Mr. Buck and myself concluded we would try our luck at lead
mining for the summer and purchased some mining tools for the
purpose. We camped out and dug holes around all summer,
getting just about enough to pay our expenses—not a very
encouraging venture, for we had lived in a tent and had picked
and shoveled and blasted and twisted a windlass hard enough to
have earned a good bit of money.
In the fall we concluded to try another trapping tour, and
set out for Prairie du Chien. We knew it was a poor place to
spend money up in the woods, and when we got our money it was
all in a lump and seemed to amount to something. Mr. Brisbois
said that the prospects were very poor indeed, for the price
of fur was very low and no prospect of a better market. So we
left our traps still on storage at his place and went back
again. This was in 1847, and before Spring the war was being
pushed in Mexico. I tried to enlist for this service, but
there were so many ahead of me I could not get a chance.
I still worked in the settlement and made a living, but had
no chance to improve my land. The next winter I lived with Mr
A. Bennett, hunted deer and sold them at Mineral Point, and in
this way made and saved a few dollars.
There had been from time to time rumors of a better country
to the west of us and a sort of a pioneer, or western fever
would break out among the people occasionally. Thus in 1845 I
had a slight touch of the disease on account of the stories
they told us about Oregon. It was reported that the Government
would give a man a good farm if he would go and settle, and
make some specified improvement. They said it was in a
territory of rich soil, with plenty of timber, fish and game
and some Indians, just to give a little spice of adventure to
the whole thing. The climate was very mild in winter, as they
reported, and I concluded it would suit me exactly. I began at
once to think about an outfit and a journey, and I found that
it would take me at least two years to get ready. A trip to
California was not thought of in those days, for it did not
belong to the United States.
In the winter of 1848-49 news began to come that there was
gold in California, but not generally believed till it came
through a U.S. officer, and then, as the people were used to
mines and mining, a regular gold fever spread as if by swift
contagion. Mr. Bennett was aroused and sold his farm, and I
felt a change in my Oregon desires and had dreams at might of
digging up the yellow dust. Nothing would cure us then but a
trip, and that was quickly decided on.
As it would be some weeks yet before grass would start, I
concluded to haul my canoe and a few traps over to a branch of
the Wisconsin, and make my way to Prairie du Chien, do a
little trapping, get me an Indian pony on which to ride to
California. There were no ponies to be had at Mineral Point.
Getting a ride up the river on a passing steamboat I reached
Prairie La Crosse, where the only house was that of a Dutch
trader from whom I bought a Winnebago pony, which he had
wintered on a little brushy island, and I thought if he could
winter on brush and rushes he must be tough enough to take me
across the plains. He cost me $30, and I found him to be a
poor, lazy little fellow. However, I thought that when he got
some good grass, and a little fat on his ribs he might have
more life, and so I hitched a rope to him and drove him ahead
down the river. When I came to the Bad Axe river I found it
swimming full, but had no trouble in crossing, as the pony was
as good as a dog in the water.
Before leaving Bennett's I had my gun altered over to a
pill lock and secured ammunition to last for two years. I had
tanned some nice buckskin and had a good outfit of clothes
made of it, or rather cut and made it myself. Where I crossed
the Bad Axe was a the battle ground where Gen. Dodge fought
the Winnebago Indians. At Prairie du Chien I found a letter
from Mr. Bennett, saying that the grass was so backward he
would not start up for two or three weeks, and I had better
come back and start with them; but as the letter bore no date
I could only guess at the exact time. I had intended to strike
directly west from here to Council Bluffs and meet them there,
but now thought perhaps I had better go back to Mineral Point
and start out with them there, or follow on rapidly after them
if by any chance they had already started.
On my way back I found the Kickapoo river too high to ford,
so I pulled some basswood bark and made a raft of a couple of
logs, on which to carry my gun and blanket; starting the pony
across I followed after. He swam across quickly, but did not
seem to like it on the other side, so before I got across,
back he came again, not paying the least attention to my
scolding. I went back with the raft, which drifted a good way
down stream, and caught the rascal and started him over again,
but when I got half way across he jumped and played the same
joke on me again. I began to think of the old puzzle of the
story of the man with the fox, the goose and a peck of corn,
but I solved it by making a basswood rope to which I tied a
stone and threw across, then sending the pony over with the
other end. He staid this time, and after three days of
swimming streams and pretty hard travel reached Mineral Point,
to find Bennett had been gone two weeks and had taken my
outfit with him as we first planned.
I was a little troubled, but set out light loaded for
Dubuque, crossed the river there and then alone across Iowa,
over wet and muddy roads, till I fell in with some wagons west
of the Desmoines River. They were from Milwaukee, owned by a
Mr. Blodgett, and I camped with them a few nights, till we got
to the Missouri River.
I rushed ahead the last day or two and got there before
them. There were a few California wagons here, and some
campers, so I put my pony out to grass and looked around. I
waded across the low bottom to a strip of dry land next to the
river, where there was a post office, store, and a few cabins.
I looked first for a letter, but there was none. Then I began
to look over the cards in the trading places and saloons, and
read the names written on the logs of the houses, and
everywhere I thought there might be a trace of the friends I
sought. No one had seen or knew them. After looking half a day
I waded back again to the pony—pretty blue. I thought
first I would go back and wait another year, but there was a
small train near where I left the pony, and it was not
considered very safe to go beyond there except with a pretty
good train. I sat down in camp and turned the matter over in
my mind, and talked with Chas. Dallas of Lynn, Iowa, who owned
the train. Bennett had my outfit and gun, while I had his
light gun, a small, light tent, a frying pan, a tin cup, one
woolen shirt and the clothes on my back. Having no money to
get another outfit, I about concluded to turn back when Dallas
said that if I would drive one of his teams through, he would
board me, and I could turn my pony in with his loose horses; I
thought it over, and finally put my things in the wagon and
took the ox whip to go on. Dallas intended to get provision
here, but could not, so we went down to St. Jo, following the
river near the bluff. We camped near town and walked in,
finding a small train on the main emigrant road to the west.
My team was one yoke of oxen and one yoke of cows. I knew how
to drive, but had a little trouble with the strange animals
till they found I was kind to them, and then they were all
right.
This was in a slave state, and here I saw the first negro
auction. One side of the street had a platform such as we
build for a political speaker. The auctioneer mounted this
with a black boy about 18 years old, and after he had told all
his good qualities and had the boy stand up bold and straight,
he called for bids, and they started him at $500. He rattled
away as if he were selling a steer, and when Mr. Rubideaux,
the founder of St. Jo bid $800, he went no higher and the boy
was sold. With my New England notions it made quite an
impression on me.
Here Dallas got his supplies, and when the flour and bacon
was loaded up the ferryman wanted $50 to take the train
across. This Dallas thought too high and went back up the
river a day's drive, where he got across for $30. From this
crossing we went across the country without much of a road
till we struck the road from St. Jo, and were soon on the
Platte bottom.
We found some fine strawberries at one of the camps across
the country. We found some hills, but now the country was all
one vast prairie, not a tree in sight till we reached the
Platte, there some cottonwood and willow. At the first camp on
the Platte I rolled up in my blanket under the wagon and
thought more than I slept, but I was in for it and no other
way but to go on. I had heard that there were two forts, new
Ft. Kearny and Ft. Laramie, on the south side of the river,
which we must pass before we reached the South Pass of the
Rocky Mountains, and beyond there there would be no place to
buy medicine or food. Our little train of five wagons, ten
men, one woman and three children would not be a formidable
force against the indians if they were disposed to molest us,
and it looked to me very hazardous, and that a larger train
would be more safe, for Government troops were seldom molested
on their marches.
If I should not please Mr. Dallas and get turned off with
only my gun and pony I should be in a pretty bad shape, but I
decided to keep right on and take the chances on the savages,
who would get only my hair and my gun as my contribution to
them if they should be hostile. I must confess, however, that
the trail ahead did not look either straight or bright to me,
but hoped it might be better than I thought. So I yoked my
oxen and cows to the wagon and drove on. All the other teams
had two drivers each, who took turns, and thus had every other
day off for hunting if they chose, but I had to carry the whip
every day and leave my gun in the wagon.
When we crossed Salt Creek the banks were high and we had
to tie a strong rope to the wagons and with a few turns around
a post, lower them down easily, while we had to double the
teams to get them up the other side.
Night came on before half the wagons were over, and though
it did not rain the water rose before morning so it was ten
feet deep. We made a boat of one of the wagon beds, and had a
regular ferry, and when they pulled the wagons over they sank
below the surface but came out all right. We came to Pawnee
Village, on the Platte, a collection of mud huts, oval in
shape, and an entrance low down to crawl in at. A ground owl
and some prairie dogs were in one of them, and we suspected
they might be winter quarters for the Indians.
Dallas and his family rode in the two-horse wagon. Dick
Field was cook, and the rest of us drove the oxen. We put out
a small guard at night to watch for Indians and keep the stock
together so there might be no delay in searching for them.
When several miles from Ft. Kearney I think on July 3rd, we
camped near the river where there was a slough and much
cottonwood and willow. Just after sundown a horse came
galloping from the west and went in with our horses that were
feeding a little farther down. In the morning two soldiers
came from the fort, inquiring after the stray horse, but
Dallas said he had seen none, and they did not hunt around
among the willows for the lost animal. Probably it would be
the easiest way to report back to the fort—"Indians
got him." When we hitched up in the morning he put the
horse on the off side of his own, and when near the fort, he
went ahead on foot and entertained the officers while the men
drove by, and the horse was not discovered. I did not like
this much, for if we were discovered, we might be roughly
handled, and perhaps the property of the innocent even
confiscated. Really my New England ideas of honesty were
somewhat shocked.
Reaching the South Platte, it took us all day to ford the
sandy stream, as we had first to sound out a good crossing by
wading through ourselves, and when we started our teams across
we dare not stop a moment for fear the wagons would sink deep
into the quicksands. We had no mishaps in crossing, and when
well camped on the other side a solitary buffalo made his
appearance about 200 yards away and all hands started after
him, some on foot. The horsemen soon got ahead of him, but he
did not seem inclined to get out of their way, so they opened
fire on him. He still kept his feet and they went nearer, Mr.
Rogers, being on a horse with a blind bridle, getting near
enough to fire his Colt's revolver at him, when he turned, and
the horse, being unable to see the animal quick enough to get
out of the way, suffered the force of a sudden attack of the
old fellow's horns, and came out with a gash in his thigh six
inches long, while Rogers went on a flying expedition over the
horse's head, and did some lively scrambling when he reached
the ground. The rest of them worried him along for about half
a mile, and finally, after about forty shots he lay down but
held his head up defiantly, receiving shot after shot with an
angry shake, till a side shot laid him out. This game gave us
plenty of meat, which though tough, was a pleasant change from
bacon. I took no part in this battle except as an observer. On
examination it was found that the balls had been many of them
stopped by the matted hair about the old fellow's head and
none of them had reached the skull.
A few days after this we were stopped entirely by a herd of
buffaloes crossing our road. They came up from the river and
were moving south. The smaller animals seemed to be in the
lead, and the rear was brought up by the old cows and the
shaggy, burly bulls. All were moving at a smart trot, with
tongues hanging out, and seemed to take no notice of us,
though we stood within a hundred yards of them. We had to
stand by our teams and stock to prevent a stampede, for they
all seemed to have a great wonder, and somewhat of fear at
their relatives of the plains. After this we often saw large
droves of them in the distance. Sometimes we could see what in
the distance seemed a great patch of brush, but by watching
closely we could see it was a great drove of these animals.
Those who had leisure to go up to the bluffs often reported
large droves in sight. Antelopes were also seen, but these
occupied the higher ground, and it was very hard to get near
enough to them to shoot successfully. Still we managed to get
a good deal of game which was very acceptable as food.
One prominent land mark along the route was what they
called Court House Rock, standing to the south from the trail
and much resembled an immense square building, standing high
above surrounding country. The farther we went on the more
plentiful became the large game, and also wolves and prairie
dogs, the first of which seemed to follow the buffaloes
closely.
About this time we met a odd looking train going east,
consisting of five or six Mormons from Salt Lake, all mounted
on small Spanish mules. They were dressed in buckskin and
moccasins, with long spurs jingling at their heels, the rowels
fully four inches long, and each one carried a gun, a pistol
and a big knife. They were rough looking fellows with long,
matted hair, long beards, old slouch hats and a generally back
woods get-up air in every way. They had an extra pack mule,
but the baggage and provisions were very light. I had heard
much about the Mormons, both at Nauvoo and Salt Lake, and some
way or other I could not separate the idea of horse thieves
from this party, and I am sure I would not like to meet them
if I had a desirable mule that they wanted, or any money, or a
good looking wife. We talked with them half an hour or so and
then moved on.
We occasionally passed by a grave along the road, and often
a small head board would state that the poor unfortunate had
died of cholera. Many of these had been torn open by wolves
and the blanket encircling the corpse partly pulled away. Our
route led a few miles north of Chimney Rock, standing on an
elevated point like a tall column, so perfect and regular on
all sides, that from our point it looked as if it might be the
work of the stone cutters. Some of the party went to see it
and reported there was no way to ascend it, and that as far as
a man could reach, the rocks were inscribed with the names of
visitors and travelers who passed that way.
At Scott's Bluffs, the bluffs came close to the river, so
there was considerable hill climbing to get along, the road in
other places finding ample room in the bottom. Here we found a
large camp of the Sioux Indians on the bank of a ravine, on
both sides of which were some large cottonwood trees. Away up
in the large limbs platforms had been made of poles, on which
were laid the bodies of their dead, wrapped in blankets and
fastened down to the platform by a sort of a network of
smaller poles tightly lashed so that they could not be dragged
away or disturbed by wild animals. This seemed a strange sort
of cemetery, but when we saw the desecrated earth-made graves
we felt that perhaps this was the best way, even if it was a
savage custom.
These Indians were fair-sized men, and pretty good looking
for red men. Some of our men went over to their camp, and some
of their youths came down to ours, and when we started on they
seemed quite proud that they had learned a little of the
English language, but the extent of their knowledge seemed to
be a little learned of the ox-drivers, for they would swing
their hands at the cattle and cry out "Whoa! haw, g-d
d--n." Whether they knew what was meant, I have my
doubts. They seemed pretty well provided for and begged very
little, as they are apt to do when they are hard pressed.
We saw also some bands of Pawnee Indians on the move across
the prairies. They would hitch a long, light pole on each side
of a pony, with the ends dragging behind on the ground, and on
a little platform at the hind end the children sat and were
dragged along.
As we passed on beyond Scott's Bluff the game began to be
perceptibly scarcer, and what we did find was back from the
traveled road, from which it had apparently been driven by the
passing hunters.
In time we reached Ft. Laramie, a trading post, where there
were some Indian lodges, and we noticed that some of the
occupants had lighter complexions than any of the other
Indians we had
seen. They had cords of dried buffalo meat, and we
purchased some. It was very fat, but was so perfectly cured
that the clear tallow tasted as sweet as a nut. I thought it
was the best dried meat I had ever tasted, but perhaps a good
appetite had something to do with it.
As we passed Ft. Laramie we fell in company with some U.S.
soldiers who were going to Ft. Hall and thence to Oregon. We
considered them pretty safe to travel with and kept with them
for some time, though their rate of travel was less than ours.
Among them were some Mormons, employed as teamsters, and in
other ways, and they told us there were some Missourians on
the road who would never live to see California. There had
been some contests between the Missourians and the Mormons,
and I felt rather glad that none of us hailed from Pike
county.
We turned into what they called the Black Hills, leaving
the Platte to the north of us. The first night on this road we
had the hardest rain I ever experienced, and the only one of
any account on our journey. Our camp was on a level piece of
ground on the bank of a dry creek, which soon became a very
wet creek indeed, for by morning it was one hundred yards wide
and absolutely impassible. It went down, however, as quickly
as it rose, and by ten o'clock it was so low that we easily
crossed and went on our way. We crossed one stream where there
were great drifts or piles of hail which had been brought down
by a heavy storm from higher up the hills. At one place we
found some rounded boulders from six to eight inches in
diameter, which were partly hollow, and broken open were found
to contain most beautiful crystals of quartz, clear as purest
ice. The inside was certainly very pretty, and it was a
mystery how it came there. I have since learned that such
stones are found at many points, and that they are called
geodes.
We came out at the river again at the mouth of Deer Creek,
and as there was some pretty good coal there quite easy to
get, we made camp one day to try to tighten our wagon tires,
John Rogers acting as blacksmith. This was my first chance to
reconnoitre, and so I took my gun and went up the creek, a
wide, treeless bottom. In the ravines on the south side were
beautiful groves of small fir trees and some thick brush, wild
rose bushes I think. I found here a good many heads and horns
of elk, and I could not decide whether they had been killed in
winter during the deep snow, or had starved to death.
There was a ferry here to cross the river and go up along
north side. Mr. Dallas bought the whole outfit for a small sum
and when we were safely over he took with him such ropes as he
wanted and tied the boat to the bank The road on this side was
very sandy and led over and among some rolling hills. In
talking with the men of the U.S. troops in whose company we
still were, I gathered much information concerning our road
further west. They said we were entirely too late to get
through to California, on account of crossing the Sierra
Nevada mountains, which, they said would be covered with snow
by November, or even earlier, and that we would be compelled
to winter at Salt Lake. Some of the drivers overheard Mr.
Dallas telling his family the same thing, and that if he
should winter at Salt Lake, he would discharge his drivers as
soon as he arrived, as he could not afford to board them all
winter.
This was bad news for me, for I had known of the history of
them at Nauvoo and in Missouri, and the prospect of being
thrown among them with no money to buy bread was a very sorry
prospect for me. From all I could learn we could not get a
chance to work, even for our board there, and the other
drivers shared my fears and disappointment. In this dilemma we
called a council, and invited the gentleman in to have an
understanding. He came and our spokesman stated the case to
him, and our fears, and asked him what he had to say to us
about it. He flew quite angry at us, and talked some and swore
a great deal more, and the burden of his speech
was:—"This train belongs to me and I propose to do
with it just as I have a mind to, and I don't care a d--n what
you fellows do or say. I am not going to board you fellows all
winter for nothing, and when we get to Salt Lake you can go
where you please, for I shall not want you any longer."
We talked a little to him and under the circumstances to talk
was about all we could do. He gave us no satisfaction and left
us apparently much offended that we had any care for
ourselves.
Then we had some talk among ourselves, at the time, and
from day to day as we moved along. We began to think that the
only way to get along at all in Salt Lake would be to turn
Mormons, and none of us had any belief or desire that way and
could not make up our minds to stop our journey and lose so
much time, and if we were not very favored travelers our lot
might be cast among the sinners for all time.
We were now on the Sweetwater River, and began to see the
snow on the Rocky Mountains ahead of us, another reminder that
there was a winter coming and only a little more than half our
journey was done. We did not feel very happy over it, and yet
we had to laugh once in a while at some of the funny things
that would happen.
The Government party we were with had among them a German
mule driver who had a deal of trouble with his team, but who
had a very little knowledge of the English language. When the
officers tried to instruct him a little he seemed to get out
of patience and would say something very like
Sacramento. We did not know exactly what this meant. We
had heard there was a river of that name or something very
near like that; and then again some said that was the Dutch
for swearing. If this latter was the truth then he was a very
profane mule driver when he got mad.
The Captain of the company had a very nice looking lady
with him, and they carried a fine wall tent which they
occupied when they went into camp. The company cook served
their meals to them in the privacy of their tent, and they
seemed to enjoy themselves very nicely. Everybody thought the
Captain was very lucky in having such an accomplished
companion, and journey along quietly to the gold fields at
government expense.
There seemed to be just a little jealousy between the
Captain and the Lieutenant, and one day I saw them both
standing in angry attitude before the Captain's quarters, both
mounted, with their carbines lying across their saddles before
them. They had some pretty sharp, hot words, and it looked as
if they both were pretty nearly warmed up to the shooting
point. Once the Lieutenant moved his right hand a little, and
the Captain was quick to see it, shouting;—"Let
your gun alone or I will make a hole through you," at the
same time grasping his own and pointing it straight at the
other officer. During all this time the Captain's lady stood
in the tent door, and when she saw her favorite had the drop
on the Lieutenant she clapped her delicate, little hands in a
gleeful manner:—"Just look at the Captain! Ain't he
spunky?" and then she laughed long and loud to see her
lord show so much military courage. She seemed more pleased at
the affair than any one else. I don't know exactly what the
others thought, but I never could believe that the lady and
the Captain were ever married.
The Lieutenant was no coward, but probably thinking that
prudence was the better part of valor, refrained from handling
his gun, and the two soon rode away in opposite
directions.
We passed a lone rock standing in the river bottom on the
Sweetwater, which they named Independence Rock. It was covered
with the names of thousands of people who had gone by on that
road. Some were pretty neatly chiseled in, some very rudely
scrawled, and some put on with paint. I spent all the time I
could hunting Mr. Bennett's name, but I could not find it
anywhere. To have found his name, and thus to know that he had
safely passed this point would have been a little re-assuring
in those rather doubtful days. Some had named the date of
their passing, and some of them were probably pretty near the
gold fields at this time.
All along in this section we found alkali water near the
road, some very strong and dangerous for man or beast to use.
We traveled on up the Sweetwater for some time, and at last
came to a place where the road left the river, and we had a
long, hard hill to pull up. When we reached the top of this we
were in the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains, the backbone of
the American continent. To the north of us were some very high
peaks white with snow, and to the south were some lower hills
and valleys. The summit of the mountains was not quite as
imposing as I expected, but it was the summit, and we were
soon surely moving down the western side, for at Pacific
Springs the water ran to the westward, toward the Pacific
coast. The next day we came to the nearly dry bed of the
river—the Big Sandy. The country round about seemed
volcanic, with no timber, but plenty of sage brush, in which
we were able to shoot an occasional sage hen. The river bed
itself was nothing but sand, and where there was water enough
to wet it, it was very miry and hard traveling over it. There
are two streams, the Big Sandy and Little Sandy, both
tributaries to Green River, which we soon reached and
crossed.
It was a remarkable clear and rapid stream and was now low
enough to ford. One of the Government teams set out to make
the crossing at a point where it looked shallow enough, but
before the lead mules reached the opposite shore, they lost
their footing and were forced to swim. Of course the wagon
stopped and the team swung round and tangled up in a bad
shape. They were unhitched and the wagon pulled back, the load
was somewhat dampened, for the water came into the wagon box
about a foot. We camped here and laid by one day, having thus
quite a little chance to look around.
When we came to the first water that flowed toward the
Pacific Coast at Pacific Springs, we drivers had quite a
little talk about a new scheme. We put a great many
"ifs" together and they amounted to about
this:—If this stream were large enough; if we had a
boat; if we knew the way: if there were no falls or bad
places; if we had plenty of provisions; if we were bold enough
set out on such a trip, etc., we might come out at some point
or other on the Pacific Ocean. And now when we came to the
first of the "ifs," a stream large enough to float a
small boat; we began to think more strongly about the other
"ifs".
In the course of our rambles we actually did run across the
second "if" in the shape of a small ferry boat
filled up with sand upon a bar, and it did not take very long
to dig it out and put it into shape to use, for it was just
large enough to hold one wagon at a time. Our military escort
intended to leave us at this point, as their route now bore
off to the north of ours. I had a long talk with the surgeon
who seemed well informed about the country, and asked him
about the prospects. He did not give the Mormons a very good
name. He said to me:—"If you go to Salt Lake City,
do not let them know you are from Missouri, for I tell you
that many of those from that State will never see California.
You know they were driven from Missouri, and will get revenge
if they can." Both the surgeon and the captain said the
stream came out on the Pacific Coast and that we had no
obstacles except cataracts, which they had heard were pretty
bad. I then went to Dallas and told him what we proposed doing
and to our surprise he did not offer any objections, and
offered me $60 for my pony. He said he would sell us some
flour and bacon for provisions also.
We helped them in crossing the river, which was somewhat
difficult, being swift, with boulders in the bottom but we got
all safely over and then made the trade we had spoken of.
Dallas paid me for my pony and we took what flour and bacon he
would let go. He gave us some ropes for head and stern lines
to our boat and a couple of axes, and we laid these, and our
provisions in a pile by the roadside. Six of us then gave up
our whips. Mr. S. McMahon, a driver, hesitated for some time,
but being pressed by Dallas for a decision, at last threw down
his whip and said:—"I will go with the boys."
This left Dallas with only one driver, but he took a whip
himself, and with the aid of the children and his wife who
drove the two-horse wagon, they got along very well. I paid
for such provisions as we had taken, as the rest of the
fellows had almost no money.
So we parted company, the little train slowly moving on its
way westward. Our military captain, the soldier boys, and the
gay young lady taking the route to Oregon, and we sitting on
the bank of the river whose waters flowed to the great
Pacific. Each company wished the other good luck, we took a
few long breaths and then set to work in earnest to carry out
our plans.
About the first thing we did was to organize and select a
captain, and, very much against my wishes, I was chosen to
this important position. Six of us had guns of some sort,
Richard Field, Dallas's cook, was not armed at all. We had one
regular axe and a large camp hatchet, which was about the same
as an axe, and several very small hatchets owned by the men.
All our worldly goods were piled up on the bank, and we were
alone.
An examination of the old ferry boat showed it to be in
pretty good condition, the sand with which it had been filled
keeping it very perfectly. We found two oars in the sand under
the boat, and looked up some poles to assist us in navigation.
Our cordage was rather scant but the best we could get and all
we could muster. The boat was about twelve feet long and six
or seven feet wide, not a very well proportioned craft, but
having the ability to carry a pretty good load. We swung it up
to the bank and loaded up our goods and then ourselves. It was
not a heavy load for the craft, and it looked as if we were
taking the most sensible way to get to the Pacific, and almost
wondered that everybody was so blind as not to see it as we
did.
This party was composed of W.L. Manley, M.S. McMahon,
Charles and Joseph Hazelrig, Richard Field, Alfred Walton and
John Rogers. We untied the ropes, gave the boat a push and
commenced to move down the river with ease and comfort,
feeling much happier than we would had we been going toward
Salt Lake with the prospect of wintering there.
At the mouth of Ham's Fork we passed a camp of Indians, but
we kept close to the opposite shore to avoid being boarded by
them. They beckoned very urgently for us to come ashore, but I
acted as if I did not understand them, and gave them the
go-by.
As we were floating down the rapid stream it became more
and more a rapid, roaring river, and the bed contained many
dangerous rocks that were difficult to shun. Each of us had a
setting-pole, and we ranged ourselves along the sides of the
boat and tried to keep ourselves clear from the rocks and
dangers. The water was not very deep and made such a dashing
noise as the current rushed among the rocks that one had to
talk pretty loud to be heard. As we were gliding along quite
swiftly, I set my pole on the bottom and gave the boat a
sudden push to avoid a boulder, when the pole stuck in the
crevice between two rocks, and instead of losing the pole by
the sudden jerk I gave, I was the one who was very suddenly
yanked from the boat by the spring of the pole, and landed in
the middle of the river. I struck pretty squarely on my back,
and so got thoroughly wet, but swam for shore amid the shouts
of the boys, who waved their hats and hurrahed for the captain
when they saw he was not hurt. I told them that was nothing as
we were on our way to California by water any way, and such
things must be expected.
The next day after this I went on shore and sighted a
couple of antelope, one of which I shot, which gave us good
grub, and good appetites we already had. As near as we could
estimate we floated about thirty miles a day, which beat the
pace of tired oxen considerably. In one place there was a
fringe of thick willows along the bank, and a little farther
back a perpendicular bluff, while between the two was a strip
of fine green grass. As we were passing this we scared up a
band of elk in this grass meadow, and they all took a run down
the river like a band of horses. One of them turned up a small
ravine with walls so steep he could not get out, so we posted
a guard at the entrance, and three of us went up the
cañon after him, and after the others had each fired a
shot, I fired the third and brought him down. This was about
the finest piece of Rocky Mountain beef that one could see. We
took the carcass on board and floated on again.
Thus far we had a very pleasant time, each taking his turn
in working the boat while the others rested or slept. About
the fifth day when we were floating along in very gently
running water, I had lay down to take a rest and a little
sleep. The mountains here on both sides of the river were not
very steep, but ran gradually for a mile or so. While I was
sleeping the boat came around a small angle in the stream, and
all at once there seemed to be a higher, steeper range of
mountains right across the valley. The boys thought the river
was coming to a rather sudden end and hastily awoke me, and
for the life of me I could not say they were not right, for
there was no way in sight for it to go to. I remembered while
looking over a map the military men had I found a place named
Brown's Hole, and I told the boys I guessed we were elected to
go on foot to California after all, for I did not propose to
follow the river down any sort of a hole into any mountain. We
were floating directly toward a perpendicular cliff, and I
could not see any hole any where, nor any other place where it
could go. Just as we were within a stone's throw of the cliff,
the river turned sharply to the right and went behind a high
point of the mountain that seemed to stand squarely on edge.
This was really an immense crack or crevice, certainly 2000
feet deep and perhaps much more, and seemed much wider at the
bottom than it did at the top, 2000 feet or more above our
heads. Each wall seemed to lean in toward the water as it
rose.
We were now for some time between two rocky walls between
which the river ran very rapidly, and we often had to get out
and work our boat over the rocks, sometimes lifting it off
when it caught. Fortunately we had a good tow line, and one
would take this and follow along the edge when it was so he
could walk. The mountains seemed to get higher and higher on
both sides as we advanced, and in places we could see quite a
number of trees overhanging the river, and away up on the
rocks we could see the wild mountain sheep looking down at us.
They were so high that they seemed a mile away, and
consequently safe enough. This was their home, and they seemed
very independent, as if they dared us fellows to come and see
them. There was an old cottonwood tree on bank with marks of
an axe on it, but this was all the sign we saw that any one
had ever been here before us. We got no game while passing
through this deep cañon and began to feel the need of
some fresh provisions very sorely.
We passed many deep, dark cañons coming into the
main stream, and at one place, where the rock hung a little
over the river and had a smooth wall, I climbed up above the
high water mark which we could clearly see, and with a mixture
of gunpowder and grease for paint, and a bit of cloth tied to
a stick for a brush, I painted in fair sized letters on the
rock, CAPT. W.L. MANLEY, U.S.A. We did not know whether we
were within the bounds of the United States or not, and we put
on all the majesty we could under the circumstances. I don't
think the sun ever shone down to the bottom of the
cañon, for the sides were literally sky-high, for the
sky, and a very small portion of that was all we could
see.
Just before night we came to a place where some huge rocks
as large as cabins had fallen down from the mountain,
completely filling up the river bed, and making it completely
impassible for our boat. We unloaded it and while the boys
held the stern line, I took off my clothes and pushed the boat
out into the torrent which ran around the rocks, letting them
pay the line out slowly till it was just right. Then I sang
out to—"Let go"—and away it dashed. I
grasped the bow line, and at the first chance jumped overboard
and got to shore, when I held the boat and brought it in below
the obstructions. There was some deep water below the rocks;
and we went into camp. While some loaded the boat, others with
a hook and line caught some good fish, which resembled
mackerel.
While I was looking up toward the mountain top, and along
down the rocky wall, I saw a smooth place about fifty feet
above where the great rocks had broken out, and there, painted
in large black letters, were the words "ASHLEY,
1824." This was the first real evidence we had of the
presence of a white man in this wild place, and from this
record it seems that twenty-five years before some venturesome
man had here inscribed his name. I have since heard there were
some persons in St. Louis of this name, and of some
circumstances which may link them with this early
traveler.
When we came to look around we found that another big rock
blocked the channel 300 yards below, and the water rushed
around it with a terrible swirl. So we unloaded the boat again
and made the attempt to get around it as we did the other
rocks. We tried to get across the river but failed. We now,
all but one, got on the great rock with our poles, and the one
man was to ease the boat down with the rope as far as he
could, then let go and we would stop it with our poles and
push it out into the stream and let it go over, but the
current was so strong that when the boat struck the rock we
could not stop it, and the gunwale next to us rose, and the
other went down, so that in a second the boat stood edgewise
in the water and the bottom tight against the big rock, and
the strong current pinned it there so tight that we could no
more move it than we could move the rock itself.
This seemed a very sudden ending to our voyage and there
were some very rapid thoughts as to whether we would not safer
among the Mormons than out in this wild country, afoot and
alone. Our boat was surely lost beyond hope, and something
must be done. I saw two pine trees, about two feet through,
growing on a level place just below, and I said to them that
we must decide between going afoot and making some canoes out
of these pine trees. Canoes were decided on, and we never let
the axes rest, night or day till we had them completed. While
my working shift was off, I took an hour or two, for a little
hunting, and on a low divide partly grown over with small
pines and juniper I found signs, old and new, of many elk, and
so concluded the country was well stocked with noble game. The
two canoes, when completed were about fifteen feet long and
two feet wide, and we lashed them together for greater
security. When we tried them we found they were too small to
carry our load and us, and we landed half a mile below, where
there were two other pine trees—white pine—about
two feet through, and much taller than the ones we had used.
We set at work making a large canoe of these. I had to direct
the work for I was the only one who had ever done such work.
We worked night and day at these canoes, keeping a big fire at
night and changing off to keep the axes busy. This canoe we
made twenty-five or thirty feet long, and when completed they
made me captain of it and into it loaded the most valuable
things, such as provisions, ammunition, and cooking utensils.
I had to take the lead for I was the only skillful canoeist in
the party. We agreed upon signals to give when danger was
seen, or game in sight, and leading off with my big canoe we
set sail again, and went flying down stream.
This rapid rate soon brought us out of the high mountains
and into a narrow valley when the stream became more moderate
in its speed and we floated along easily enough. In a little
while after we struck this slack water, as we were rounding a
point, I saw on a sand bar in the river, five or six elk,
standing and looking at us with much curiosity. I signaled for
those behind to go to shore, while I did the same, and two or
three of us took our guns and went carefully down along the
bank, the thick brush hiding us from them, till we were in
fair range, then selecting our game we fired on them. A fine
doe fell on the opposite bank, and a magnificent buck which
Rogers and I selected, went below and crossed the river on our
side. We followed him down along the bank which was here a
flat meadow with thick bunches of willows, and soon came
pretty near to Mr. Elk who started off on a high and lofty
trot. As he passed an opening in the bushes I put a ball
through his head and he fell. He was a monster. Rogers, who
was a butcher, said it would weigh five hundred or six hundred
pounds. The horns were fully six feet long, and by placing the
horns on the ground, point downwards, one could walk under the
skull between them. We packed the meat to our canoes, and
staid up all night cutting the meat in strips and drying it,
to reduce bulk and preserve it, and it made the finest kind of
food, fit for an epicure.
Starting on again, the river lost more and more of of its
rapidity as it came out into a still wider valley, and became
quite sluggish. We picked red berries that grew on bushes that
overhung the water. They were sour and might have been high
cranberries. One day I killed an otter, and afterward hearing
a wild goose on shore, I went for the game and killed it on a
small pond on which there were also some mallard duck. I
killed two of these. When I fired, the ones not killed did not
fly away, but rather swam toward me. I suppose they never
before had seen a man or heard the report of a gun. On the
shore around the place I saw a small bear track, but I did not
have time to look for his bearship, and left, with the game
already killed, and passed on down through this beautiful
valley.
We saw one place where a large band of horses had crossed,
and as the men with them must have had a raft, we were pretty
sure that the men in charge of them were white men. Another
day we passed the mouth of a swollen stream which came in from
the west side. The water was thick with mud, and the fish,
about a foot long, came to the top, with their noses out of
water. We tried to catch some, but could not hold them. One
night we camped on an island, and I took my gun and went over
toward the west side where I killed a deer. The boys hearing
me shoot, came out, guns in hand, thinking I might need help,
and I was very glad of their assistance. To make our flour go
as far as possible we ate very freely of meat, and having
excellent appetites it disappeared very fast.
It took us two or three days to pass this beautiful valley,
and then we began to get into a rougher country again, the
cañons deeper and the water more tumultuous. McMahon
and I had the lead always, in the big canoe. The mountains
seemed to change into bare rocks and get higher and higher as
we floated along. After the first day of this the river became
so full of boulders that many times the only way we could do
was to unload the canoes and haul them over, load up and go
ahead, only to repeat the same tactics in a very short time
again. At one place where the river was more than usually
obstructed we found a deserted camp, a skiff and some heavy
cooking utensils, with a notice posted up on an alder tree
saying that they had found the river route impracticable, and
being satisfied that the river was so full of rocks and
boulders that it could not be safely navigated, they had
abandoned the undertaking and were about to start overland to
make their way to Salt Lake. I took down the names of the
parties at the time in my diary, which has since been burned,
but have now forgotten them entirely. They were all strangers
to me. They had taken left such heavy articles as could not be
carried on foot. This notice rather disconcerted us, but we
thought we had better keep on and see for ourselves, so we did
not follow them, but kept on down the rocky river. We found
generally more boulders than water, and the down grade of the
river bed was heavy.
Some alders and willows grew upon the bank and up quite
high on the mountains we could see a little timber. Some days
we did not go more than four or five miles, and that was
serious work, loading and unloading our canoes, and packing
them over the boulders, with only small streams of water
curling around between them. We went barefoot most of the
time, for we were more than half of the time in the water
which roared and dashed so loud that we could hardly heard
each other speak. We kept getting more and more venturesome
and skillful, and managed to run some very dangerous rapids in
safety.
On the high peaks above our heads we could see the Rocky
Mountain sheep looking defiantly at us from their mountain
fastnesses, so far away they looked no larger than jack
rabbits. They were too far off to try to shoot at, and we had
no time to try to steal up any nearer for at the rate we were
making, food would be the one thing needful, for we were
consuming it very fast. Sometimes we could ride a little ways,
and then would come the rough-and-tumble with the rocks
again.
One afternoon we came to a sudden turn in the river, more
than a right angle, and, just below, a fall of two feet or
more. This I ran in safety, as did the rest who followed and
we cheered at our pluck and skill. Just after this the river
swung back the other way at a right angle or more, and I
quickly saw there was danger below and signaled them to go on
shore at once, and lead the canoes over the dangerous rapids.
I ran my own canoe near shore and got by the rapid safely,
waiting for the others to come also. They did not obey my
signals but thought to run the rapid the same as I did. The
channel here was straight for 200 yards, without a boulder in
it, but the stream was so swift that it caused great, rolling
waves in the center, of a kind I have never seen anywhere
else. The boys were not skillful enough to navigate this
stream, and the suction drew them to the center where the
great waves rolled them over and over, bottom side up and
every way. The occupants of our canoe let go and swam to
shore. Fields had always been afraid of water and had worn a
life preserver every day since we left the wagons. He threw up
his hands and splashed and kicked at a terrible rate, for he
could not swim, and at last made solid ground. One of the
canoes came down into the eddy below, where it lodged close to
the shore, bottom up. Alfred Walton in the other canoe could
not swim, but held on to the gunwale with a death grip, and it
went on down through the rapids. Sometimes we could see the
man and sometimes not, and he and the canoe took turns in
disappearing. Walton had very black hair, and as he clung fast
to his canoe his black head looked like a crow on the end of a
log. Sometimes he would be under so long that we thought he
must be lost, when up he would come again still clinging
manfully.
McMahon and I threw everything out of the big canoe and
pushed out after him. I told Mc. to kneel down so I could see
over him to keep the craft off the rocks, and by changing his
paddle from side to side as ordered, he enabled me to make
quick moves and avoid being dashed to pieces. We fairly flew,
the boys said, but I stood up in the stern and kept it clear
of danger till we ran into a clear piece of river and overtook
Walton clinging to the overturned boat; McMahon seized the
boat and I paddled all to shore, but Walton was nearly dead
and could hardly keep his grasp on the canoe. We took him to a
sandy place and worked over him and warmed him in the sun till
he came to life again, then built a fire and laid him up near
to it to get dry and warm. If the canoe had gone on 20 yards
farther with him before we caught it, he would have gone into
another long rapid and been drowned. We left Walton by the
fire and crossing the river in the slack water, went up to
where the other boys were standing, wet and sorry-looking,
say-that all was gone and lost. Rogers put his hand in his
pocket and pulled out three half dollars and said
sadly:—"Boys, this is all I am worth in the
world." All the clothes he had were a pair of overalls
and a shirt. If he had been possessed of a thousand in gold he
would have been no richer, for there was no one to buy from
and nothing to buy. I said to them: "Boys, we can't help
what has happened, we'll do the best we can. Right your canoe,
get the water out, and we'll go down and see how Walton
is." They did as I told them, and lo and behold when the
canoe rolled right side up, there were their clothes and
blankets safe and sound. These light things had floated in the
canoe and were safe. We now tried by joining hands to reach
out far enough to recover some of the guns, but by feeling
with their feet they found the bottom smooth as glass and the
property all swept on below, no one knew where. The current
was so powerful that no one could stand in it where it came up
above his knees. The eddy which enabled us to save the first
canoe with the bedding and clothes was caused by a great
boulder as large as a house which had fallen from above and
partly blocked the stream. Everything that would sink was
lost.
We all got into the two canoes and went down to Walton,
where we camped and staid all night for Walton's benefit.
While we were waiting I took my gun and tried to climb up high
enough to see how much longer this horrible cañon was
going to last, but after many attempts, I could not get high
enough to see in any direction. The mountain was all bare
rocks in terraces, but it was impossible to climb from one to
the other, and the benches were all filled with broken rocks
that had fallen from above.
By the time I got back to camp, Walton was dry and warm and
could talk. He said he felt better, and pretty good over his
rescue. When he was going under the water, it seemed sometimes
as if he never would come to the top again, but he held on and
eventually came out all right. He never knew how he got to
shore, he was so nearly dead when rescued.
The next morning Walton was so well we started on. We were
now very poorly armed. My rifle and McMahon's shotgun were all
the arms we had for seven of us, and we could make but a poor
defence if attacked by man or beast, to say nothing of
providing ourselves with food. The mountains on each side were
very bare of timber, those on the east side particularly so,
and very high and barren. Toward night we were floating along
in a piece of slack water, the river below made a short turn
around a high and rocky point almost perpendicular from the
water. There was a terrace along the side of this point about
fifty feet up, and the bench grew narrower as it approached
the river. As I was coming down quite close under this bank I
saw three mountain sheep on the bench above, and, motioning to
the boys, I ran on shore and, with my gun in hand, crept down
toward them, keeping a small pine tree between myself and the
sheep. There were some cedar bushes on the point, and the
pines grew about half way up the bank. I got in as good a
range as possible and fired at one of them which staggered
around and fell down to the bottom of the cliff. I loaded and
took the next largest one which came down the same way. The
third one tried to escape by going down the bend and then
creeping up a crevice, but it could not get away and turned
back, cautiously, which gave me time to load again and put a
ball through it. I hit it a little too far back for instant
death, but I followed it up and found it down and helpless,
and soon secured it. I hauled this one down the mountain, and
the other boys had the two others secure by this time. McMahon
was so elated at my success that he said: "Manley, if I
could shoot as you do I would never want any better
business." And the other fellows said they guessed we
were having better luck with one gun than with six, so we had
a merry time after all. These animals were of a bluish color,
with hair much finer than deer, and resembled a goat more than
a sheep. These three were all females and their horns were
quite straight, not curved like the big males. We cut the meat
from the bones and broke them up, making a fine soup which
tasted pretty good. They were in pretty good order, and the
meat like very good mutton.
We kept pushing on down the river. The rapids were still
dangerous in many places, but not so frequent nor so bad as
the part we had gone over, and we could see that the river
gradually grew smoother as we progressed.
After a day or two we began to get out of the
cañons, but the mountains and hills on each side were
barren and of a pale yellow caste, with no chance for us to
climb up and take a look to see if there were any chances for
us further along. We had now been obliged to follow the
cañon for many miles, for the only way to get out was
to get out endwise, climbing the banks being utterly out of
the question. But these mountains soon came to an end, and
there was some cottonwood and willows on the bank of the
river, which was now so smooth we could ride along without the
continual loading and unloading we had been forced to practice
for so long. We had begun to get a little desperate at the
lack of game, but the new valley, which grew wider all the
time, gave us hope again, if it was quite barren everywhere
except back of the willow trees.
We were floating along very silently one day, for none of
us felt very much in the mood for talking, when we heard a
distant sound which we thought was very much like the firing
of a gun. We kept still, and in a short time a similar sound
was heard, plainer and evidently some ways down the stream.
Again and again we heard it, and decided that it must be a gun
shot, and yet we were puzzled to know how it could be. We were
pretty sure there were no white people ahead of us, and we did
not suppose the Indians in this far-off land had any firearms.
It might be barely possible that we were coming now to some
wagon train taking a southern course, for we had never heard
that there were any settlements in this direction and the
barren country would preclude any such thing, as we viewed it
now. If it was a hostile band we could not do much with a
rifle and a shot gun toward defending ourselves or taking the
aggressive. Some of the boys spoke of our scalps ornamenting a
spear handle, and indulged in such like cheerful talk which
comforted us wonderfully.
Finally we concluded we did not come out into that wild
country to be afraid of a few gunshots, and determined to put
on a bold front, fight if we had to, run away if we could not
do any better, and take our chances on getting scalped or
roasted. Just then we came in sight of three Indian lodges
just a little back from the river, and now we knew for certain
who had the guns. McMahon and I were in the lead as usual, and
it was only a moment before one of the Indians appeared, gun
in hand, and made motions for us to come on shore. A
cottonwood tree lay nearly across the river, and I had gone so
far that I had to go around it and land below, but the other
boys behind were afraid to do otherwise than to land right
there as the Indian kept his gun lying across his arm. I ran
our canoe below to a patch of willows, where we landed and
crawled through the brush till we came in sight of the other
boys, where we stood and waited a moment to see how they
fared, and whether our red men were friends or enemies. There
were no suspicious movements on their part, so we came out and
walked right up to them. There was some little talk, but I am
sure we did not understand one another's language, and so we
made motions and they made motions, and we got along better.
We went with them down to the tepee, and there we heard the
first word that was at all like English and that was
"Mormonee," with a sort of questioning tone. Pretty
soon one said "Buffalo," and then we concluded they
were on a big hunt of some sort. They took us into their
lodges and showed us blankets, knives, and guns, and then,
with a suggestive motion, said all was "Mormonee,"
by which we understood they had got them from the Mormons. The
Indian in the back part of the lodge looked very pleasant and
his countenance showed a good deal of intelligence for a man
of the mountains. I now told the boys that we were in a
position where we were dependent on some one, and that I had
seen enough to convince me that these Indians were perfectly
friendly with the Mormons, and that for our own benefit we had
better pass ourselves off for Mormons, also. So we put our
right hand to our breast and said "Mormonee," with a
cheerful countenance, and that act conveyed to them the belief
that we were chosen disciples of the great and only Brigham
and we became friends at once, as all acknowledged. The
fine-looking Indian who sat as king in the lodge now, by
motions and a word or two, made himself known as Chief Walker,
and when I knew this I took great pains to cultivate his
acquaintance.
I was quite familiar with the sign language used by all the
Indians, and found I could get along pretty well in making him
understand and knowing what he said. I asked him first how
many "sleeps"' or days it was from there to
"Mormonee." In answer he put out his left hand and
then put two fingers of his right astride of it, making both
go up and down with the same motion of a man riding a horse.
Then he shut his eyes and laid his head on his hand three
times, by which I understood that a man could ride to the
Mormon settlement in three sleeps or four days. He then wanted
to know where we were going, and I made signs that we were
wishing to go toward the setting sun and to the big water, and
I said "California." The country off to the west of
us now seemed an open, barren plain, which grew wider as it
extended west. The mountains on the north side seemed to get
lower and smaller as they extended west, but on the south or
east side they were all high and rough. It seemed as if we
could see one hundred miles down the river, and up to the time
we met the Indians we thought we had got through all our
troublesome navigation and could now sail on, quietly and
safely to the great Pacific Ocean and land of gold.
When I told Chief Walker this he seemed very much
astonished, as if wondering why we were going down the river
when we wanted to get west across the country. I asked him how
many sleeps it was to the big water, and he shook his head,
pointed out across the country and then to the river and shook
his head again; by which I understood that water was scarce,
out the way he pointed. He then led me down to a smooth sand
bar on the river and then, with a crooked stick, began to make
a map in the sand. First he made a long crooked mark, ten feet
long or so, and pointing to the river to let me know that the
mark in the sand was made to represent it. He then made a
straight mark across near the north end of the stream, and
showed the other streams which came into the Green river which
I saw at once was exactly correct. Then he laid some small
stones on each side of the cross mark, and making a small hoop
of a willow twig, he rolled it in the mark he had made across
the river, then flourished his stick as if he were driving
oxen. Thus he represented the emigrant road. He traced the
branches off to the north where the soldiers had gone, and the
road to California, which the emigrants took, all of which we
could see was correct. Then he began to describe the river
down which we had come. A short distance below the road he put
some small stones on each side of the river to represent
mountains. He then put down his hands, one on each side of the
crooked mark and then raised them up again saying e-e-e-e-e-e
as he raised them, to say that the mountains there were very
high. Then he traced down the stream to a place below where we
made our canoes; when he placed the stone back from the river
farther, to show that there was a valley there; then he drew
them in close again farther down, and piled them up again two
or three tiers high, then placing both fists on them he raised
them higher than the top of his head, saying e-e-e-e-e-e and
looking still higher and shaking his head as if to say:—
"Awful bad cañon", and thus he went on describing the river
till we understood that we were near the place where we now
were, and then pointed to his tepee, showing that I understood
him all right. It was all correct, as I very well knew and
assured me that he knew all about the country.
I became much interested in my new found friend, and had
him continue his map down the river. He showed two streams
coming in on the east side and then he began piling up stones
on each side of the river and then got longer ones and piled
them higher and higher yet. Then he stood with one foot on
each side of his river and put his hands on the stones and
then raised them as high as he could, making a continued
e-e-e-e-e-e as long as his breath would last, pointed to the
canoe and made signs with his hands how it would roll and
pitch in the rapids and finely capsize and throw us all out.
He then made signs of death to show us that it was a fatal
place. I understood perfectly plain from this that below the
valley where we now were was a terrible cañon, much
higher than any we had passed, and the rapids were not
navigable with safety. Then Walker shook his head more than
once and looked very sober, and said "Indiano" and
reaching for his bow and arrows, he drew the bow back to its
utmost length and put the arrow close to my breast, showing
how I would get shot. Then he would draw his hand across his
throat and shut his eyes as if in death to make us understand
that this was a hostile country before us, as well as rough
and dangerous.
I now had a description of the country ahead and believed
it to be reliable. As soon as I could conveniently after this,
I had a council with the boys, who had looked on in silence
while I was holding the silent confab with the chief. I told
them where we were and what chances there were of getting to
California by this route, and that for my part I had as soon
be killed by Mormans as by savage Indians, and that I believed
the best way for us to do was to make the best of our way to
Salt Lake. "Now" I said, "Those of you who
agree with me can follow—and I hope all will."
McMahon said that we could not understand a word the old
Indian said, and as to following his trails, I don't believe a
word of it, and it don't seem right.
He said he had a map of the country, and it looked just as
safe to him to go on down the river as to go wandering across
a dry and desolate country which we knew nothing of. I said to
McMahon—"I know this sign language pretty well. It
is used by almost all the Indians and is just as plain and
certain to me as my talk is to you. Chief Walker and his
forefathers were borne here and know the country as well as
you know your father's farm, and for my part, I think I shall
take one of his trails and go to Salt Lake and take the
chances that way. I have no objections to you going some other
way if you wish to and think it is best". McMahon and
Fields concluded they would not follow me any farther.
I then went to Chief Walker and had him point out the trail
to "Mormonie" as well as he could. He told me where
to enter the mountains leading north, and when we got part way
he told me we would come to an Indian camp, when I must follow
some horse tracks newly made; he made me know this by using
his hands like horse's forefeet, and pointed the way.
Some of the young men motioned for me to come out and shoot
at a mark with them, and as I saw it would please them I did
so and took good care to beat them every time too. Then they
wanted to swap (narawaup) guns with me which I declined doing.
After this the Chief came to me and wanted me to go and hunt
buffalo with them. I told him I had no horse, and then he went
and had a nice gray one brought up and told me I could ride
him if I would go. He took his bow and arrow and showed me how
he could shoot an arrow straight through a buffalo just back
of his short ribs and that the arrow would go clear through
and come out on the other side without touching a bone. Those
fellows were in fine spirit, on a big hunt, and when Walker
pointed out his route to me he swung his hand around to Salt
Lake.
They all spoke the word buffalo quite plainly. I took his
strong bow and found I could hardly pull it half way out, but
I have no doubt he could do as he said he could. I hardly knew
how to refuse going with him. I asked him how long it would be
before he would get around his long circuit and get to Salt
Lake, to which he replied by pulverizing some leaves in his
hands and scattering them in the air to represent snow, which
would fall by the time he got to "Mormonee". I
shivered as he said this and by his actions I saw that I
understood him right.
I told him I could not go with him for the other boys would
depend on me to get them something to eat, and I put my finger
into my open mouth to tell him this. I think if I had been
alone I should have accepted his offer and should have had a
good time. I gave them to understand that we would swap
(narawaup) with them for some horses so he brought up a pair
of nice two year-old colts for us. I offered him some money
for them, he did not want that, but would take clothing of
almost any kind. We let them have some that we could get along
without, and some one let Walker have a coat. He put it on,
and being more warmly dressed than ever before, the sweat ran
down his face in streams. We let them have some needles and
thread and some odd notions we had to spare. We saw that
Walker had some three or four head of cattle with him which he
could kill if they did not secure game at the time they
expected.
McMahon and Field still persisted they would not go with us
and so we divided our little stock of flour and dried meat
with them as fairly as possible and decided we would try the
trail. When our plans were settled we felt in pretty good
spirits again, and one of the boys got up a sort of corn-stalk
fiddle which made a squeaking noise and in a little while
there was a sort of mixed American and Indian dance going on
in which the squaws joined in and we had a pretty jolly time
till quite late at night. We were well pleased that these wild
folks had proved themselves to be true friends to us.
The morning we were to start I told the boys a dream I had
in which I had seen that the course we had decided on was the
correct one, but McMahon and Field thought we were foolish
and said they had rather take the chances of going with the
Indians, or going on down the river. He seemed to place great
stress on the fact that he could not understand the
Indians.
Said he:—"This Indian may be all right, and
maybe he will lead us all into a dreadful trap. They are
treacherous and revengeful, and for some merely fancied wrong
done by us, or by some one else of whom we have no control or
knowledge, they may take our scalps, wipe us out of existence
and no one will ever know what became of us. Now this map of
mine don't show any bad places on this river, and I believe we
can get down easily enough, and get to California some time.
Field and I cannot make up our minds so easily as you fellows.
I believe your chances are very poor."
The boys now had our few things loaded on the two colts,
for they had fully decided to go with me, and I was not in the
least put back by McMahon's dire forbodings. We shook hands
with quivering lips as we each hoped the other would meet good
luck, and find enough to eat and all such sort of friendly
talk, and then with my little party on the one side and
McMahon and Field, whom we were to leave behind, on the other,
we bowed to each other with bared heads, and then we started
out of the little young cottonwoods into the broad plain that
seemed to get wider and wider as we went west.
The mountains on the northern side grew smaller and less
steep as we went west, and on the other hand reached down the
river as far as we could see. The plain itself was black and
barren and for a hundred miles at least ahead of us it seemed
to have no end. Walker had explained to us that we must follow
some horse tracks and enter a cañon some miles to the
northwest. He had made his hands work like horses' feet,
placing then near the ground as if following a trail. We were
not much more than a mile away when on looking back, we saw
Chief Walker coming towards us on a horse at full speed; and
motioning for us to stop. This we did, though some of the boys
said we would surely be marched back and scalped. But it was
not for that he came. He had been watching us and saw that we
had failed to notice the tracks of the horses he told us about
so he rode after us, and now took us off some little distance
to the right, got off his horse and showed us the faint horse
tracks which we were to follow and said "Mormonie".
He pointed out to us the exact cañon we were to enter
when we reached the hills; and said after three
"sleeps" we would find an Indian camp on top of the
mountain. He then bade us good bye again and galloped back to
his own camp.
We now resumed our journey, keeping watch of the tracks
more closely, and as we came near the spurs of the mountain
which projected out into the barren valley we crossed several
well marked trails running along the foot hills, at right
angles to our own. This we afterwards learned was the regular
trail from Santa Fé to Los Angeles. At some big rocks
further on we camped for the night, and found water in some
pools or holes in the flat rocks which held the rain.
Reading people of to-day, who know so well the geography of
the American continent, may need to stop and think that in
1849 the whole region west of the Missouri River was very
little known, the only men venturesome enough to dare to
travel over it were hunters and trappers who, by a wild life
had been used to all the privations of such a journey, and
shrewd as the Indians themselves in the mysterious ways of the
trail and the chase. Even these fellows had only investigated
certain portions best suited to their purpose.
The Indians here have the reputation of being blood thirsty
savages who took delight in murder and torture, but here, in
the very midst of this wild and desolate country we found a
Chief and his tribe, Walker and his followers who were as
humane and kind to white people as could be expected of any
one. I have often wondered at the knowledge of this man
respecting the country, of which he was able to make us a good
map in the sand, point out to us the impassable cañon,
locate the hostile indians, and many points which were not
accurately known by our own explorers for many years
afterward. He undoubtedly saved our little band from a watery
grave, for without his advice we had gone on and on, far into
the great Colorado cañon, from which escape would have
been impossible and securing food another impossibility, while
destruction by hostile indians was among the strong
probabilities of the case. So in a threefold way I have for
these more than forty years credited the lives of myself and
comrades to the thoughtful interest and humane consideration
of old Chief Walker.