was attacked by Indians.
I immediately set out and reached the hot spring by day break, where
I found my associate also. The report of my gun had awakened him, when
he saw a bear standing upon its hind feet within a few yards of him
growling. He fired his gun, then his pistol, and retreated, thinking,
with regard to me, as I had with regard to him, that I was attacked by
Indians. Our conclusion now was, to ascend one of the forks in company,
and then cross over, and descend the other. In consequence we resumed
the course, I had taken the preceding day. We made two day's journey,
without beaver enough to recompense us for our trouble, and then
crossed to the east fork, trapping as we went, until we again reached
the main stream. Some distance below this, we met those of our party
we had left behind, with the exception of the seven, who joined us on
the del Norte. They had deserted the expedition, and set off upon their
return down the river. We now all hastened on to overtake them, but it
was to no purpose. They still kept in advance, trapping clean as they
went, so that we even found it difficult to catch enough to eat.
Finding it impossible to come up with them, we ceased to urge our
poor horses, as they were much jaded, and tender footed beside, and
travelled slowly, catching what beaver we {55} could, and killing some
deer, although the latter were scarce, owing, probably to the season of
the year. The river here was beautiful, running between banks covered
with tall cotton-woods and willows. This bottom extended back a mile on
each side. Beyond rose high and rather barren hills.
On the 20th we came to a point, where the river entered a cavern
between two mountains. We were compelled to return upon our steps,
until we found a low gap in the mountains. We were three day's
crossing, and the travelling was both fatiguing and difficult. We found
nothing to kill.
On the 23d we came upon the river, where it emptied into a beautiful
plain. We set our traps, but to no purpose, for the beavers were all
caught, or alarmed. The river here pursues a west course. We travelled
slowly, using every effort to kill something to eat, but without
success.
On the morning of the 26th we concluded, that we must kill a horse,
as we had eaten nothing for four day's and a half, except the small
portion of a hare caught by my dogs, which fell to the lot of each
of a party of seven. Before we obtained this, we had become weak in
body and mind, complaining, and desponding of our success in search of
beaver. Desirous of returning to some settlement, my father encouraged
our party to eat some of the horses, and pursue our journey. We were
all reluctant to begin to partake of the horse-flesh; and the actual
thing without bread or salt was as bad as the anticipation of it. We
were somewhat strengthened, however, and hastened on, while our supply
lasted, in the hope of either overtaking those in advance of us, or
finding another stream yet undiscovered by trappers.
The latter desire was gratified the first of January, 1825. The stream,
we discovered, carried as much water as the Helay, heading north. We
called it the river St. Francisco.[54] After travelling up its banks
about four miles, we encamped, and set all our traps, and killed a
couple of fat turkies. In the morning we examined our traps, and found
in them 37 beavers! This success restored our spirits instantaneously.
Exhilarating {56} prospects now opened before us, and we pushed on with
animation. The banks of this river are for the most part incapable of
cultivation being in many places formed of high and rugged mountains.
Upon these we saw multitudes of mountain sheep.[55] These animals are
not found on level ground, being there slow of foot, but on these
cliffs and rocks they are so nimble and expert in jumping from point
to point, that no dog or wolf can overtake them. One of them that
we killed had the largest horns, that I ever saw on animals of any
description. One of them would hold a gallon of water. Their meat
tastes like our mutton. Their hair is short like a deer's, though fine.
The French call them the _gros cornes_, from the size of their horns
which curl around their ears, like our domestic sheep. These animals
are about the size of a large deer. We traced this river to its head,
but not without great difficulty, as the cliffs in many places came so
near the water's edge, that we were compelled to cross points of the
mountain, which fatigued both ourselves and our horses exceedingly.
The right hand fork of this river, and the left of the Helay head in
the same mountain, which is covered with snow, and divides its waters
from those of Red river. We finished our trapping on this river, on the
14th. We had caught the very considerable number of 250 beavers, and
had used and preserved most of the meat, we had killed. On the 19th we
arrived on the river Helay, encamped, and buried our furs in a secure
position, as we intended to return home by this route.
On the 20th we began to descend the Helay, hoping to find in our
descent another beaver stream emptying into it. We had abandoned the
hope of rejoining the hunters, that had left us, and been the occasion
of our being compelled to feed upon horse flesh. No better was to be
expected of us, than that we should take leave to imprecate many a
curse upon their heads; and that they might experience no better fate,
than to fall into the hands of the savages, or be torn in pieces by
the white bears. At the same time, so ready are the hearts of mountain
hunters to relent, that I have not a doubt that each man of us would
{57} have risqued his life to save any one of them from the very fate,
we imprecated upon them.
In fact, on the night of the 22d, four of them, actually half starved,
arrived at our camp, declaring, that they had eaten nothing for five
days. Notwithstanding our recent curses bestowed upon them, we received
them as brothers. They related that the Indians had assaulted and
defeated them, robbing them of all their horses, and killing one of
their number. Next day the remaining two came in, one of them severely
wounded in the head by an Indian arrow. They remained with us two
days, during which we attempted to induce them to lead us against the
Indians, who had robbed them, that we might assist them to recover what
had been robbed from them. No persuasion would induce them to this
course. They insisted at the same time, that if we attempted to go on
by ourselves, we should share the same fate, which had befallen them.
On the morning of the 25th, we gave them three horses, and as much
dried meat as would last them to the mines, distant about 150 miles.
Fully impressed, that the Indians would massacre us, they took such a
farewell of us, as if never expecting to see us again.
In the evening of the same day, although the weather threatened a
storm, we packed up, and began to descend the river. We encamped this
night in a huge cavern in the midst of the rocks. About night it began
to blow a tempest, and to snow fast. Our horses became impatient under
the pelting of the storm, broke their ropes, and disappeared. In the
morning, the earth was covered with snow, four or five inches deep.
One of our companions accompanied me to search for our horses. We soon
came upon their trail, and followed it, until it crossed the river. We
found it on the opposite side, and pursued it up a creek, that empties
into the Helay on the north shore. We passed a cave at the foot of the
cliffs. At its mouth I remarked, that the bushes were beaten down, as
though some animal had been browsing upon them. I was aware, that a
bear had entered the cave. We collected some pine knots, split them
with our tomahawks, and kindled torches, with which I proposed to
{58} my companion, that we should enter the cave together, and shoot
the bear. He gave me a decided refusal, notwithstanding I reminded
him, that I had, more than once, stood by him in a similar adventure;
and notwithstanding I made him sensible, that a bear in a den is by no
means so formidable, as when ranging freely in the woods. Finding it
impossible to prevail on him to accompany me, I lashed my torch to a
stick, and placed it parallel with the gun barrel, so as that I could
see the sights on it, and entered the cave. I advanced cautiously
onward about twenty yards, seeing nothing. On a sudden the bear reared
himself erect within seven feet of me, and began to growl, and gnash
his teeth. I levelled my gun and shot him between the eyes, and began
to retreat. Whatever light it may throw upon my courage, I admit,
that I was in such a hurry, as to stumble, and extinguish my light.
The growling and struggling of the bear did not at all contribute to
allay my apprehensions. On the contrary, I was in such haste to get
out of the dark place, thinking the bear just at my heels, that I fell
several times on the rocks, by which I cut my limbs, and lost my gun.
When I reached the light, my companion declared, and I can believe
it, that I was as pale as a corpse. It was some time, before I could
summon sufficient courage to re-enter the cavern for my gun. But having
re-kindled my light, and borrowed my companion's gun, I entered the
cavern again, advanced and listened. All was silent, and I advanced
still further, and found my gun, near where I had shot the bear. Here
again I paused and listened. I then advanced onward a few strides,
where to my great joy I found the animal dead. I returned, and brought
my companion in with me. We attempted to drag the carcass from the
den, but so great was the size, that we found ourselves wholly unable.
We went out, found our horses, and returned to camp for assistance.
My father severely reprimanded me for venturing to attack such a
dangerous animal in its den, when the failure to kill it outright by
the first shot, would have been sure to be followed by my death.
Four of us were detached to the den. We were soon enabled {59} to drag
the bear to the light, and by the aid of our beast to take it to camp.
It was both the largest and whitest bear I ever saw. The best proof,
I can give, of the size and fatness is, that we extracted ten gallons
of oil from it. The meat we dried, and put the oil in a trough, which
we secured in a deep crevice of a cliff, beyond the reach of animals
of prey. We were sensible that it would prove a treasure to us on our
return.
On the 28th we resumed our journey, and pushed down the stream to reach
a point on the river, where trapping had not been practised. On the
30th, we reached this point, and found the man, that the Indians had
killed. They had cut him in quarters, after the fashion of butchers.
His head, with the hat on, was stuck on a stake. It was full of the
arrows, which they had probably discharged into it, as they had danced
around it. We gathered up the parts of the body, and buried them.
At this point we commenced setting our traps. We found the river
skirted with very wide bottoms, thick-set with the musquito trees,[56]
which bear a pod in the shape of a bean, which is exceedingly sweet. It
constitutes one of the chief articles of Indian subsistence; and they
contrive to prepare from it a very palatable kind of bread, of which we
all became very fond. The wild animals also feed upon this pod.
On the 31st we moved our camp ten miles. On the way we noted many
fresh traces of Indians, and killed a bear, that attacked us. The
river pursues a west course amidst high mountains on each side. We
trapped slowly onward, still descending the river, and unmolested by
the Indians. On the 8th of February, we reached the mouth of a small
river entering the Helay on the north shore. Here we unexpectedly
came upon a small party of Indians, that fled at the sight of us, in
such consternation and hurry, as to leave all their effects, which
consisted of a quantity of the bread mentioned above, and some robes
made of rabbit skins. Still more; they left a small child. The child
was old enough to distinguish us from its own people, for it opened
its little throat, and screamed so lustily, that we feared it would
have fits. The poor thing meanwhile made its {60} best efforts to fly
from us. We neither plundered nor molested their little store. We
bound the child in such a manner, that it could not stray away, and
get lost, aware, that after they deemed us sufficiently far off, the
parents would return, and take the child away. We thence ascended the
small river about four miles, and encamped. For fear of surprize, and
apprehending the return of the savages, that had fled from us, and
perhaps in greater force, we secured our camp with a small breast-work.
We discovered very little encouragement in regard to our trapping
pursuit, for we noted few signs of beavers on this stream. The night
passed without bringing us any disturbance. In the morning two of us
returned to the Indian camp. The Indians had re-visited it, and removed
every thing of value, and what gave us great satisfaction, their child.
In proof, that the feelings of human nature are the same every where,
and that the language of kindness is a universal one; in token of their
gratitude, as we understood it, they had suspended a package on a kind
of stick, which they had stuck erect. Availing ourselves of their
offer, we examined the present, and found it to contain a large dressed
buck skin, an article, which we greatly needed for moccasins, of which
some of us were in pressing want. On the same stick we tied a red
handkerchief by way of some return.
We thence continued to travel up this stream four days in succession,
with very little incident to diversify our march. We found the banks
of this river plentifully timbered with trees of various species,
and the land fine for cultivation. On the morning of the 13th, we
returned to the Helay, and found on our way, that the Indians had
taken the handkerchief, we had left, though none of them had shown any
disposition, as we had hoped, to visit us. We named the stream we had
left, the deserted fork, on account of having found it destitute of
beavers. We thence resumed our course down the Helay, which continues
to flow through a most beautiful country. Warned by the frequent traces
of fresh Indian foot-prints, we every night adopted {61} the expedient
of enclosing our horses in a pen, feeding them with cotton-wood bark,
which we found much better for them than grass.
On the 16th, we advanced to a point, where the river runs between high
mountains, in a ravine so narrow, as barely to afford it space to pass.
We commenced exploring them to search for a gap, through which we might
be able to pass. We continued our expedition, travelling north, until
we discovered a branch, that made its way out of the mountains. Up
its ravine we ascended to the head of the branch. Its fountains were
supplied by an immense snow bank, on the summit of the mountain. With
great labor and fatigue we reached this summit, but could descry no
plains within the limits of vision. On every side the peaks of ragged
and frowning mountains rose above the clouds, affording a prospect of
dreariness and desolation, to chill the heart. While we could hear
the thunder burst, and see the lightning glare before us, we found
an atmosphere so cold, that we were obliged to keep up severe and
unremitting exercise, to escape freezing.
We commenced descending the western declivity of the mountains, amidst
thick mists and dark clouds, with which they were enveloped. We pitied
our horses and mules, that were continually sliding and falling, by
which their limbs were strained, and their bodies bruised. To our great
joy, we were not long, before we came upon the ravine of a branch,
that wound its way through the vast masses of crags and mountains.
We were disappointed, however, in our purpose to follow it to the
Helay. Before it mingled with that stream, it ingulfed itself so deep
between the cliffs, that though we heard the dash of the waters in
their narrow bed, we could hardly see them. We were obliged to thread
our way, as we might, along the precipice, that constituted the banks
of the creek. We were often obliged to unpack our mules and horses,
and transport their loads by hand from one precipice to another. We
continued wandering among the mountains in this way, until the 23d. Our
provisions were at this time exhausted, and our horses and {62} mules
so worn out, that they were utterly unable to proceed further. Thus we
were absolutely obliged to lie by two days. During this time, Allen and
myself commenced climbing towards the highest peak of the mountains in
our vicinity. It was night-fall, before we gained it. But from it we
could distinctly trace the winding path of the river in several places;
and what was still more cheering, could see smokes arising from several
Indian camps. To meet even enemies, was more tolerable, than thus
miserably to perish with hunger and cold in the mountains. Our report
on our return animated the despair of our companions. On the morning
of the 25th we resumed our painful efforts to reach the river. On the
28th, to our great joy, we once more found ourselves on its banks. A
party of Indians, encamped there, fled at our approach. But fortunately
they left a little mush prepared from the seeds of grass. Without
scruple we devoured it with appetites truly ravenous. In the morning
we took ten beavers in our traps, and Allen was detached with me to
clear away a path, through which the pack horses might pass. We were
obliged to cross the river twelve times in the course of a single day.
We still discovered the fresh footprints of Indians, who had deserted
their camps, and fled before us. We were continually apprehensive,
that they would fire their arrows upon us, or overwhelm us with rocks,
let loose upon us from the summits of the high cliffs, directly under
which we were obliged to pass. The third day, after we had left our
company, I shot a wild goose in the river. The report of my gun raised
the screams of women and children. Too much alarmed to stop for my
game, I mounted my horse, and rode toward them, with a view to convince
them, or in some way, to show them, that we intended them no harm. We
discovered them ahead of us, climbing the mountains, the men in advance
of the women, and all fleeing at the top of their speed. As soon as
they saw us, they turned, and let fly a few arrows at us, one of which
would have despatched my companion, had he not been infinitely dextrous
in dodging. Hungry and fatigued and by no means in the best humor, my
companion returned {63} them abundance of curses for their arrows. From
words he was proceeding to deeds, and would undoubtedly have shot one
of them, had I not caught his gun, and made him sensible of the madness
of such a deed. It was clearly our wisdom to convince them, that we
had no inclination to injure them. Some of them were clad in robes of
rabbit skins, part of which they shed, in their hurry to clamber over
the rocks.
Finding ourselves unable to overtake them, we returned to their camp,
to discover if they had left any thing that we could eat. At no great
distance from their camp, we observed a mound of fresh earth, in
appearance like one of our coal kilns. Considering it improbable, that
the Indians would be engaged in burning coal, we opened the mound,
and found it to contain a sort of vegetable that had the appearance
of herbage, which seemed to be baking in the ground, to prepare it
for eating. I afterwards ascertained, that it was a vegetable, called
by the Spanish, mascal, (probably maguey.)[57] The Indians prepare
it in this way, so as to make a kind of whiskey of it, tasting like
crab-apple cider. The vegetable grows in great abundance on these
mountains.
Next day we came to the point, where the river discharges its waters
from the mountains on to the plains. We thence returned, and rejoined
our company, that had been making their way onward behind us. March
3d, we trapped along down a small stream, that empties into the Helay
on the south side, having its head in a south west direction. It being
very remarkable for the number of its beavers, we gave it the name of
Beaver river. At this place we collected 200 skins; and on the 10th
continued to descend the Helay, until the 20th, when we turned back
with as much fur, as our beasts could pack. As yet we had experienced
no molestation from the Indians, although they were frequently descried
skulking after us, and gathering up the pieces of meat, we had thrown
away. On the morning of the 20th we were all prepared for an early
start, and my father, by way of precaution, bade us all discharge our
guns at the word of command, and then re-load them afresh, {64} that
we might, in case of emergency, be sure of our fire. We were directed
to form in a line, take aim, and at the word, fire at a tree. We gave
sufficient proofs, that we were no strangers to the rifle, for every
ball had lodged close to the centre of our mark. But the report of
our guns was answered by the yell of more than an hundred savages,
above us on the mountains. We immediately marched out from under the
mountains on to the plains, and beckoned them to come down, by every
demonstration of friendship in our power. Nothing seemed to offer
stronger enticement, than to hold out to them our red cloth. This we
did, but without effect, for they either understood us not, or were
reluctant to try our friendship. Leaving one of our number to watch
their deportment, and to note if they followed us, we resumed our
march. It would have been a great object to us to have been able to
banish their suspicions, and make a treaty with them. But we could
draw from them no demonstrations, but those of fear and surprize. On
the 25th we returned to Beaver river, and dug up the furs that we had
buried, or cashed,[58] as the phrase is, and concluded to ascend it,
trapping towards its head, whence we purposed to cross over to the
Helay above the mountains, where we had suffered so much in crossing.
About six miles up the stream, we stopped to set our traps, three being
selected to remain behind in the camp to dry the skins, my father to
make a pen for the horses, and I to guard them, while they were turned
loose to feed in the grass. We had pitched our camp near the bank of
the river, in a thick grove of timber, extending about a hundred yards
in width. Behind the timber was a narrow plain of about the same width,
and still further on was a high hill, to which I repaired, to watch my
horses, and descry whatever might pass in the distance. Immediately
back of the hill I discovered a small lake, by the noise made by the
ducks and geese in it. Looking more attentively, I remarked what gave
me much more satisfaction, that is to say, three beaver lodges. I
returned, and made my father acquainted with my discovery. The party
despatched to set traps had returned. My father informed {65} them of
my discovery, and told them to set traps in the little lake. As we
passed towards the lake, we observed the horses and mules all crowded
together. At first we concluded that they collected together in this
way, because they had fed enough. We soon discovered, that it was owing
to another cause. I had put down my gun, and stepped into the water,
to prepare a bed for my trap, while the others were busy in preparing
theirs. Instantly the Indians raised a yell, and the quick report of
guns ensued. This noise was almost drowned in the fierce shouts that
followed, succeeded by a shower of arrows falling among us like hail.
As we ran for the camp leaving all the horses in their power, we
saw six Indians stealthily following our trail, as though they were
tracking a deer. They occasionally stopped, raised themselves, and
surveyed every thing around them. We concealed ourselves behind a large
cotton-wood tree, and waited until they came within a hundred yards of
us. Each of us selected a separate Indian for a mark, and our signal
to fire together was to be a whistle. The sign was given, and we fired
together. My mark fell dead, and my companions' severely wounded. The
other Indians seized their dead and wounded companions, and fled.
We now rejoined our company, who were busily occupied in dodging the
arrows, that came in a shower from the summit of the hill, where I had
stationed myself to watch our horses. Discovering that they were too
far from us, to be reached by our bullets, we retreated to the timber,
in hopes to draw them down to the plain. But they had had too ample
proofs of our being marksmen, to think of returning down to our level,
and were satisfied to remain yelling, and letting fly their arrows at
random. We found cause both for regret and joy; regret, that our horses
were in their power, and joy, that their unprovoked attack had been
defeated with loss to themselves, and none to us.
At length they ceased yelling, and disappeared. We, on our part, set
ourselves busily to work to fortify our camp for the night. Meanwhile
our savage enemy devised a plan, which, but for the circumspection
of my father, would have enabled {66} them to destroy us. They
divided themselves into two parties, the one party mounted on horses,
stolen from us, and so arranged as to induce the belief, that they
constituted the whole party. They expected that we would pursue them,
to recover our horses. As soon as we should be drawn out from behind
our fortification, they had a reserve party, on foot, who were to rush
in, between us and our camp, and thus, between two fires, cut us all
off together. It so happened, that I had retired a little distance from
the camp, in the direction of the ambush party on foot. I met them, and
they raised a general yell. My father, supposing me surrounded, ran in
the direction of the yell, to aid me. He, too, came in direct contact
with the foot party, who let fly a shower of arrows at him, from which
nothing but good providence preserved him. He returned the fire with
his gun and pistols, by which he killed two of them, and the report
of which immediately brought his companions to his side. The contest
was a warm one for a few minutes, when the Indians fled. This affair
commenced about three in the afternoon; and the Indians made their
final retreat at five; and the succeeding night passed without further
molestation from them.
In the morning of the 26th, we despatched two of our men to bring
our traps and furs. We had no longer any way of conveying them with
us, for the Indians had taken all our horses. We, however, in the
late contest, had taken four of theirs, left behind in the haste of
their retreat. As our companions were returning to camp with the
traps, which they had taken up to bury, they discovered the Indians,
sliding along insidiously towards our camp. We were all engaged in
eating our breakfast in entire confidence. Our men cried out to us,
that the enemy was close upon us. We sprang to our arms. The Indians
instantly fled to the top of the hill, which we had named Battle-hill.
In a few minutes they were all paraded on the horses and mules stolen
from us. They instantly began to banter us in Spanish to come up to
them. One of our number who could speak Spanish, asked them to what
nation they belonged? They answered, _Eiotaro_. In return, they asked
us, who we were? We answered _Americans_. Hearing this, they stood in
apparent {67} surprise and astonishment for some moments. They then
replied, that they had thought us too brave and too good marksmen, to
be Spaniards; that they were sorry for what they had done, under the
mistake of supposing us Spaniards. They declared themselves ready to
make a treaty with us, provided that we would return the four horses,
we had taken from them, and bring them up the hill, where they promised
us they would restore us our own horses in exchange. We were at once
impressed, that the proposal was a mere trick, to induce us to place
ourselves in their power. We therefore answered their proposal by
another, which was, that they should bring down our horses, and leave
them by the pen, where they had taken them, and we in return would
let their horses loose, and make friendship with them. They treated
our proposal with laughter, which would have convinced us, had we
doubted it before, that their only purpose had been to ensnare us. We
accordingly faced them, and fired upon them, which induced them to
clear themselves most expeditiously.
We proceeded to bury our furs; and having packed our four horses with
provisions and two traps, we commenced our march. Having travelled
about ten miles, we encamped in a thicket without kindling a fire, and
kept a strict guard all night. Next morning we made an early march,
still along the banks of the river. Its banks are still plentifully
timbered with cotton-wood and willow. The bottoms on each side afford
a fine soil for cultivation. From these bottoms the hills rise to an
enormous height, and their summits are covered with perpetual snow. In
these bottoms are great numbers of wild hogs, of a species entirely
different from our domestic swine. They are fox-colored, with their
navel on their back, towards the back part of their bodies. The hoof of
their hind feet has but one dew-claw, and they yield an odor not less
offensive than our polecat. Their figure and head are not unlike our
swine, except that their tail resembles that of a bear. We measured
one of their tusks, of a size so enormous, that I am afraid to commit
my credibility, by giving the dimensions. They remain undisturbed {68}
by man and other animals, whether through fear or on account of their
offensive odor, I am unable to say. That they have no fear of man,
and that they are exceedingly ferocious, I can bear testimony myself.
I have many times been obliged to climb trees to escape their tusks.
We killed a great many, but could never bring ourselves to eat them.
The country presents the aspect of having been once settled at some
remote period of the past. Great quantities of broken pottery are
scattered over the ground, and there are distinct traces of ditches
and stone walls, some of them as high as a man's breast, with very
broad foundations. A species of tree, which I had never seen before,
here arrested my attention.[59] It grows to the height of forty or
fifty feet. The top is cone shaped, and almost without foliage. The
bark resembles that of the prickly pear; and the body is covered with
thorns. I have seen some three feet in diameter at the root, and
throwing up twelve distinct shafts.
On the 29th, we made our last encampment on this river, intending to
return to it no more, except for our furs. We set our two traps for the
last time, and caught a beaver in each.--We skinned the animals, and
prepared the skins to hold water, through fear, that we might find
none on our unknown route through the mountains to the Helay, from
which we judged ourselves distant two hundred miles. Our provisions
were all spoiled. We had nothing to carry with us to satisfy hunger,
but the bodies of the two beavers which we had caught, the night
before. We had nothing to sustain us in this disconsolate march, but
our trust in providence; for we could not but foresee hunger, fatigue
and pain, as the inevitable attendants upon our journey. To increase
the depression of our spirits, our moccasins were worn out, our feet
sore and tender, and the route full of sharp rocks.
On the 31st, we reached the top of the mountain, and fed upon the last
meat of our beavers. We met with no traces of game. What distressed
me most of all was, to perceive my father, who had already passed the
meridian of his days, sinking with fatigue and weakness. On the morning
of the first of April, {69} we commenced descending the mountain, from
the side of which we could discern a plain before us, which, however,
it required two severe days travel to reach. During these two days
we had nothing either to eat or drink. In descending from these icy
mountains, we were surprised to find how warm it was on the plains. On
reaching them I killed an antelope, of which we drank the warm blood;
and however revolting the recital may be, to us it was refreshing,
tasting like fresh milk. The meat we put upon our horses, and travelled
on until twelve o'clock, before we found water.
Here we encamped the remainder of the day, to rest, and refresh
ourselves. The signs of antelopes were abundant, and the appearances
were, that they came to the water to drink; from which we inferred,
that there was no other drinking place in the vicinity. Some of our
hunters went out in pursuit of the antelopes. From the numbers of these
animals, we called the place _Antelope Plain_. The land lies very
handsomely, and is a rich, black soil, with heavily timbered groves in
the vicinity.
On the morning of the 3d, though exceedingly stiff and sore, we resumed
our march, and reaching the opposite side of the plain, encamped at a
spring, that ran from the mountain. Next day we ascended this mountain
to its summit, which we found covered with iron ore. At a distance we
saw a smoke on our course. We were aware that it was the smoke of an
Indian camp, and we pushed on towards it. In the evening we reached
the smoke, but found it deserted of Indians. All this day's march was
along a country abundant in minerals. In several places we saw lead
and copper ore. I picked up a small parcel of ore, which I put in my
shot-pouch, which was proved afterward to be an ore of silver. The
misfortune of this region is, that there is no water near these mineral
hills. We commenced our morning march half dead with thirst, and pushed
on with the eagerness inspired by that tormenting appetite. Late in the
evening we found a little water, for our own drinking, in the bottom
of a rock. Not a drop remained for our four horses, that evidently
showed a thirst no less devouring than ours. {70} Their feet were
all bleeding, and the moment we paused to rest ourselves, the weary
companions of our journey instantly laid down. It went still more to
my heart, to see my two faithful dogs, which had followed me all the
way from my father's house, where there was always _bread enough and to
spare_, looking to me with an expression, which a hunter in the desert
only can understand, as though begging food and water. Full gladly
would I have explained to them, that the sterile wilderness gave me no
means of supplying their wants.
We had scarcely commenced the next morning's march, when, at a little
distance from our course, we saw a smoke. Supposing it an Indian camp,
we immediately concluded to attack it. Adopting their own policy, we
slipped onward in silence and concealment, until we were close by it.
We found the persons women and children. Having no disposition to harm
them, we fired a gun over their heads, which caused them instantly to
fly at the extent of their speed. Hunger knows no laws; and we availed
ourselves of their provision, which proved to be mascal, and grass
seed, of which we made mush. Scanty as this nutriment was, it was
sufficient to sustain life.
We commenced an early march on the 6th, and were obliged to move
slowly, as we were bare-footed, and the mountains rough and steep.
We found them either wholly barren, or only covered with a stinted
growth of pine and cedar, live oak and barbary bushes. On the 8th, our
provisions were entirely exhausted, and so having nothing to eat, we
felt the less need of water. Our destitute and forlorn condition goaded
us on, so that we reached the Helay on the 12th. We immediately began
to search for traces of beavers, where to set our traps, but found
none. On the morning of the 13th, we killed a raven, which we cooked
for seven men. It was unsavory flesh in itself, and would hardly have
afforded a meal for one hungry man. The miserable condition of our
company may be imagined, when seven hungry men, who had not eaten a
full meal for ten days, were all obliged to breakfast on this nauseous
bird. We were all weak and emaciated. But I was young {71} and able to
bear hardships. My heart only ached for my poor father who was reduced
to a mere skeleton. We moved on slowly and painfully, until evening,
when we encamped. On my return from setting our two traps, I killed a
buzzard, which, disagreeable as it was, we cooked for supper. In the
morning of the 18th, I found one of the traps had caught an otter.
This served for breakfast and supper. It seemed the means of our
present salvation, for my father had become so weak, that he could no
longer travel. We therefore encamped early, and three of us went out
to hunt deer among the hills. But in this sad emergency we could find
none. When we returned, my father had prepared lots, that we should
draw, to determine who of us should kill one of the dogs. I refused
through fear that the lot would fall to me. These faithful companions
of our sufferings were so dear to me, that I felt as though I could not
allow them to be killed to save my own life; though to save my father,
I was aware that it was a duty to allow it to be done.
We lay here until the 18th, my father finding the flesh of the dog
both sweet, nutritive and strengthening. On the 18th, he was again
able to travel; and on the 20th, we arrived at Bear creek, where we
hid the bears oil, which we found unmolested. We lay here two days,
during which time we killed four deer and some turkies. The venison we
dried, and cased the skin of one of the deer, in which to carry our
oil. We commenced an early march on the 23d, and on the 25th reached
the river San Francisco, where we found our buried furs all safe. I
suffered exceedingly from the soreness of my feet, giving me great pain
and fever at night. We made from our raw deer skins a very tolerable
substitute for shoes. The adoption of this important expedient enabled
us to push on, so that we reached the Copper mines on the 29th.
The Spaniards seemed exceedingly rejoiced, and welcomed us home,
as though we were of their own nation, religion and kindred. They
assured us, that they had no expectation ever to see us again. The
superintendent of the mines, especially, who appeared to me a gentleman
of the highest order, received {72} us with particular kindness, and
supplied all our pressing wants. Here we remained, to rest and recruit
ourselves, until the 2d of May. My father then advised me to travel
to Santa Fe, to get some of our goods, and purchase a new supply of
horses, with which to return, and bring in our furs. I had a horse,
which we had taken from the Indians, shod with copper shoes, and in
company with four of my companions, and the superintendent of the
mines, I started for Santa Fe. The superintendent assured us, that he
would gladly have furnished us horses; but the Appache Indians[60]
had recently made an incursion upon his establishment, stealing all
his horses, and killing three men, that were herding them. This
circumstance had suspended the working of the mines. Besides he was
unable to procure the necessary coal, with which to work them, because
the Appaches way-laid the colliers, and killed them, as often as they
attempted to make coal.
We arrived at the house of the governor on the 12th. Jacova, his
daughter, received us with the utmost affection; and shed tears on
observing me so ill; as I was in fact reduced by starvation and
fatigue, to skin and bone. Beings in a more wretched plight she could
not often have an opportunity to see. My hair hung matted and uncombed.
My head was surmounted with an old straw hat. My legs were fitted with
leather leggins, and my body arrayed in a leather hunting shirt, and
no want of dirt about any part of the whole. My companions did not
shame me, in comparison, by being better clad. But all these repulsive
circumstances notwithstanding, we were welcomed by the governor and
Jacova, as kindly, as if we had been clad in a manner worthy of their
establishment.
We rested ourselves here three days. I had left my more decent apparel
in the care of Jacova, when we started from the house into the
wilderness on our trapping expedition. She had had my clothes prepared
in perfect order. I once more dressed myself decently, and spared to
my companions all my clothes that fitted them. We all had our hair
trimmed. All this had much improved our appearance. When we started
{73} on the 15th, the old gentleman gave each of us a good horse,
enabling us to travel at our ease.
On the 18th we arrived at Santa Fe, where we immediately met some of
our former companions. It hardly need be added, that the joy of this
recognition was great and mutual. We found Mr. Pratte ill in bed. He
expressed himself delighted to see me, and was still more desirous to
see my father. He informed me, that four of the company that he had
detached to trap, had been defeated by the Indians, and the majority of
them killed. He had, also, despaired of ever seeing us again. I took
a part of my goods, and started back to the mines on the 21st. None
of my companions were willing to accompany me on account of the great
apprehended danger from the Indians between this place and the mines.
In consequence, I hired a man to go with me, and having purchased what
horses I wanted, we two travelled on in company. I would have preferred
to have purchased my horses of the old governor. But I knew that his
noble nature would impel him to give them to me, and felt reluctant
to incur such an obligation. When I left his house, he insisted on my
receiving a gold chain, in token of the perpetual remembrance of his
daughter. I saw no pretext for refusing it, and as I received it, she
assured me that she should always make mention of my father and me in
her prayers.
I left this hospitable place on the 24th, taking all my clothes with
me, except the hunting shirt, which I had worn in the battle with the
Commanches. This she desired to retain, insisting, that she wished
to preserve this memorial to the day of her death. We arrived at the
mines the first day of June, having experienced no molestation from
the Indians. We continued here, making arrangements for our expedition
to bring in the furs, until the 6th. The good natured commander gave
us provisions to last us to the point where our furs were buried, and
back again. Still more, he armed ten of his laborers, and detached them
to accompany us. The company consisted of four Americans, the man hired
at Santa Fe, and the commander's ten men, fifteen in all.
{74} We left the mines on the 7th, and reached Battle-hill on Beaver
river on the 22d. I need not attempt to describe my feelings, for no
description could paint them, when I found the furs all gone, and
perceived that the Indians had discovered them and taken them away. All
that, for which we had hazarded ourselves, and suffered every thing but
death, was gone. The whole fruit of our long, toilsome and dangerous
expedition was lost, and all my golden hopes of prosperity and comfort
vanished like a dream. I tried to convince myself, that repining was of
no use, and we started for the river San Francisco on the 29th. Here
we found the small quantity buried there, our whole compensation for
a year's toil, misery and danger. We met no Indians either going or
returning.
We arrived at the mines the 8th of July, and after having rested two
days proposed to start for Santa Fe. The commander, don Juan Unis,
requested us to remain with him two or three months, to guard his
workmen from the Indians, while pursuing their employment in the woods.
He offered, as a compensation, a dollar a day. We consented to stay,
though without accepting the wages. We should have considered ourselves
ungrateful, after all the kindness, he had rendered us at the hour
of our greatest need, either to have refused the request, or to have
accepted a compensation. Consequently we made our arrangements to stay.
We passed our time most pleasantly in hunting deer and bears, of which
there were great numbers in the vicinity. We had no other duties to
perform, than to walk round in the vicinity of the workmen, or sit by
and see them work. Most of my time was spent with don Juan, who kindly
undertook to teach me to speak Spanish. Of him, having no other person
with whom to converse, I learned the language easily, and rapidly. One
month of our engagement passed off without any molestation from the
Indians. But on the first day of August, while three of us were hunting
deer, we discovered the trail of six Indians approaching the mines. We
followed the trail, and within about a mile from the mines, we came
up with them. {75} They fled, and we pursued close at their heels.
Gaining upon them, one of them dodged us, into the head of a hollow.
We surrounded him. As soon as he saw that we had discovered him, and
that escape was impossible, he sprung on his feet, threw away his bow
and arrows, and begged us most submissively not to shoot him. One of
our men made up to him, while the other man and myself stood with our
guns cocked, and raised to our faces, ready to shoot him, if he made
the least motion towards his bow. But he remained perfectly still,
crossing his hands, that we might tie them. Having done it, we drove
him on before us. We had advanced about a hundred yards from the point
where we took him, when he pointed out to us a hollow tree, intimating
that there was another Indian concealed there. We bade him instruct
his companion to make no resistance, and to surrender himself, or we
would kill him. He explained our words to his companion in the tree. He
immediately came forth from his concealment with his bow, and we tied
his hands in the same way as the other's. We marched them before us to
the mines, where we put them in prison. The Spaniards, exasperated with
their recent cruelties and murders, would have killed them. We insisted
that they should be spared, and they remained in prison until the next
morning.
We then brought them out of prison, conversed with them, and showed
them how closely we could fire. We instructed one of them to tell his
chief to come in, accompanied by all his warriors, to make peace. We
retained one of the prisoners as a hostage, assuring the other, that
if his chief did not come in to make peace, we would put the hostage to
death. In regard to the mode of making it, we engaged, that only four
of our men should meet them at a hollow, half a mile from the mine. We
enjoined it on him to bring them there within the term of four days. We
readily discovered by the tranquil countenance of our hostage, that he
had no apprehensions that they would not come in.
Afterwards, by way of precaution, my father put in requisition all
the arms he could find in the vicinity of the mines, with {76} which
he armed thirty Spaniards. He then ordered a trench dug, at a hundred
yard's distance from the point designated for the Indians to occupy.
This trench was to be occupied by our armed men, during the time of the
treaty, in case, that if the Indians should be insolent or menacing,
these men might be at hand to overawe them, or aid us, according to
circumstances.
On the 5th, we repaired to the place designated, and in a short time,
the Indians to the number of 80, came in sight. We had prepared a
pipe, tobacco, and a council fire, and had spread a blanket, on which
the chief might sit down. As soon as they came near us, they threw
down their arms. The four chiefs came up to us, and we all sat down
on the blanket. We commenced discussing the subject, for which they
were convened. We asked them, if they were ready to make a peace with
us; and if not what were the objections? They replied, that they had
no objections to a peace with the Americans, but would never make one
with the Spaniards. When we asked their reasons, they answered that
they had been long at war with the Spaniards, and that a great many
murders had been mutually inflicted on either side. They admitted, that
they had taken a great many horses from the Spaniards, but indignantly
alleged, that a large party of their people had come in to make peace
with the Spaniards, of which they pretended to be very desirous; that
with such pretexts, they had decoyed the party within their walls, and
then commenced butchering them like a flock of sheep. The very few who
had escaped, had taken an unalterable resolution never to make peace
with them. 'In pursuance,' they continued, 'of our purposes of revenge,
great numbers of our nation went in among the Spaniards, and were
baptized. There they remain faithful spies for us, informing us when
and where there were favorable opportunities to kill, and plunder our
enemies.'
We told them in reply, that if they really felt disposed to be at peace
with the Americans, these mines were now working jointly by us and
the Spaniards; that it was wrong in them to revenge the crimes of the
guilty upon the innocent, and that {77} these Spaniards had taken no
part in the cowardly and cruel butchery, of which they had spoken; and
that if they would not be peaceable, and allow us to work the mines
unmolested, the Americans would consider them at war, and would raise
a sufficient body of men to pursue them to their lurking places in the
mountains; that they had good evidence that our people could travel
in the woods and among the mountains, as well as themselves; and that
we could shoot a great deal better than either they or the Spaniards,
and that we had no cowards among us, but true men, who had no fear and
would keep their word.
The chiefs answered, that if the mines belonged to the Americans, they
would promise never to disturb the people that worked them. We left
them, therefore, to infer that the mines belonged to us, and took them
at their word. We then lit the pipe, and all the Indians gathered in
a circle round the fire. The four chiefs, each in succession made a
long speech, in which we could often distinguish the terms Americans,
and Espanola. The men listened with profound attention, occasionally
sanctioning what was said by a nod of the head. We then commenced
smoking, and the pipe passed twice round the circle. They then dug a
hole in the ground in the centre of the circle, and each one spat in
it. They then filled it up with earth, danced round it, and stuck their
arrows in the little mound. They then gathered a large pile of stones
over it, and painted themselves red. Such are their ceremonies of
making peace. All the forms of the ceremony were familiar to us, except
the pile of stones, and spitting in the hole they had dug, which are
not practised by the Indians on the American frontiers. We asked them
the meaning of the spitting. They said, that they did it in token of
spitting out all their spite and revenge, and burying their anger under
the ground.
It was two o'clock before all these ceremonies were finished. We then
showed them our reserve force in the trench. They evinced great alarm
to see their enemies the Spaniards so close to them, and all ready for
action. We explained to them, that we intended to be in good faith, if
they were; and that these {78} men were posted there, only in case they
showed a disposition to violence. Their fears vanished and tranquility
returned to their countenances. The chiefs laughed, and said to each
other, these Americans know how to fight, and make peace too. But were
they to fight us, they would have to get a company entirely of their
own people; for that if they took any Spaniards into their company,
they would be sure to desert them in the time of action.
We thence all marched to the mines, where we killed three beeves to
feed the Indians. After they had eaten, and were in excellent humor,
the head chief made a present to my father, of ten miles square of
a tract of land lying on a river about three miles from the mines.
It was very favorable for cultivation, and the Spaniards had several
times attempted to make a crop of grain upon it; but the Indians had
as often either killed the cultivators, or destroyed the grain. My
father informed them, that though the land might be his, he should be
obliged to employ Spaniards to cultivate it for him; and that, having
made the land his, they must consider these cultivators his people, and
not molest them. With a look of great firmness, the chief said 'that
he was a man of truth, and had given his word, and that we should find
that nothing belonging to the mines would be disturbed, for that he
never would allow the treaty to be violated.' He went on to add, 'that
he wanted to be at peace with us, because he had discovered, that the
Americans never showed any disposition to kill, except in battle; that
they had had a proof of this in our not killing the two prisoners we
had taken; but had sent one of them to invite his people to come in,
and make peace with us, and that he took pleasure in making known to
us, that they were good people too, and had no wish to injure men that
did not disturb or injure them.'
All this farce of bringing the Indians to terms of peace with this
establishment was of infinite service to the Spaniards, though of none
to us; for we neither had any interest in the mines, nor intended
to stay there much longer. But we were glad to oblige don Juan who
had been so great a benefactor {79} to us. He, on his part, was most
thankful to us; for he could now work the mines without any risk of
losing men or cattle. He could now raise his own grain, which he had
hitherto been obliged to pack 200 miles, not without having many of
those engaged in bringing it, either killed or robbed. The Indians now
had so much changed their deportment as to bring in horses or cows,
that they found astray from the mines. They regularly brought in deer
and turkies to sell, which don Juan, to keep alive their friendship,
purchased, whether he needed the articles or not. Every day more or
less Indians came into the settlement to go and hunt deer and bears
with us. They were astonished at the closeness of our shooting; and
nothing seemed to delight them so much, as our telling them, we would
learn them to shoot our guns. My father had the honor to be denominated
in their language, _the big Captain_.
Don Juan, apprehending that the truce with the Indians would last no
longer than while we staid, and that after our departure, the Indians
would resume their former habits of robbery and murder, was desirous
to retain us as long as possible. We agreed to stay until December,
when our plan was to commence another trapping expedition on the
Helay, following it down to its mouth. With every disposition on the
part of don Juan to render our stay agreeable, the time passed away
pleasantly. On the 16th of September, the priest, to whose diocese the
mines belonged, made a visit to the mines, to release the spirits of
those who had died since his last visit, from purgatory, and to make
Christians by baptising the little persons who had been born in the
same time.
This old priest, out of a reverend regard to his own person, had fled
from this settlement at the commencement of the Indian disturbances;
and had not returned until now, when the Indians had made peace. A body
of Indians happened to be in, when the priest came. We were exceedingly
amused with the interview between the priest and an Indian chief, who,
from having had one of his hands bitten off by a bear, was called
_Mocho Mano_. The priest asked the one handed chief, why {80} he did
not offer himself for baptism? Mocho remained silent for some time, as
if ruminating an answer. He then said, 'the Appache chief is a very big
rogue now. Should he get his crown sprinkled with holy water, it would
either do him no good at all, or if it had any effect, would make him a
greater rogue; for that the priests, who made the water holy, and then
went sprinkling it about among the people for money, were the biggest
rogues of all.' This made the priest as angry as it made us merry.
When we had done laughing, Mocho asked us, how we baptised among our
people? I answered that we had two ways of performing it; but that
one way was, to plunge the baptised person under water. He replied
promptly, 'now there is some sense in that;' adding that when a great
quantity of rain fell from the clouds, it made the grass grow; but
that it seemed to him that sprinkling a few drops of water amounted to
nothing.
The priest, meanwhile, prophesied, that the peace between the Spaniards
and Indians would be of very short duration. On the 18th, he left the
mines, and returned to the place whence he had come. On the 20th, we
started with some Indian guides to see a mountain of salt, that they
assured us existed in their country. We travelled a northerly course
through a heavily timbered country, the trees chiefly of pine and live
oak. We killed a great number of bears and deer on the first day; and
on account of their reverence for my father, they treated me as if I
had been a prince. On the second we arrived at the salt hill, which is
about one hundred miles north of the mines. The hill is about a quarter
of a mile in length, and on the front side of it is the salt bluff,
eight or ten feet in thickness. It has the appearance of a black rock,
divided from the earthy matters, with which the salt is mixed. What was
to me the most curious circumstance of the whole, was to see a fresh
water spring boiling up within twenty feet from the salt bluff, which
is a detached and solitary hill, rising out of a valley, which is of
the richest and blackest soil, and heavily timbered {81} with oak,
ash and black walnut. I remained here two days, during which I killed
fifteen deer, that came to lick salt.
An Indian woman of our company dressed all my deer skins, and we loaded
two mules with the salt, and started back to the mines, where we
arrived the first of October. Nothing could have been more seasonable
or acceptable to don Juan, than the salt we brought with us. Having
mentioned these mines so often, perhaps it may not be amiss, to give a
few details respecting them. Within the circumference of three miles,
there is a mine of copper, gold and silver, and beside, a cliff of load
stone. The silver mine is not worked, as not being so profitable, as
either the copper or gold mines.
We remained here to the last of December, when the settlement was
visited by a company of French trappers, who were bound for Red
river.[61] We immediately made preparations to return with them, which
again revived the apprehensions of don Juan, that the Indians would
break in upon the settlement as soon as we were gone, and again put an
end to the working of the mines. To detain us effectually, he proposed
to rent the mines to us for five years, at a thousand dollars a year.
He was willing to furnish provisions for the first year gratis, and
pay us for all the improvements we should make on the establishment.
We could not but be aware, that this was an excellent offer. My
father accepted it. The writings were drawn, and my father rented the
establishment on his own account, selecting such partners as he chose.
I, meanwhile, felt within me an irresistible propensity to resume the
employment of trapping. I had a desire, which I can hardly describe, to
see more of this strange and new country. My father suffered greatly in
the view of my parting with him, and attempted to dissuade me from it.
He strongly painted the dangers of the route, and represented to me,
that I should not find these Frenchmen like my own country people, for
companions. All was unavailing to change my fixed purpose, and we left
the mines, January 2d, 1826.
We travelled down the river Helay, of which I have formerly {82}
given a description, as far as the point where we had left it for
Battle-hill. Here, although we saw fresh Indian signs, we met with no
Indians. Where we encamped for the night, there were arrows sticking
in the ground. We made an early start on the 16th, and at evening
came upon the self same party of Indians, that had robbed us of our
horses, the year past. Some of them had on articles of my father's
clothes, that he had left where we buried our furs. They had made our
beaver skins into robes, which we now purchased of them. While this
bargain was transacting, I observed one of the Indians mounted on the
self same horse, on which my father had travelled from the States. My
blood instantly boiled within me, and, presenting my gun at him, I
ordered him instantly to dismount. He immediately did as I bade him,
and at once a trepidation and alarm ran through the whole party. They
were but twenty men, and they were encumbered with women and children.
We were thirteen, well mounted and armed. The chief of the party came
to me, and asked me, 'if I knew this horse?' I answered, that 'I did,
and that it was mine.' He asked me again, 'if we were the party, whose
horses and furs they had taken the year before?' I answered, that I
was one of them, and that if he did not cause my furs and horses to be
delivered up to me, we would kill them all on the spot. He immediately
brought me 150 skins and three horses, observing, that they had been
famished, and had eaten the rest, and that he hoped this would satisfy
me, for that in the battle they had suffered more than we, he having
lost ten men, and we having taken from them four horses with their
saddles and bridles. I observed to him in reply, that he must remember
that they were the aggressors, and had provoked the quarrel, in having
robbed us of our horses, and attempting to kill us. He admitted that
they were the aggressors, in beginning the quarrel, but added, by way
of apology, that they had thought us Spaniards, not knowing that we
were Americans; but that now, when he knew us, he was willing to make
peace, and be in perpetual friendship. On this we lit the pipe of
peace, and smoked friends. I gave him some red {83} cloth, with which
he was delighted. I then asked him about the different nations, through
which our route would lead us? He named four nations, with names,
as he pronounced them, sufficiently barbarous. All these nations he
described as bad, treacherous and quarrelsome.
Though it was late in the evening, we resumed our march, until we had
reached the point where the river runs between mountains, and where I
had turned back the year before. There is here little timber, beside
musqueto-wood, which stands thick. We passed through the country of
the first two tribes, which the Indian chief had described to us,
without meeting an individual of them. On the 25th, we arrived at an
Indian village situated on the south bank of the river. Almost all the
inhabitants of this village speak Spanish, for it is situated only
three days journey from a Spanish fort in the province of Sonora,[62]
through which province this river runs. The Indians seemed disposed
to be friendly to us. They are to a considerable degree cultivators,
raising wheat, corn and cotton, which they manufacture into cloths. We
left this village on the 25th, and on the 28th in the evening arrived
at the Papawar village, the inhabitants of which came running to meet
us, with their faces painted, and their bows and arrows in their hands.
We were alarmed at these hostile appearances, and halted. We told them
that we were friends, at which they threw down their arms, laughing
the while, and showing by their countenances that they were aware that
we were frightened. We entered the village, and the French began to
manifest their uncontrollable curiosity, by strolling about in every
direction. I noted several crowds of Indians, collected in gangs, and
talking earnestly. I called the leader of my French companions, and
informed him that I did not like these movements of the Indians, and
was fearful that they were laying a plan to cut us all up. He laughed
at my fears, telling me I was a coward. I replied, that I did not think
that to be cautious, and on our guard, was to show cowardice, and that
I still thought it best for us to start {84} off. At this he became
angry, and told me that I might go when I pleased, and that he would go
when he was ready.
I then spoke to a Frenchman of our number, that I had known for a long
time in Missouri; I proposed to him to join me, and we would leave the
village and encamp by ourselves. He consented, and we went out of the
village to the distance of about 400 yards, under the pretext of going
there to feed our horses. When the sun was about half an hour high, I
observed the French captain coming out towards us, accompanied by a
great number of Indians, all armed with bows and arrows. This confirmed
me in my conviction that they intended us no good. Expressing my
apprehensions to my French companion, he observed in his peculiar style
of English, that the captain was too proud and headstrong, to allow him
to receive instruction from any one, for that he thought nobody knew
any thing but himself.
Agreeing that we had best take care of ourselves, we made us a fire,
and commenced our arrangements for spending the night. We took care not
to unsaddle our horses, but to be in readiness to be off at a moment's
warning. Our French captain came and encamped within a hundred yards
of us, accompanied by not less than a hundred Indians. They were all
exceedingly officious in helping the party unpack their mules; and in
persuading the captain, that there was no danger in turning them all
loose, they promised that they would guard them with their own horses.
This proposal delighted the lazy Frenchmen, who hated to go through
the details of preparing for encampment, and had a particular dislike
to standing guard in the night. The Indian chief then proposed to
the captain to stack their arms against a tree, that stood close by.
To this also, under a kind of spell of infatuation he consented. The
Indian chief took a rope, and tied the arms fast to a tree.
As I saw this, I told the captain that it seemed to me no mark of their
being friendly, for them to retain their own arms, and persuade us to
putting ours out of our power, and that one, who had known Indians,
ought to be better acquainted with their character, than to encamp with
them, without his men having {85} their own arms in their hand. On this
he flew into a most violent passion, calling me, with a curse added
to the epithet, a coward, wishing to God that he had never taken me
with him, to dishearten his men, and render them insubordinate. Being
remarkable neither for forbearance, or failing to pay a debt of hard
words, I gave him as good as he sent, telling him, among other things
no ways flattering, that he was a liar and a fool, for that none other
than a fool would disarm his men, and go to sleep in the midst of armed
savages in the woods. To this he replied, that he would not allow me
to travel any longer in his company. I answered that I was not only
willing, but desirous to leave him, for that I considered myself safer
in my own single keeping, than under the escort of such a captain,
and that I estimated him only to have sense enough to lead people to
destruction.
H
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