The Renewal of the Battle.—Peculiarities of the Fight.—The Rout.—Encampment in the Indian Village.—Number of Trappers among the Mountains.—The New Rendezvous.—Picturesque Scene of the Encampment.—The Missionary and the Nobleman.—Brown's Hole.—The Navajoes.—Kit Carson Purveyor at the Fort.—Trapping at the Black Hills.—Again upon the Yellowstone.—Pleasant Winter Quarters.—Signs of the Indians.—Severe Conflict.—Reappearance of the Indians.—Their utter Discomfiture.
There was now a brief lull in the battle. The Indians had not left the field and by no means acknowledged a defeat. With very considerable military skill they selected a new position for the renewal of the fight, on broken ground among a chaos of rocks, about one hundred and fifty yards from the line of their opponents. They were evidently aware of the strong reserve approaching to join the trappers. With this reserve it was necessary that the trappers should make the attack, for they could not venture to move on their way leaving so powerful a hostile army behind them.
The Indians manifested very considerable powers of reasoning, and no little strategic skill. They took the defensive, and chose a position from which it would be almost impossible to dislodge them. The trappers awaited the arrival of their comrades, and obtained a fresh supply of ammunition. The whole united band prepared for a renewal of the battle. Thus far not one of the trappers had been wounded, excepting Cotton, who was severely bruised by the fall of his horse.
About an half hour elapsed while these movements were taking place with each party. The trappers all dismounted and then, in a long line, with cheers advanced in Indian fashion, from tree to tree, from rock to rock, every moment drawing nearer to their determined foes. The great battle, the Waterloo conflict, now commenced. Small as were the numbers engaged, limited as was the field of action, there was perhaps never a battle in which more personal courage was displayed, or in which more skill and endurance was called into requisition. Not unfrequently a trapper would occupy one side of a large boulder and an Indian warrior the other, each watching for the life of his adversary, while every fibre of mental and muscular power were roused to activity. Neither could leave his covert without certain death, and one or the other must inevitably fall.
For an hour or two this dreadful conflict continued. Gradually the superiority of the white man, and the vast advantage which the rifle gave, began to be manifest. The Indians were slowly driven back, from tree to rock, from rock to tree. Many of their warriors had fallen in death. The ground was crimsoned with their blood. The disheartened Indians began to waver, then to retreat; and then as the trappers made a simultaneous charge, and the rifle bullets whistled around them, to run in complete rout, scattering in all directions. It was in vain to attempt any pursuit. The women and children of the Blackfeet village were on an eminence, about a mile from their homes, awaiting the issue of the conflict. They also instantly disappeared, seeking refuge no one knew where.
In this battle a large number of the Indians were killed or wounded, we know not how many. But three of the trappers were killed, though many others received wounds more or less severe. The Indian village was located on very fine camping-ground. They left nothing behind them. An Indian woman needs no Saratoga trunk for her wardrobe. Their comfortable wigwams were left standing. Here Fontenelle allowed his party to rest for several days. The dead were to be buried, the wounded to be nursed, damages to be repaired, and a new supply of provisions to be obtained. Free from all fear of molestation, the trappers explored the region for miles around, and were very successful in taking beavers.
It is estimated that the various parties of trappers, then wandering among the mountains, numbered at least six hundred men. While our trappers were thus encamped, elated with their victory over the Indians, and still more exultant over their daily success in trapping and hunting, one day an express rode into the camp, and informed them that the rendezvous was to be held, that year, upon the Mud river, a small stream flowing circuitously from the south into Green river. The party, having a large stock of beaver on hand, set out to cross the main ridge of the Rocky mountains, to dispose of their furs at the rendezvous. It required a journey of eight days. As the trapping party, nearly a hundred in number, all mounted on gayly caparisoned steeds, and leading one or two hundred pack horses, entered the valley over the distant eminences, there were two scenes presented to the eye, each peculiar in many aspects of sublimity and beauty.
It was midsummer. The smooth meadow upon which the encampment was held was rich, verdant and blooming, a beautiful stream flowing along its western border. A fine grove fringed the stream as far as the eye could reach up and down. Not a tree, stump, or stone was to be seen upon the smooth, lawn-like expanse. Its edge, near the grove, was lined with a great variety of lodges, constructed of skins or bark, or of forest boughs. Horses and mules in great numbers were feeding on the rich herbage, while groups of trappers, Canadians, Frenchmen, Americans and Indians, were scattered around, some cooking at their fires, some engaged in eager traffic, and some amusing themselves in athletic sports. It was a peaceful scene, where, so far as the eye could discern, man's fraternity was combined with nature's loveliness to make this a happy world. Such was the spectacle presented to the trappers as they descended into the valley.
On the other hand, the trappers themselves contributed a very important addition to the picturesqueness of the view. Half a mile from the encampment, in the northeast, the land rose in a gentle, gradual swell, smooth, verdant and treeless, perhaps to the height of a hundred and fifty feet. Down this declivity they were descending, with their horses and their pack mules, in a long line of single file. They were way-worn pilgrims, and the grotesqueness of their attire, and their unshaven, uncut, and almost uncombed locks, added to their weird-like aspect.
Here the party met with two gentlemen, such as were rarely, perhaps never before, seen on such an occasion. One was a Christian missionary, Father De Smidt, who, in obedience to the Saviour's commission, "Go ye into all the world and preach my Gospel to every creature," had abandoned the comforts of civilization, to cast in his lot with the savages, that he might teach them that religion of the Bible which would redeem the world by leading all men to repentance, to faith in an atoning Saviour, and to endeavor "to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with God."
The other stranger was an English nobleman, a gentleman of high character, of refinement and culture. In his ancestral home he had heard of the sublimities of the wilderness; the wide-spread prairies; the gloomy forests; the solitary lakes. He had heard of savage men, numbering tens of thousands in their tribes, almost as wild, as devoid of human traits as were the buffaloes whom they pursued with whoop and halloo over the plains. Curiosity, a very rational and praiseworthy curiosity, had lured him into these remote realms, that he might behold the wondrous works of God, and that he might study the condition of his brother man without the Gospel.
Kit Carson was, by a natural instinct, drawn into association with this refined English gentleman. They could each appreciate the other. They soon became acquainted, and a warm friendship sprang up between them. Mr. Carson subsequently wrote, in reference to Sir William Stuart:
"For the goodness of his heart and numerous rare qualities of his mind, he will always be remembered by those of the mountaineers who had the honor of his acquaintance."
The terms of the commendation show the virtues which Mr. Carson could appreciate, and which he was accustomed to practice. Of the missionary, Rev. Mr. De Smidt, it has been very truly written:
"Perhaps there never was a person, in the wilds of America, who became so universally beloved, both by the white and red man. While in the mountains he acted with untiring zeal for the good of all with whom he came into contact. Wherever duty called him, there he was sure to be found, no matter what the obstacles or dangers spread upon his path. He worked during a long series of years in these dangerous localities, and when he at length returned to civilization he left an indelible name behind him."
The Rendezvous continued for twenty days. It was a constant festival, like the Olympic games of the Greeks, or the renowned Tournaments of more modern days, with the exception that business was intimately blended with pleasures. It at length broke up into small parties. Kit Carson, with seven companions, followed down the Green river, to Brown's Hole; a narrow but sunny and fertile valley about sixteen miles long. Here he found a party of traders, who were on an excursion to a numerous and quite wealthy band of Indians, called the Navajoes. They seemed to have attained a degree of civilization considerably above that of any of the other tribes. They had fixed abodes; had immense herds of sheep, horses and mules. They had also attained, the art by a slow and tedious process, of weaving admirable woolen blankets; thick, warm and strong. These blankets were quite renowned throughout all that region, and brought a high price. Kit Carson joined the traders in their expedition to the country of the Navajoes.
Here they purchased many of these blankets, and a large drove of strong, fat mules. With these they crossed the mountains, to a distance of three or four hundred miles, to a fort on the south fork of the Platte river. At this place they disposed of their blankets and cattle to great advantage, and Mr. Carson promptly returned to the companions he had left at Brown's Hole. The traders undoubtedly received in payment the only currency of the country, beaver skins. These they probably took with them to St. Louis for ultimate sale. We know not how Mr. Carson invested his earnings. It is very certain that he did not squander them in riotous living. Subsequent events indicate that they were sent through the hands of the traders, Messrs. Thompson and Sinclair, to the States, there to be deposited to his credit.
The autumnal months had now passed away, and the blasts of approaching winter warned the hunters that they must seek a refuge from its storms.
Mr. Carson had produced so favorable an impression upon the men at the fort on the Platte river, that they sent him a very urgent invitation to return, and take the very responsible position of steward or purveyor for the garrison during the winter. They offered him such ample emolument that he accepted their proposition, though many other parties were eager to obtain his services. I cannot help remarking, in this connection, in special reference to any of my young readers, that this is the true secret of success in life. In whatever position you are, in whatever business you are engaged, be as faithful and perfect as possible. Promotion and prosperity are then almost sure.
The task which now devolved upon Mr. Carson was, with his rifle and such aid as he might need, to supply all the animal food which twenty men might require. He performed this duty, not only to the satisfaction of all, but such was his energy, his skill, his spirit of self-sacrifice, his entire devotion to his work, and the wonderful success which attended his exertions, that he secured universal affection and esteem.
With the returning sun of spring, Mr. Carson, having well performed his task, joined Mr. Bridger and four other trappers, to go to what were called the Black Hills. This was a limited mountainous range, far away in the north, extending a distance of about a hundred miles between the Laramie and Sweetwater rivers. These streams were tributaries of the north fork of the Platte. This region had perhaps never before been visited by either trapper, or hunter. They found beavers in plenty, and their success was excellent.
With well laden mules they again crossed the Rocky mountains to reunite themselves with the main camp of the trappers on Green river. They trapped on their way and continued success attended them. Thus enriched, they accompanied the main party to a tributary of the Wind river, where the annual Rendezvous was that year to be held. Here were renewed the usual scenes of the trapper's great Fair which we have already described.
As the Rendezvous broke up, Mr. Carson joined a large party, and recrossed the mountains to the Yellowstone, where they had already had so many bloody encounters with the Blackfeet Indians. They trapped successfully until the inclement weather forced them into winter quarters. Nothing occurred of any moment, until mid-winter. Daily parties went out for game and they always returned with an ample supply. In their snug lodges, gathered around their blazing fires, telling stories of past adventures, preparing clothing for the summer, feasting upon fat turkeys, and the choicest cuts of buffalo-meat and venison, a few weeks passed very pleasantly away. Being free from that most terrible of all earthly curses, intoxicating drinks, there was no discord, and this little community of mountaineers, in the solitudes of a Rocky mountain valley, were perhaps as happy as any other equal community amidst the highest conveniences of civilization.
One winter's day a little band of hunters, in their pursuit of game, were lured to a greater distance than usual from the camp. Their attention was arrested by certain signs which indicated that a band of Indians had passed by, and had endeavored carefully to conceal their trail. A close scrutiny so confirmed this opinion that they hastily returned to the camp with the declaration that savages were certainly prowling around watching for an opportunity to attack them. They knew full well that the wary Indians would never think of approaching their camp unless in overpowering numbers. It was deemed expedient not to allow the foe any time to mature their plans. A party of forty men was immediately fitted out, under the command of Kit Carson, to go to the hidden trail and follow it till the haunts of the Indians were discovered. The reputation of Mr. Carson was such that unanimously he was invested with dictatorial powers. Everything was left to the decision of his own good judgment.
With silent, moccasined tread the adventurers threaded their way over the broken country, and through a dense forest, when suddenly they came upon a band of Indians, manifestly on the war-path; painted, plumed and armed in the highest style of their barbaric art. The savages, on catching sight of the trappers, turned and fled with the utmost speed, without scattering. The trappers pursued with equal swiftness of foot. They had no doubt that there was a stronger band at some little distance, which the Indians were retreating to join.
The supposition proved correct. A large number of warriors had assembled, in a very good military position, and it was at once evident that they intended to give battle. Though the majority of them had only arrows and lances, many were armed with rifles. They were on a hill-side which was quite steep, rugged with boulders, and with a heavy growth of gloomy firs and pines. The field was admirably adapted for the Indian mode of warfare, and the desperate warriors of the Blackfeet were foes not to be despised.
Kit Carson possessed the qualities essential to a military leader. He was cautious as he was bold. He was very careful never unnecessarily to expose the lives of his men. Very deliberately he reconnoitred the position, and prepared for the battle. He had no doubt that, with what would be called a gallant rush, he might drive the Indians from him and gain a brilliant victory. But it would be attended with loss. By a slower process he was sure of the result, while his men would be protected from death and wounds. All of his men were armed with the best of rifles. They had a good supply of ammunition. They could afford to load with heavy charges which would throw the balls to the greatest possible distance. It was very difficult for the Indians to obtain ammunition. They therefore found it necessary to husband the little they had with great care. Consequently the Indian's rifle, but lightly charged, would seldom throw a bullet more than two-thirds the distance thrown by the rifle of the trapper.
Mr. Carson gave every man his position. They were all veterans in every exigence of Indian warfare. Each man was capable of independent action. They all knew the folly of throwing away a single shot. There was no random firing. Each man was trained to seek sure protection behind rock, stump or tree, and then to keep a vigilant watch, not only to guard himself but his immediate comrades from the missiles of the foe. Slowly the line of trappers was to advance upon the enemy, from point to point of protection, making sure that every bullet should kill or wound. The tactics of the battle secured the victory. The Indians fought with their accustomed bravery. But one after another their warriors fell killed or disabled.
As the gloom of a winter's night settled down over this awful scene of war, the savages retired in good order, across the ice of an arm of the Yellowstone, to an island in the middle of the river. They had adopted the precaution, unusual with them, of erecting here quite a strong fortress, to which they could retreat in case of disaster. Thus situated, both parties, wearied with the long conflict of the day, sought such repose as night could give to men sleeping upon their arms.
The trappers knew not what scenes were transpiring in the Indian camp on the island. As for themselves, they could only venture, with the utmost caution, to kindle small fires to cook their supper. They then carefully extinguished the embers, lest the flames should guide several hundred warriors in a midnight attack.
Mr. Carson was not aware of the strength of the Indian fortifications on the island. Not wishing to give them any time to strengthen their works, with the earliest dawn he put his men in motion. They crossed the ice to the island, where they found only silence and desolation. Not an Indian was to be seen. In the night the savages had retreated, and were then probably at a distance of leagues, no one could tell where. There were, however, many indications left of the results of the battle. The interior of the fort was quite crimsoned with fresh blood. A bloody trail led to a hole which they had cut through the ice in the middle of the river, and into which they had thrust the bodies of the slain. It was not their intention that the trappers should know how many of their number had been wounded or slain. Mr. Carson with his victorious associates returned to the camp.
A council of war was held. It was generally supposed that the powerful Blackfeet could bring five thousand warriors into the field. They were very resolute men; having been abundantly successful heretofore, it was not doubted they would strain every nerve to wipe out the disgrace of this defeat. The trappers were confident that the savages would soon appear again, with numbers which they would deem sufficient to annihilate the white men. Guided by the wisdom of Kit Carson, the whole camp immediately resolved itself into a military garrison. Intrenchments were thrown up to guard every approach. Everything was cleared away, around the camp within rifle range, behind which an Indian could secrete himself. The most trusty men were appointed as sentinels.
About a mile from the camp there was an eminence, several hundred feet high, whose summit commanded a fine view of the whole surrounding country. Every day some one was sent to that hill to keep a constant lookout.
The wisdom of Mr. Carson's measures was soon apparent. One morning the watch on the hill discerned, far away in the distance, a warlike band of Indians approaching. He had no doubt that it was, as it proved to be, but the advanced guard of the Indian army. He waved his signal to communicate the intelligence to the camp, and immediately hastened down to join his comrades. Every man sprang to arms and was at his post. Kit Carson had anticipated everything and had attended to the most minute details.
With firm self-confident tread the savages came on, a thousand in number, to crush by the weight of their onset, and to trample beneath their feet sixty trappers. It was an appalling sight even for brave men to look upon. They were all arrayed in their fantastic war costume, some on horseback splendidly mounted, some on foot, many armed with rifles, and others with bows, arrows, and lances which were very formidable weapons in the hands of such stalwart and sinewy men.
They came in separate bands, of two or three hundred each, and took position about a mile from the fort. As band after band came up, the prairie and the adjacent hills resounded with their yells of defiance. In the evening they held their war-dance, which the trappers well understood to be the sure precursor of the battle on the next day. Their songs could be distinctly heard in the camp, and as they danced, with hideous contortions, in the gathering shades of night around their fires, it seemed as though a band of demons had broken loose from Pandemonium.
With the first dawn of the morning, a large party of these warriors approached the fort to reconnoitre. They were evidently astonished in beholding the preparations which had been made to receive them. They could not, from any direction, approach within an eighth of a mile, without presenting their bodies a perfect target for the rifles of men who never missed their aim. These cautious warriors did not venture within half a mile of the fortress. But they were keen-eyed and sagacious men. They saw that the trappers were effectually protected by their breastworks, and that the fort could by no possibility be taken without enormous slaughter on their own side. Indeed it was doubtful whether, armed as the white men were, with rifles, revolvers and knives, the fort could be taken at any expense.
In their impotent rage a few random shots were fired at the fort, but the bullets did not reach their mark. The trappers threw away no lead. They quietly awaited the attack, and were so confident of their ability to defeat the Indians, that they were disappointed when they saw the reconnoitring party commencing to retire. They shouted to them in terms of derision, hoping to exasperate them into an attack. But the wary savages were not thus to be drawn to certain death. They retired to their camp, which as we have said was distant about a mile from the fort, but which was in perfect view.
Here they evidently held a general council of war. There probably was some diversity of opinion, as many speeches were made and the council was protracted for several hours. There was manifestly no enthusiasm on the occasion, and no exultant shouts were heard. At the conclusion of the council, the whole band divided into two parties and, in divergent directions, disappeared from view. After this the trappers were not again disturbed by the Indians. Indeed they feared no molestation. No Indian band would think of attacking a fortress which a thousand warriors had declared impregnable.
As soon as the returning spring would permit, the trappers broke up their encampment on the Yellowstone, and passing directly west through the very heart of the Blackfeet country, planted their traps on the head waters of the Missouri river. For three months they traversed many of the tributaries of this most majestic of streams. They were moderately successful, and in the early summer turned their steps south, crossing the mountains to dispose of their furs at the Rendezvous, which was again held on Green river. Here they remained in such social enjoyment as the great festival could afford them, until the month of August, when the Rendezvous was dissolved.
CHAPTER IX.
The Trapper's Elysium.
Trapping on the Missouri.—Attacked by the Blackfeet.—The Battle.—Persevering Hostility of the Indians.—The Trappers driven from the Country.—Repair to the North Fork.—Cheerful Encampments.—Enchanting Scene.—Village of the Flatheads.—The Blessings of Peace.—Carson's Knowledge of Languages.—Pleasant Winter Quarters on the Big Snake River.—Successful Trapping.—Winter at Brown's Hole.—Trip to Fort Bent.—Peculiar Characters.—Williams and Mitchel.—Hunter at Fort Bent.—Marriage.—Visit to the States.
Upon the breaking up of the rendezvous at Green river, Kit Carson, with five companions, directed his steps in a northwest course, about two hundred miles to Fort Hall, on Snake river. He spent the autumnal months trapping along the various streams in this region. They were very successful on this tour, and at the close of the season returned to the fort with a rich supply of furs. These forts were generally trading-houses, well fortified and garrisoned, but not governmental military posts.
Here Carson disposed of his furs to good advantage, and after remaining there about a month he crossed the mountains with a large party of trappers to the head waters of the Missouri, thus again entering the country of the Blackfeet. They struck the Missouri river itself far up among the mountains. They commenced setting their traps on this stream. Slowly they followed up the banks, gathering in the morning what they had taken through the night.
One morning a party of half a dozen trappers, who had gone about two miles from the camp to examine their traps, encountered a band of Blackfeet Indians, who fired upon them. The trappers immediately retreated with the greatest rapidity. Though closely pursued by their swift-footed foes they reached the camp in safety. It so happened, that near their camp there was quite an extensive thicket of tall trees and dense underbrush. Kit Carson, not knowing how numerous the Indians might be who were coming upon him, directed the men as quickly as possible to conceal themselves and animals in the thicket.
Scarcely had the order been executed when the Indians with hideous yells came rushing towards the camp. But not a trapper or a horse was visible. Nothing was found there but silence and solitude. Still they came rushing on, shouting and brandishing their weapons, when suddenly and to their great consternation, the reports of the rifles were heard and fourteen bullets struck fourteen warriors. Several were killed outright, others were seriously wounded. Before the savages had recovered from their consternation the rifles were reloaded and every man was ready for another discharge.
The brave Blackfeet wavered for a moment, and then with unearthly yells, made a simultaneous charge upon the thicket. Carson was in the midst of his little band. His calm, soft voice was heard reassuring his men, as he said:
"Keep cool and fire as deliberately as if you were shooting at game."
There was another almost simultaneous discharge and every bullet struck a warrior. The Indians, thus mercilessly handled, recoiled, and every one sought refuge behind some trunk, rock or tree. They could see no foe, while the trappers could find peep-holes through which they could watch all the movements of the Indians. A shower of arrows was thrown into the thicket, but none of the trappers were struck. The intermittent battle continued the whole day. Several times the savages attempted to renew the charge, but as often the same deadly volley was poured in upon them with never-failing aim.
At length they attempted to set the thicket on fire, hoping thus to burn out their foes. There was another and still larger body of trappers about six miles below the point where this battle was raging. But the direction of the wind was such, together with the dense forest and the broken ground, that the report of the fire-arms was not heard.
It is probable that the Indians had knowledge of this band, and feared that the larger party might come to the aid of their friends. Whatever may have been the reason which influenced them, they suddenly abandoned the contest and departed. As soon as Mr. Carson had satisfied himself that they were effectually out of the way, he emerged from his retreat and joined his friends down the river. His coolness and prudence had saved the party. They lost not a man nor an animal.
But the Indians still hovered around in such energetic and persevering hostility, that not a trapper could leave the camp without danger of falling into an ambuscade. The Indians avoided any decisive conflict, but their war-whoops and yells of defiance, like the howlings of wolves, could be heard, by day and by night, in the forests all around them. Unless the traps were carefully guarded, they were sure to be stolen. Under these circumstances there was no possibility of trapping with any hope of success. Once before the indomitable Indians had driven the trappers from their country. And now again it was deemed necessary to withdraw from their haunts.
To the trappers this was a very humiliating necessity. A council was held and it was decided to abandon the region and to direct their steps about two hundred miles, in a northeasterly direction, to the north fork of the Missouri river. The journey was soon accomplished without adventure. The trappers, far removed from their inveterate foes, vigorously commenced operations. They had their central camp. In small parties they followed up and down the majestic stream, and pursued the windings of the brooks flowing into it. They generally went in parties of two or three.
Wherever night found them, whether with cloudless skies or raging storm, it mattered not, the work of an hour with their hatchets, reared for them a sheltering camp. Before it blazed the ever-cheerful, illuminating fire. Rich viands of the choicest game smoked upon the embers, and the hunters, reclining upon their couches of blankets or furs, exulted in the luxurious indulgence of a hunter's life. With all the hardships to which one is exposed in such adventures, there is a charm accompanying them which words cannot easily describe. It warms the blood of one sitting upon the carpeted floor in his well-furnished parlor to send his imagination back to those scenes.
Men of little book culture, and with but slight acquaintance with the elegancies of polished life, have often a high appreciation of the beauties and the sublimities of nature. Think of such a man as Kit Carson, with his native delicacy of mind; a delicacy which never allowed him to use a profane word, to indulge in intoxicating drinks, to be guilty of an impure action; a man who enjoyed, above all things else, the communings of his own spirit with the silence, the solitude, the grandeur, with which God has invested the illimitable wilderness; think of such a man in the midst of such scenes as we are now describing.
It is the hour of midnight. His camp is in one of the wildest ravines of the Rocky mountains. A dense and gloomy forest covers the hillsides. A mountain torrent, with its voice of many waters, flows on its way but a few yards beyond the open front of his camp. A brilliant fire illumines the wild scene for a few rods around, while all beyond is impenetrable darkness. His hardy mule, accustomed to all weathers, is browsing near by. The floor of his camp, spread with buffalo robes, looks warm and inviting. His two comrades are soundly asleep with their rifles on their arms, ready at the slightest alarm to spring to their feet prepared for battle.
There is a raging storm wailing through the tree-tops. The howling of the wolves is heard as, in fierce and hungry packs, they roam through these uninhabited wilds. Carson, reclining upon his couch, in perfect health and unfatigued, caresses the faithful dog, which clings to his side, as he looks out upon the scene and listens to the storm. What is there which the chambers of the Metropolitan hotel can afford, which the hardy mountaineer would accept in exchange?
Slowly our party of trappers ascended the river, gathering many furs on their way. It was an unexplored region, and they could never tell what scene the next mile would open before them. One morning as they were turning the majestic bend of a ravine, they came upon a beautiful little meadow, where the mountains retired for nearly a quarter of a mile from the stream, and where the waters of the river flowed gently in a smooth, untroubled current. They were ascending the river which flowed down from the south. A beautiful vista was opened before them of green valleys and gentle treeless eminences, while far away in the distance rose towering mountains.
Upon this lovely meadow there was a large village of Flathead Indians. Their conical lodges, constructed of skins, were scattered thickly around, while the smoke of their fires curled gently through an opening in the top of each lodge. Children were playing upon the greensward, shooting their arrows, throwing their javelins, and engaged in sundry other barbaric sports. A party of the Indians had just returned from a hunting expedition laden with game. Warriors and women were scattered around in small groups, discussing the events of the day and preparing for a great feast. Young Indian girls, of graceful form, looked very attractive in their picturesque attire of fringed buskined leggins and glittering beads.
Kit Carson at once recognized these Indians as his friends, the Flatheads. They knew him and gave him and his comrades a cordial greeting. O, the blessings of peace! How many are the woes of this world which are caused by man's inhumanity to man. The trappers were led by their Indian friends, with smiling faces and kind words, into their lodges, and shared with them in a thanksgiving feast.
Mr. Carson was endowed with unusual facility in the acquisition of languages. He could converse fluently in Spanish and French, and it was stated that he also understood some ten Indian dialects. With the Flatheads he was quite at home. After a few days, spent in this hospitable village, it was deemed expedient to seek winter quarters. Several of the chiefs accompanied them. They accordingly left the head waters of the Missouri, and crossed the Rocky mountains in a southerly direction, about two hundred miles, till they reached the Big Snake river. It will be remembered that this stream, flowing from the western declivities of the mountains, is the most important tributary of the Columbia river. Here the winter passed very pleasantly away without any incident which calls for record. Rather an unusual quantity of snow fell. But the trappers were warmly housed, with ample clothing and abundant fuel.
Every pleasant day hunters left the camp, and usually returned well laden with game. Thus the larder of the trappers was well provided for. An anonymous writer speaking of these winter encampments, says:
"The winter seasons in the Rocky mountains are usually fearful and severe. There snow-storms form mountains for themselves, filling up the passes for weeks and rendering them impracticable either for man or beast.
"The scenery is indescribably grand, provided the beholder is well housed. If the case be otherwise, and he is doomed to encounter these terrible storms, his situation is dreadful in the extreme. Even during the summer months the lofty peaks of this mighty chain of mountains are covered with white caps of snow. It affords a contrast to the elements, of the grandest conception, to stand in the shade of some verdant valley wiping the perspiration from the brow, and at the same time to look upon a darkly threatening storm-cloud powdering the heads of the hoary monster mountains from its freight of flaky snow.
"So far these American giant mountains are unsurpassed by their Alpine brothers of Europe. Not so in the glaciers. Throughout the great range there are no glaciers to be found which can compare with those among the Alps."
In the spring the trappers scattered in small bands throughout that region. They were in the territory of the Utah Indians, just north of the Great Salt Lake. Kit Carson was well acquainted with them and they were all his friends. The trappers, therefore, wandered at pleasure without fear of molestation. Mr. Carson took but one trapper with him, with two or three pack mules. They were very successful, and in a few weeks obtained as many furs as their animals could carry.
With these they went to a trading post, not very far distant from them called Fort Robidoux. Here their furs were disposed of to good advantage. Mr. Carson, having judiciously invested his gains, organized another party of five trappers, and traversed an unpeopled wilderness for a distance of about two hundred miles until he reached the wild ravines and pathless solitudes of Grand river. This stream, whose junction with the Green river forms the Colorado, takes its rise on the western declivity of the Rocky mountains, amidst its most wild and savage glens. Trapping down this river with satisfactory success, late in the autumn he reached Green river. Falling snows and piercing winds admonished him that the time had come again to retire to winter quarters.
He repaired to Brown's Hole, the well known and beautiful valley which he had often visited before. Here he passed an uneventful but pleasant winter. With the earliest spring he again directed his footsteps to the country of the Utahs in the remote north. He was successful in trapping, and as the heat of summer came, he again turned his steps, with well laden mules, to Fort Robidoux. Here he found, to his disappointment, that beaver fur had greatly deteriorated in value. His skins would scarcely bring him enough to pay for the trouble of taking them. This was caused mainly by the use of silk instead of fur, throughout Europe and America, in the manufacture of hats.
Kit Carson saw at a glance, that his favorite occupation was gone; that he and the other trappers would be compelled to seek some other employment. In company with five men of a decidedly higher order than the common run of trappers, he struck for the head waters of Arkansas river. Following this stream down along the immense defile which nature seems to have opened for it through the Rocky mountains, they approached Fort Bent, which is about one hundred and fifty miles east of that gigantic barrier.
Mr. Carson's companions on this trip, were some of them at least, very peculiar characters,—very interesting specimens of the kind of men who are drawn from the haunts of civilization to the wilderness. One was a man, probably partially insane, who was known through all the Rocky mountain region as "old Bill Williams." He had been a Methodist preacher in Missouri. For some unknown reason he left the States and joined the Indians, adopting their dress and manners. He was very familiar with the Bible and had marvellous skill in the acquisition of languages. He would spend but a short time with any tribe before he became quite familiar with their speech. Though his conduct was often in strange contrast with the teachings of that sacred book, he took much pleasure in telling the Indians Bible stories. He was subsequently killed in some feud with the savages.
Another of his companions, whose real or assumed name was Mitchel, had abandoned his friends and joined the Comanche Indians. It is a much easier step from the civilized man to the savage than from the savage to the civilized. Mitchel, with his Indian costume, his plumed head-gear, his Indian weapons, and his fluent Indian speech, could not be distinguished from the savages around him. The Comanches adopted him into their tribe and accepted him as one of the most prominent of their braves. Mitchel said that his object was to discover a gold mine through their guidance, which they reported was to be found amid the mountains of Northern Texas. Disappointed in this endeavor, he joined the trappers and was cordially welcomed by them as an experienced mountaineer, a man full of humor and one who could tell a capital story.
When Kit Carson and his companions had arrived within a few days' journey of the fort, Mitchel and a man by the name of New, contrary to the advice of Carson, decided to remain behind, to enjoy themselves in a beautiful country where they found abundance of game. A week after the safe arrival of Mr. Carson and his party, these two men made their appearance in a truly pitiable plight. They had encountered a party of Indian hunters who, while sparing their lives, had robbed them of their arms, their ammunition and even of every particle of their clothing. Of course they were kindly received at the fort and all their wants supplied.
Fort Bent was a trading post; belonged to a company of merchants of whom Messrs. Bent and Vrain, residing at the fort, were partners. Immediately upon Mr. Carson's arrival there, he was so well known and his capabilities so well understood, that he received an earnest application to take the position of hunter for the fort. He accepted the office and filled it for eight years with such skill and fidelity that never did one word of disagreement pass between him and his employers. His duties were to supply a camp of about forty men with all the animal food they needed.
When game was plenty, this was an easy task, but often wandering bands of Indian hunters would sweep that whole region around rendering the labors of Mr. Carson extremely difficult. For unfrequently he would wander from sunrise to sunset over prairie and mountain, in pursuit of game; but rarely did he return without a mule load. At times he extended his hunting trips to a distance of fifty miles from the fort. During these eight years thousands of buffalo, elk, antelope and deer, fell before his rifle, besides a vast amount of smaller game.
The skill which he displayed, and the success which that skill secured, excited the admiration alike of the red men and the white men. He was universally known by the Indians, and was respected and beloved by them. Fearless and alone he wandered over mountain and prairie, frequently meeting bands of hunters, and warriors, and entering the lodges of the savages, and sleeping in them without encountering any harm. They admired his boldness, and an instinctive sense of honor led them not to maltreat one who had ever proved their friend, and who trusted himself so unreservedly in their power.
His familiarity with the Indian language enabled him to converse familiarly with them. He was as much at home in the wilderness as the most veteran hunters of their tribes. In the huts of the Arapahoes, Cheyennes, Kiowas and Comanches he was always a welcome guest. They appreciated the vast superiority of his intellect. Often groups of men, women and children would linger around the central fire of the lodge till after midnight, listening to his entertaining stories of adventure and peril.
One incident which occurred at this time, speaks volumes in reference to Mr. Carson's character as a lover of peace, and is deserving of perpetual remembrance.
The Sioux tribe of Indians who could bring a thousand warriors into the field had invaded the hunting-grounds of the Comanches. Several skirmishes had already taken place, in which the Comanches had been worsted. The chiefs sent a deputation to Kit Carson, whom they regarded as a host in himself, to come to their aid, and to take the leadership of one of their bands. Carson promptly responded to their call. He met the Comanche chiefs in council, and so represented to them the blessings of peace and the horrors of war, that they consented to send a deputation, to effect if possible, an amicable settlement of the difficulty.
We infer from the brief narrative that is given that Kit Carson was the bearer of this Indian flag of truce. He was the friend of both parties. He was alike regarded by both as eminent for his wisdom and his sense of justice. He met the Sioux chiefs in council. After long deliberation, they consented to retire from the Comanches' hunting-ground at the close of the then season, and never to molest them more.
Carson returned to the Comanches with this announcement, and persuaded them to accede to the terms. Thus a dreadful Indian war was averted.
Among some of these tribes Kit Carson found a beautiful and unusually intelligent Indian girl, whom he married, and took to his home in the fort.
It is the undisputed testimony of all who knew him, that he was a man of unspotted purity of character in his domestic relations. By this wife, Mr. Carson had one child; a daughter. Not long after the birth of this child, the mother died. The father watched over the motherless infant with the utmost tenderness. As she emerged from infancy to childhood he removed her to St. Louis. Here he found the funds he had so carefully invested very valuable to him. He was able liberally to provide for all her wants, to give her as good an education as St. Louis could afford, and to introduce her to the refining influences of polished society. She was subsequently married and removed with her husband to California.
Sixteen years had now elapsed since Kit Carson left the log cabin of his father, in the then wilds of Missouri, for the still wilder regions of mountaineer life. Referring to this period, he says:
"During sixteen years my rifle furnished almost every particle of food upon which I lived. For many consecutive years, I never slept under the roof of a house, or gazed upon the face of a white woman."
He now, very naturally, began to long to visit the home of his childhood, and to witness some of the scenes of progressive civilization, rumors of which often reached him in the forest. Messrs. Bent and Vrain were in the habit of sending once a year a train of wagons to St. Louis, to transport their skins and to obtain fresh supplies. It was a journey of about six hundred miles. There was a wagon trail, if we may so call it, leading circuitously over the vast and almost treeless intervening plains. The route led along the river valleys, following the windings of streams, and conducting to fords near their head waters. Sometimes they came to swampy regions, sometimes to deep gulleys, sometimes to desert plains. But throughout all this wide expanse there were no mountain ranges to obstruct their path.
It was in the spring of the year 1842, that Mr. Carson, as a gentleman passenger, joined one of these caravans. The little daughter, of whom we have spoken, was then six or seven years of age. It was one object of his journey to place her at school, at St. Louis, where she could enjoy the advantages of a refined and Christian education. We have no record of the incidents of this journey, which was probably uneventful. The old Indian trail had become quite a passable road for wagons.