Fortunately the others were close at hand when this catastrophe happened. Dick, of course, plied his paddle with the utmost vigor, but, in spite of his endeavors, their canoe was dragged perilously close to the verge of the fall, and, if left to themselves, the boys would have had a serious time of it.
The nearest boat chanced to contain Jasper Williams and another. Williams had always been known as a quick-witted man when trouble came suddenly from a clear sky.
Loud cries arose. Then this boat was seen speeding straight toward the one that had been crippled by the breaking of the paddle.
“Here, take hold of this rope!” Jasper Williams was heard calling, and Roger, who had been watching the approach of the other canoe in a sort of dumb anxiety, not knowing how their arrival would help, managed to secure the line that came flying through the air.
He saw what the trapper had in mind. Dick, too, bent all his energies to his own paddle, while the blades in the other canoe flashed fast and furiously as the two paddlers bent their broad backs to the task.
The current was loath to give up its expected prey, and it fought furiously before admitting defeat; but brain triumphed in the end. One thing that helped materially was the fact that with every yard they gained in the direction of the bank the grip of the current grew less severe.
In the end they reached land, much to the relief of both boys. Roger looked a little white under the eyes, although he stoutly protested that he had not been much alarmed.
When later on they had a chance to see from what they had escaped through the happy circumstance of Jasper Williams’ possession of the rope, the boys were very grateful things had turned out as they did. Dick realized that there was not much hope for any one unfortunate enough to be swept over those falls, and carried through the rapids, where cruel rocks waited on every hand to bruise the victim.
The party went into camp on the spot, and expected to be lulled to sleep that night by the incessant roar as the water took the plunge. Roger meant to busy himself below the falls as soon as he could get there, armed with his spear, of which he had by this time become very proud.
They soon learned that this spot was a favorite fishing place for the Indians. Indeed, there did not seem to be a minute of the day that one or more dusky sons of the wilderness could not be seen prowling around, armed with spears with which they would adroitly stab any fish that came within reach. (Note 9.)
The salmon on reaching a waterfall exhibits a wonderful agility in lofty leaping, in the endeavor to gain the upper reaches of the stream. This, of course, is more frequent in the spring when the fish wish to reach their spawning beds far up in the rivers. Still, the boys saw many fish make the leap while they were at the falls, some reaching projecting ledges, and resting for another frantic attempt; others falling back, doubtless to make a more successful effort later.
These Indians the boys found were of a different tribe from any they had thus far encountered, and they soon decided they must belong to the fighting tribe of whom they had heard so many contradictory accounts, the Flat Heads.
Very naturally, since they had probably never before seen a white man, the Indians displayed considerable curiosity. They were at first inclined to flee, showing all the signs of alarm and enmity; but Captain Lewis made friendly signs, and in the end succeeded in soothing their fears.
“I don’t like their looks, though,” Roger said to Dick, as they watched several of the Flat Head braves accepting little trinkets, such as colored beads and minute mirrors, which had been carried along for the purpose of trading with the natives.
“I agree with you there,” admitted Dick. “They have a different appearance from the friendly Nez Perces, the Mandans, or any other tribe we have met so far.”
“I believe they must be more treacherous than the others,” continued Roger, uneasily. “You know we have heard not a single good word about them from any source.”
“Well, ‘the proof of the pudding is in the eating of it,’ as we’ve heard many the time at home, Roger; and we shouldn’t judge people wholly by their looks. Captain Lewis seems to be willing to trust them. If any person can make friends with these Flat Heads, he will.”
“Unless they’ve already determined to hate, and try to exterminate us,” grumbled the other, of course referring to the underhand measures which they believed Lascelles and his companion meant to put into practice.
It was not long before Roger found a good use for his spear. He watched how the red fishermen plied their weapons and copied their method. Although he could hardly expect to be an expert in the beginning the boy soon learned to handle his new tool with considerable skill; and Dick commended his work when he saw him strike a splendid silvery fish that had shown itself near the surface.
It was not a very difficult task getting the canoes around the portage, or carry. There was a regular path which doubtless had been worn by the moccasined feet of countless red Indians for ages past, since this spot must always have been a favorite one for laying in stores of fish food.
The second night was passed some distance below the falls, though their musical roar could still be plainly heard. Always eager to learn facts in connection with what lay ahead, Captain Lewis questioned some of the Indians once more with regard to how many days journey they still had to expect before arriving at the ocean.
Thanks to his mastery of the sign language, the commander was able to discover what he sought; and it was pleasing intelligence that he communicated to the rest of the company that same night.
November was at hand, and before the month had gone far they should arrive at the termination of their great adventure, with the ocean stretching before them.
From the present time they could count on an easy voyage, unless something entirely unexpected cropped up to dismay them. The current of the Columbia was swift, and could be counted on to carry them along without a paddle being dipped, if they felt like avoiding the labor.
Already were the men beginning to count on the glorious experience they expected to have while the winter lasted, hunting and fishing as the weather permitted, and with the wonderful sea to gaze upon. It was planned to go into winter quarters as soon as they arrived at their destination. This would permit of their gathering a great store of food, after the Indian custom.
Only one fly remained in the ointment of the boys. They could not forget that, as long as the revengeful Frenchman, François Lascelles, hovered about that part of the country, they could never feel safe. No matter if he were unseen, they knew him well enough to believe that he would be plotting in some underhand way to injure them, as he had done so many times in the past.
“We will never know a minute’s peace as long as that man is alive,” said Roger, when the subject came up to cast a shadow on their happiness.
The weather did not improve as they descended the Columbia. Rain fell frequently, and twice they saw where serious landslides had occurred. It made them more careful as to where they camped when night came, for, should they be so unfortunate as to be caught in one of these slips, the result was apt to be exceedingly serious.
They saw Indians daily. Sometimes these were ashore, and again they met them in canoes made of hide, or, it might be, dugouts formed from logs. In most cases the natives avoided them, for the sight of white faces and beards filled them with wonder and fear. Some of them must have believed the explorers had come from one of the stars, and were people of another world, for never had they dreamed there could be any but copper-colored inhabitants on this sphere.
Nor were the adventurers always free from peril from this source. On several occasions an arrow had been known to hurtle into camp; and one of the men even received a flesh wound.
For a short time it was feared the shaft might have had a poisoned tip, and every expedient to neutralize the venom was immediately applied. As the man did not suffer any great disability on account of his injury, they finally concluded that the Flat Heads, at least, did not dip the heads of their war arrows in the poison of the rattlesnake, as some tribes were known to do. (Note 10.)
Captain Lewis did not like the menacing manner in which some of these Indians acted when on the bank of the river, while the little flotilla of canoes was passing.
“I feel certain there is some malign influence at work, behind the scenes,” Dick heard him telling Captain Clark, after they had seen a manifestation of this ill humor one day, when several half-naked red skins brandished their spears toward them as the boats drifted past, at the same time uttering angry cries; “and, since we happen to know that Lascelles slipped past us down the river, there can be no doubt it is his work.”
“A few days more and we shall be there, the captain says,” announced Roger, as he made his way back a short distance up the river in company with his chum, they having noticed signs of game.
The boys had gone about half a mile from the camp, having caught sight of a feeding deer.
“We are getting close to the spot where we glimpsed that deer feeding on the green grass, so let us stop talking, and be on the watch,” Dick suggested, thinking the animal might have moved from its place.
Three minutes afterwards Roger gave a low “hist.”
“I can see him right now,” he whispered, and, following the direction of the extended finger, Dick also caught sight of the dun-colored figure.
Really it must have been a very hungry deer. As a rule such an animal, when feeding, is so nervous and suspicious that every minute or so its tail will whisk, and the hunters know from this that the deer will immediately raise its head to take a look around. But although the boys as they advanced kept their eyes fastened closely on their intended quarry, they could not see even the slightest movement.
Roger had begged the privilege of having first shot, and, when they had crept as close as seemed wise, his gun-stock came up against his cheek, his eye ran along the sights, and then his finger pressed the hair trigger of the long-barreled rifle.
Strange to say, the deer never moved even then. Roger was more than amazed.
“Give him a shot, Dick!” he cried, “or he may get away from us yet, thanks to my poor aim!”
Dick was about to comply, when suddenly the deer toppled over. There was something decidedly suspicious in the way the animal collapsed, and Dick had a flash of intelligence sweep over him. He believed the deer was being used for a stalking animal, and had been dead all the while, its body propped up to deceive them. And even as this dreadful truth struck him, he heard loud Indian whoops ring out.
“We are done for!” cried Roger, as vociferous yells from various quarters told of the sudden peril that had burst upon them.
The pioneer boys had often, when sitting at the knees of their fathers, heard how the crafty Indians along the Ohio River, wishing to coax the settlers ashore when they drifted down the stream in their shanty boats, would resort to a ruse.
There were white renegades among the natives, men like Simon Girty, who had been chased out of the settlements for wrong-doing, and who, hating their kind, had joined fortunes with the red tribes.
One of these turncoats would disguise himself, and set up a plaintive appeal for help, claiming to be an honest man, who had just escaped from the torture post of the Indians, and begging the newcomers not to forsake him.
In a few instances his appeals would touch the hearts of the whites, so that, even against their good judgment, they were known to work the flatboat near the bank. Of course an attack always followed, the Indians springing up from their places of concealment.
Dick remembered those thrilling stories now, when he and Roger were victims of a ruse along similar lines. That dummy deer had been placed so it could be seen by those in the canoes. The master mind capable of conceiving this trick knew well that the two lads were born hunters, and, in the need of fresh meat for the camp, could hardly resist the temptation.
The game had worked only too well. So cleverly had the dead deer been arranged that even their sharp eyes had failed to detect anything wrong, except that the animal seemed to remain persistently in one spot, and never raised his head.
Almost immediately, flitting forms were seen among the trees. The boys did not stop to count them, but there must certainly have been a full dozen of the enemy.
Two figures they glimpsed that were not copper-colored, and nearly destitute of clothing, as was the case with the Flat Head braves. There was no need to call out and announce their discovery, for both boys realized in a flash that they were once again face to face with the evil genius of their lives, the French trader, François Lascelles, together with his equally unscrupulous ally, Andrew Waller.
Roger, with his customary impulsiveness, felt a wave of hot indignation sweep over him. This man, whom they had never sought to harm, had followed them ever since they set out from their homes on the lower Missouri, bent on saving the Armstrong property. Many times had they suffered from his persecution, and no one could really blame Roger for feeling bitterly toward the trader.
Influenced by his impulsive and headstrong nature, he hastily threw his gun up to his shoulder, and, covering the advancing Frenchman, pulled the trigger.
No report followed, which at the moment was a bitter disappointment to Roger, with his mind so set on settling the score then and there. Of course, it flashed upon him that he could not expect his gun to load itself, since he had just fired the one bullet it contained into the deer that had been used as a decoy.
With a cry of anger he turned, and, almost before Dick knew what was up, had snatched the loaded rifle from his hands, thrusting his own useless weapon into his chum’s grasp.
But the two renegades saw him do this, and realized their danger, for, though the exchange took but a couple of seconds, they had had sufficient warning to put stout trees between themselves and the angry boy.
When Roger whirled around, bent on carrying out his design, he was just in time to see Waller vanish behind a tree. It was a foregone conclusion that the quick-witted Lascelles had been even faster in his movements, since he knew well that he must be the object of the lad’s blind anger.
Indians there were in sight, running toward them, and brandishing their tomahawks and spears threateningly, at the same time dodging behind various trees as if to confuse the “palefaces.”
Evidently they feared those wonderful sticks that spat out fire, and made a sound like unto the near-by thunder, as well as mysteriously slew whatever they were pointed at.
“We must run for it, Roger!” cried Dick, seeing that it was folly to think of trying to stand off a dozen savages with but one loaded gun between them.
“All right!” gasped Roger, as he swung around and put himself in motion, for it was plain to be seen that not a second should be lost if they hoped to outwit the enemy.
No sooner was their intention evident than a new burst of wild yells told that the Indians were in hot pursuit. High above the fiendish cries Dick could hear the heavier voices of the two treacherous white men, and he knew that Lascelles and Waller must be keeping in the van of their pursuers.
The boys might have turned and tried to frighten the Indians off by a second shot, but it would be losing precious time, and every second must count when their lives hung in the balance.
The boys were clever runners, and under ordinary conditions might have been able to keep well ahead of the fleet-footed Indians. There was one unfortunate thing, however, that promised to hamper them sadly, and it concerned Roger’s ability to keep up the pace.
Several days before, almost a week in fact, he had turned his ankle, and had ever since complained of feeling it pain him from time to time, especially if he gave that foot any sort of a wrench.
He had not taken a score of leaps when his toe chanced to catch in a root, and, while the boy did not measure his length on the ground, he did feel a sharp pain shoot through that weak ankle.
It made his heart sink to realize that he was bound to feel it worse with every bound he took, and that in the end it might be the means of their downfall.
Dick had kept close to the river-bank in his flight. He did this for several good reasons. In the first place, they had come that way, and knew the ground more or less. Then, again, the camp lay up the river, and, if help was to meet them part way, they must head straight for the boats.
He was inclined at first to try to shout, in the expectation that those in camp would come to their assistance the faster; but, on second thought, he realized it would only be wasting his breath. Surely they must have heard the sound of Roger’s rifle, and those wild whoops bursting on their ears soon afterwards would tell their friends what had happened.
He fully believed Captain Clark would sally forth with some of the men, bent on attempting their rescue. It was only a question of keeping ahead of their persistent pursuers long enough to allow the others to come up.
“Faster, Roger, faster!”
Roger heard his comrade say this and he strove his utmost to obey, but the injured ankle was giving him more trouble every second and, despite his efforts, he failed to keep up to his usual standard of speed.
“My ankle—I’ve hurt it again!” he called out, between his set teeth.
Dick heard this with a thrill of horror. It seemed to seal their fate, for, if they could not increase their speed, the Indians were bound to overtake them long before any help might arrive.
He tried to catch hold of Roger’s arm, as though his first thought was to render assistance; but that was impossible when running as they were. Roger indeed shook himself free.
“Save yourself, Dick! I’m nearly done for!” he exclaimed.
Dick did not try to answer. He needed all his breath to carry him along; but, if he had spoken, it would have been to scorn indignantly the suggestion that he leave his chum behind, and look out for himself. Dick was not that kind of boy; and if need be he would stand by Roger, fighting to the end.
There was the swift-running river just beside them. Dick wished from the bottom of his heart that they could in some way make use of it in order to give their pursuers the slip; yet he could not decide how it could be accomplished.
If they jumped in, and attempted to swim across, there were undoubtedly among the half-naked braves many who could make faster progress, unhampered as they would be with clothes. Oh! if only one of the boats would shoot into view, manned by a couple of the brave fellows whose guns would soon work havoc among the natives and put them to flight!
Dick saw no chance of obtaining help from that quarter. The ground underfoot was now slippery, and he remembered that they had passed over a place where the earth seemed spongy.
He could only see one hope left. This was for them to seek refuge behind trees, and try to hold the enemy at bay long enough to enable their friends to arrive on the spot. And, since the Indians might rush them despite their threatening guns, this seemed almost like a forlorn hope.
It was just at that critical moment that something wholly unexpected happened. As long as they lived Dick and Roger believed that the Providence that had so long watched over their fortunes, seeing their terrible distress, had come to the rescue.
They heard a sudden sound that bewildered them at first. It was a horrible sucking noise, and both lads actually felt the ground quivering under their feet.
Instinctively they came to a pause, as the yells back of them changed to cries of great fear, some of which seemed to be half-muffled. There was, accompanying these sounds, a strange splashing, and the crash of trees going down.
As the boys whirled around, stunned by all these remarkable sounds, they looked upon one of the most terrifying spectacles that had ever come before them. A large section of the bank of the river, where they had found it so wet in passing, had suddenly let go while the Indians were crossing it, and, together with a number of trees, had slipped into the deep river. Fully half of the Flat Head Indians went with the landslide, together with both of the renegades.
Dick plainly discovered Lascelles throwing up his arms in an agony of fear, as he found himself being dragged along, with those tons and tons of earth, into a watery grave. Then a great tree smashed down directly over him and that was the last that human eyes ever saw of the French trader.
The rest of the Indians stood there spellbound, just as the two boys did. Superstitious to the core, those who were left must have believed this calamity could only be looked on as a manifestation of anger on the part of the Great Manitou, who doubtless held the strange boys, with the white skins, under his protection.
They made not the slightest attempt to rescue their unfortunate comrades, but, uttering cries of terror, vanished in the depths of the forest, doubtless carrying to their village a terrible story of what had occurred, to cause weeping and wailing among the lodges of the Flat Heads.
Still watching, the boys saw several figures climb up out of the agitated waters. They were in every instance the copper-colored natives, who went limping away, looking back in abject terror.
Though they watched closely, the boys could discover not the slightest trace of either of the renegades. The trees floated off, or remained there sunk in the water; but a close examination of the scene of the landslide convinced Dick and Roger they had surely seen the last of their bitter enemies.
The two boys could not express their emotion except by clasping each other’s hands and squeezing them fiercely. Their safety had been brought about through no mortal agency; and it was not singular that they always looked upon the landslide as a miracle wrought in their interest.
Shortly afterwards, when Dick had taken his own gun, and Roger managed to get a load in his weapon, they heard the sound of voices, and some of the men from the camp appeared. Just as the boys had anticipated, they were led by brave Captain Clark.
Great was their amazement when they heard the wonderful story the lads had to tell. It seemed almost unbelievable, and yet there was the evidence before their very eyes, the gap in the river bank, the fallen trees, and even some of the Indian tomahawks on the ground where they had been cast when the remainder of the band fled in dismay from the fatal spot.
When Captain Lewis was told about it, he declared it to be the judgment of Heaven upon the heads of those two wicked men. They had sought to stir up the resentment of the Flat Heads against the little party, and, had their plans succeeded, the members of the expedition would be in constant danger of their lives during the whole of the coming winter.
As it was, the Indians must believe the white wanderers were under the protection of Manitou, and should not be harmed. Captain Lewis could see how a peace could be made with their leading chiefs, so that, for the months that were to come, the red men and their “paleface” brothers should live together as friends.
After all their trials and tribulations things seemed to be working in the boys’ favor at last. With the disappearance of the scheming trader their greatest source of uneasiness had vanished. The future looked bright once more, and the boys felt they could sleep without fearing that something terrible hung over their heads.
That night was really the happiest they had all known for many months. The fact that they were close to the goal that had tempted them across the continent did much to bring smiles to the careworn faces of the voyagers.
“If all the accounts we’ve been able to pick up are correct,” Dick told Roger that night, while they sat near the fire, the camp being well guarded every minute of the time, “we ought to reach our destination by the end of the second day, perhaps sooner.”
“Which means we will be able to look out into the west and see nothing but the vast ocean,” Roger added, with a contented sigh. “Well, I feel glad—yes, doubly glad, for Captain Lewis and Captain Clark.”
“I understand why you say that, Roger. To us it means only that our curiosity will be satisfied; but think what they have risked to carry out the plan of the President! It will be the greatest day in their lives when they reach that ocean they have come thousands of miles to look upon.”
“And think of all they have braved to win their end,” added the other boy, his whole expression speaking his deepest admiration for the bold leaders of the exploring expedition.
Well might the boys say what they did. A thousand perils had waylaid those daring spirits, yet never once had they dreamed of giving up their plan. Over unknown trails, through dark canyons, across trackless plains and burning deserts, up mighty rivers with their strong currents and swirling rapids—all these and uncounted other dangers had spread out before them, but without daunting their souls.
No wonder then that the boy of to-day, who reads of this most wonderful journey ever undertaken in our great country, reveres the names of those two bold spirits who conducted the expedition to a successful finish.
With the coming of another day the journey was resumed. Even the weather seemed to have undergone a fit of repentance, for the skies were now as clear as crystal, and the rainy spell had evidently passed.
Early in the morning several of the men hastened to the place where the boys had been deceived by the decoy deer. They brought back the game, since none of the thoroughly alarmed Flat Heads had dared return for the carcass.
It was easily seen just how cleverly the animal’s head had been fixed by means of stout sticks and deerskin thongs. The men also judged that it had been made to stand erect by the aid of other sticks skillfully concealed. On the whole, the boys concluded they had a story to relate that would arouse the greatest interest among the home folks, if ever they were fortunate enough to rejoin the family circle again.
Roger was glad that the remainder of the journey was to be made in the canoes, for his ankle pained him exceedingly, and he would have been unable to walk any distance without feeling much distress.
“You will have to take things easy for a while, after we get to our journey’s end,” Dick told him. “A sprained ankle is a bad job, and you may feel it for many weeks. I can look back and remember how long it took me to get over a wrenched ankle some years ago.”
At that Roger laughed aloud.
“I haven’t forgotten that time, either, let me tell you, Dick. We were off on a hunt when you tripped. How your ankle did swell up; it frightened me, I tell you! But that cold spring water helped a lot to take the swelling down.”
“Yes, and I can see you now, staggering along with me on your back,” continued Dick, bending a look of sincere affection upon his cousin. “That was the heaviest load you ever undertook to tote, I wager.”
“But I got there, didn’t I?” demanded the other, proudly, “winded though I was. And I made you a pretty fine crutch which you hobbled around on for weeks, not being able to put your foot on the ground.”
Many times, as they talked, did these fond memories of the past arise to haunt them. The further they went from their well-loved homes the sharper the pictures seemed to become in their minds. Their dreams were mostly of those dear ones whose faces were forever before them, in the clear waters, while threading the mazes of the forest, or even looking out upon the glittering sands of the burning desert.
When, that afternoon, a halt was made, Captain Lewis cheered them with the announcement that there could be little doubt they would reach the mouth of the big river by the following night at the latest. Indeed, as the men had already discovered that the water was strongly impregnated with salt, they hardly needed this assurance to convince them that their long journey was on the eve of termination.
They gave the commander a hearty cheer, however, when he told them this welcome fact, then set about making what was certainly one of the happiest camps of the entire trip.
As usual the two boys talked things over while they sat resting after supper had been dispatched. Roger had sniffed the air several times, and he finally broke out with a declaration.
“There seems to be something queer in the air, Dick; something I’ve never before noticed in all my life. And to tell you the truth, I can make nothing of it.”
“I may be wrong,” Dick told him; “but, from all I’ve heard grandfather say, I think that must be the salty taste they say one can notice when the air comes straight off the sea. If that is so, it proves we are close to the mouth of the river right now.”
After that Roger amused himself by sniffing the air many times. It seemed to give him fresh encouragement to have a silent but powerful proof carried by the night breeze to their river camp.
Taken in all, it was a rather restless night for some of the adventurers, and the boys in particular awoke many times, to sit up and listen. Once Dick even fancied he could hear a far-off, dull, booming sound that could hardly be thunder, since the stars were out, and not a cloud as big as his hand in sight.
“I wonder,” the boy said softly to himself, with a feeling almost of awe, “if that can be the sea pounding on the shore. Grandfather has often told us how it makes a great noise when the tide is coming in, each wave running along and turning over as it breaks on the sand.”
He even sat there for a long while listening, though thinking it best not to arouse Roger, who chanced to be sleeping at the time. Only when the strange sound died out, owing to a change of wind, or the turn of the tide, Dick consented once more to drop back in his blanket. But, when he did get to sleep again, his dreams were of the glorious triumph that awaited them close at hand.
The last day dawned, and the camp was early astir. Breakfast was hastily eaten, the small amount of boat packing attended to, and after that a start was made.
To-day the paddles were seldom idle. Spurred on by the hope of reaching their goal before darkness again intervened, the men were only too willing to work their passage. The swift current might be very well under ordinary conditions, but on this particular day it proved all too slow for their eager hearts.
They glimpsed Indians several times, but, strange to say, none of them manifested the antagonistic manner of those they had seen earlier in their trip down the Lewis and the Columbia rivers.
Roger, who had noticed the change in the demeanor of the natives, wondered what was the cause of it, and as usual applied to Dick for his opinion.
“They are of the same tribe,” he remarked, “for by now I know the Flat Head way of wearing feathers in their scalp-locks. But they seem now to be afraid of us, for those in that dugout paddled frantically for the shore; and never an arrow comes our way now. Can you make it out, Dick?”
“The only thing I can think of,” Dick replied, “is that word has been sent out everywhere that the ‘paleface people’ in the hide canoes are under the protection of Manitou, and that no harm must be done to them.”
“Well,” observed Roger, with a happy smile, “if we’re going to be guarded by the Indian Manitou all winter, we needn’t be afraid of anything. When you come to think of it, Dick, that landslide was the greatest thing that ever happened to us. It held back just long enough to let us pass, and then swallowed our enemies up.”
Noon came and went.
The men were so eager now they hardly wished to land to have something to eat, though Captain Lewis insisted on it, for he knew they needed a rest.
Slowly the long afternoon passed, and, constantly on the move, the canoes swept along the current, urged by the muscles that seemed never to tire. Hope fought with a growing disappointment. Were they then, after all, to be cheated out of the anticipated triumph they had arranged for that night? Perish the thought! and, with that, the paddlers would dip deeper, and run a race to see which could hold the van.
The sun sank lower and lower, and every eye watched its race with almost the same anxiety as was shown when, centuries back, Joshua commanded the heavenly luminary to stand still in order that his army might wholly destroy the Philistines.
Dick and Roger concluded that, unless something happened inside of another hour, they would have to give up all hope of seeing the glad sight that day.
“We are about to turn a bend in the bank right below,” Dick told Roger, “and, if all is well, perhaps we may see what we are yearning to look upon.”
All possible speed was made in order to turn the point of land covered with trees, that jutted out into the river. Then from every throat arose a joyous shout that made the echoes ring. It was the very first white man’s hurrah that was ever heard on the western side of the great American continent, north of the isthmus, since time began.
There lay the mouth of the Columbia River, and, looking beyond, they could see the boundless expanse of the Pacific, with the sun, that had beckoned them on all these thousands of miles, setting in a red blaze of glory.
On the following day the flag of the United States floated from the green hills of Columbia Bay. And, when the adventurers had become thoroughly rested, they began to discuss the matter as to where they would stay during the coming winter.
Just what sort of severe weather they might expect none of them, of course, knew. In those early days nothing was understood with reference to the famous warm Japan ocean current, which does for the Pacific coast what the Gulf Stream accomplishes for much of our eastern shore, as well as for Europe.
So cabins were finally built, in which they hoped to keep fairly comfortable, and by degrees a supply of meat was laid, in for consumption during the winter, if the cold should be prolonged like a Canadian season.
They soon found that the Indians meant to be friendly, and all fear of trouble from this source was laid to rest. As the days and weeks crept on they explored some of the surrounding country, and even tried to make rude maps of it to show when they returned East.
Dick and Roger did their full share in everything that went on. Much of the meat that was dried that winter, in order to provide a supply on the return trip over the mountains and down the Missouri, fell before their guns.
They were also instrumental in helping to tan some of the skins to be used in making necessary clothing for the men. Having been almost two years on the trail, some of the members of the expedition were sadly in need of garments; and this well-tanned buckskin supplied the deficiency admirably, for in those pioneer days every man was his own tailor.
It would hardly be fitting here to try to tell the many things that occupied their attention as the winter months passed; but they were busy most of the time. To the surprise of all the weather never became severe. Snow they saw on the sides of the mountains, but, taken in all, they suffered very little from cold, a fact that astonished them very much.
Finally the spring came, and all eyes were eagerly turned toward the rising sun; for it was known that the time was now near at hand when they must start upon the return trip.
The ties that drew them all, men and boys, to the East were many and strong. Their hearts often swelled with emotion as they thought of those from whom they had been separated so many months.
“Why,” Roger was accustomed to saying, when he and his chum discussed the time of their departure, now close at hand, “I feel sure I will never know my little sister, Mary, when I see her again; she must be such a big girl by now. And as for your brother, Sam, you may find him able to give you a good tussle in a wrestle.”
Thus they often talked of their loved ones, but neither of the boys ever dared express the one dread fear that sometimes tugged at their heartstrings, which was that they might find some face missing in the family circle when they reached home again.
Toward the end of March, everything being favorable, they once more started up the broad Columbia, saying farewell to the place where they had passed such a contented winter. No serious illness had visited them, and all were very anxious to get started.
Reaching the village of the Nez Perces, they had no difficulty in claiming their horses, which had survived the winter. And, having made many presents to their red friends, the adventurers again set forth.
They had a faithful guide this time who showed them how to avoid some of the worst of the burning desert. The changed season of the year also aided them, so that, in the end, they reached in safety the lofty barrier that divided the continent.
Crossing the Rocky Mountains they proceeded to where they had left their companions, and were fortunate enough to find them safe and sound. It was a joyous reunion all around.
They had troubles with the Indians, though as a rule they found the red men inclined to be friendly; and, in return for medicine and services rendered, received many favors at the hands of the natives, including much-needed meat.
Once, among the Blackfeet, they were forced to make a hasty flight, when some of the thievish Indians tried to steal their horses; and in the mêlée a brave was shot, though the animals were saved.
When finally the Missouri was reached the party set to work to make new canoes, having by degrees lost their horses or traded them with the Indians for necessities. Captain Lewis knew that for the hundreds of miles they now had to traverse, boats would be far more preferable to horses, because the going was all downstream, with a swift current, the river being in its spring flood.
Some of the canoes they made themselves, others were purchased from the Indians; in this way enough were provided to carry the entire party.
Day after day they kept pushing resolutely down the great river, camping by night on the bank. The summer was already well along, and they knew it would be close to October before they could expect to make the village of St. Louis, the first settlement on their course.
It was just about the end of September when they did arrive, and the event created the most intense excitement ever known in that border post. Most people, who had seen the expedition set forth nearly two and a half years back, believed the brave captains and all with them had perished.
When Mayhew, the scout, had shown up, bearing the precious paper which meant so much to the Armstrongs, he had, of course, brought news; and it was known that the expedition had reached a place near the far distant headwaters of the Missouri; but since then weary months of waiting had ensued, with never a word, and hope beat but faintly in those fond hearts at home.
It was a joyous meeting. Roger could hardly believe the tall girl who threw her arms about his neck was his little sister, Mary; and as for Sam, he bade fair to soon look down on Dick, he was growing so fast.
Grandfather and Grandmother Armstrong were both there, hale and hearty, and mighty proud of their two sturdy grandsons, who had made that wonderful trip to the western sea in company with the President’s private secretary.
The whole country applauded the hardy men who had done this great feat, and with reason, for, as one account says:
“They were world conquerors in the best sense, in that they had blazed the way for thousands of sturdy homeseekers who soon followed in their wake, building homes, cities, manufacturing plants, railroads and telegraph lines where once had roamed the lordly bison, the herds of dun-colored antelope, the vast bodies of stately elk; and where, in the silence of the mountains and the forest the grizzly bear—monarch of the plains and the valleys—had moved in the peace and seclusion of the vast wilderness.”
In later years, after the original pioneers of the Armstrong family had been gathered to their fathers, the families scattered, as new things arose to lure some of the younger members further into the wide West.
They have settled, the newer generations of them, some in Oregon, along the mighty Columbia which Dick and Roger were among the first whites to see; others on wheat growing farms in Dakota, or else on cattle ranches in Montana; though there can still be found Armstrongs in St. Louis, proud to trace their ancestry back to those bold pioneers whose early history we have attempted to narrate in these volumes.
Jasper Williams often visited his young friends when he came to the growing settlement at the junction of the Missouri with the Mississippi. He lived to dandle the children of Dick and Roger on his knee, and tell them many of the exciting adventures which those two hold lads encountered when crossing the Great Divide with Lewis and Clark.
Nothing was ever heard of either Lascelles or Andrew Waller, and the boys never entertained a doubt but that the renegades met their fate in that strange landslide by which they had been precipitated into the Columbia.
And, since we have seen the safe return of the wanderers, and watched the happy ending of their great adventure, it is but right that we bring our story of early pioneer days to a close.
THE END
When the vast territory then known as Louisiana was purchased from the French Nation for fifteen million dollars, in the nineteenth century, no one knew what its extent was. It took in the country west of the Mississippi, from the Gulf below New Orleans; but what really lay to the far northwest was merely a conjecture.
President Jefferson was determined to know just what was included in this Louisiana Purchase, and it was mainly through his individual efforts that an expedition was organized with the purpose of exploring the country as far as the Pacific; for, of course, it was understood that the ocean bounded the land on the west.
His private secretary, Meriwether Lewis, was put in command of the party, with a military second, Captain Clark. What wonderful things they accomplished history has recorded. It was in the spring of 1804 that the expedition left St. Louis, and two years and a half expired before they returned to that border post, having successfully carried out their undertaking.
In those early pioneer days flint and steel were commonly brought into service when a fire was needed. So expert did the settlers and borderers become in the use of these that they thought little more of accomplishing the end they had in view than a Boy Scout of to-day does with the match. All they asked was a handful of dry tinder, and the ready spark quickly had a blaze going.
It was not so easy when the question of firing their guns was concerned. The flint was fastened to the heavy hammer, and, in falling, was supposed to strike the steel plate provided for this purpose, when a spark might be looked for. This, falling into the powder placed in the little cavity known as the “pan,” brought about the explosion. But, frequently, this small amount of powder would be jostled from its receptacle, and this would cause a failure at perhaps a most critical time. Many a settler in those days lost his life by just this accident; and frequent disappointments during a hunt for game could be traced to the same cause.
Contact with the natives made the early settlers quite proficient in deciphering Indian picture writing, so they were able to read fairly well many communications passing between parties of those who possibly might be reckoned their deadly enemies. This method of using crude designs to convey the sense of a communication, or even the history of a tribe or family, was often carried out by fanciful pictures decorating the skin of which the teepee was made. In such fashion many of the gallant deeds of the chief or warrior to whom the wigwam belonged were perpetuated.
Really, little common sense alone is needed to decipher most of these picture writings. Once the key had been found, they become as plain as print. Smoke stands for fires; the sun is easily seen on the horizon, or high above it, though toward the west, it may be; horses; deer with antlers; men walking, running, or crawling; and similar designs become plainly decipherable; and in this manner the story that is intended to be conveyed can be traced out.
It is an interesting study, and many who belong to Boy Scout troops have found considerable entertainment in pursuing the fascinating work.
Among all the Indian tribes found upon the North American Continent when the pioneers surged toward the setting sun, none has interested the historian so much as the Mandans, sometimes called the “White Indians,” because their skins differed so much from that of other tribes. All sorts of wild theories have been offered as an explanation of the wide difference existing between this tribe and others. It is true that they buried their dead as did the rest of the tribes west of the Mississippi, using scaffolds that the wolves might not get to the bodies; and there were many other habits that stamped them true Indians. At the same time historians, who had lived among them, find a similarity in many of their words and customs to the Welsh people; and it has always been believed by many that, long ago, a boat containing Welsh sailors was wrecked in the Gulf of Mexico after a tropical hurricane, and that, ascending the mighty river, the whites married into some Indian tribe, so that eventually the Mandans came into existence.
There have been other speculations, and it is very interesting to read about these various theories, and try to guess which one of them can be the true explanation; for that there must have been something remarkable about the origin of this tribe no one can deny. They were not as warlike as some of the tribes with whom they came in contact, such as the fierce Sioux; but at the same time it appears that they held their own in the numerous wars which followed an invasion by one tribe upon the hunting grounds of another.
Unfortunately the Mandans were utterly wiped out in later years by the great scourge of smallpox, which possibly may have been one of the unwelcome gifts brought to them by the palefaces.
In crossing the great plains that lie between the valley of the Mississippi and the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, it is in these days difficult to realize the tremendous changes that have taken place there during the last fifty or sixty years. Especially is this true with regard to animal life. Where to-day herds of long-horned cattle graze, or vast fields of nodding grain tell of the prosperous farmer, in those times uncounted numbers of great shaggy bison roamed.
According to many of the accounts that have come down to us from authentic sources, the sight of such a herd rolling past, as far as the eye could see, and for hour after hour, must have been a most impressive spectacle.
Where have they all gone? Up to then the needs of the Indians and the depredations of wild animals had made no impression on the incredible number of the herds; although the red men often drove hundreds of the big animals over some precipice, and took nothing but the tongues, to be dried as a delicacy.
The first serious inroad among the buffaloes occurred when the railroad was being pushed across the plains, and men like Cody, afterwards known as Buffalo Bill, were employed to slaughter the beasts in order to provide sufficient food for the thousands of workers. Then it began to be the thing for parties to set out and kill for the sake of the slaughter. The robes were also brought into use for sleighing and other purposes. But the advent of the repeating rifle signed the real death warrant for the bison of the plains. Then they rapidly dwindled to almost nothing. In place of the millions that once galloped north and south in the seasons there are to-day but one or two small herds, in the National Yellowstone Park or in private preserves. Like the once numerous wild pigeons called the passenger pigeons which existed in untold numbers, the buffaloes have had their day.
In the cabin of every pioneer family could always be seen rows of dried herbs fastened to the rafters. These as a rule were intended for medicinal purposes, most of them being brewed into tea, when sickness invaded the household, which was not often, since the active outdoor life, and the primitive food of the early settlers, made them an exceedingly hardy race.
Most housewives knew how to make ointments for sprains and healing by a clever admixture of these strong decoctions with bear’s fat, or, if they chanced to have it, pork lard, though in most cases pigs were unknown to frontier life, while a bear was always a possibility.
Many of those old remedies were fully as satisfactory as those of the modern druggist. They were pure, to begin with, and calculated not to serve as “cure-alls,” but each intended for a specific purpose. Indeed, it would seem as if in those days they counted on Nature’s taking hold and lending a helping hand. A simple remedy to break a fever was resorted to, and then careful nursing, as well as a good constitution, did the rest.
Before the Armstrong boys set out upon their trip it was only natural for their mothers to see that in their ditty bags they carried a supply of several of these standard remedies.
From the accounts that have been handed down to us, written by Captain Lewis himself, it appears that the explorers were awed and inspired by the wonderful scenery that lay before them on their way to the Great Divide. Rugged mountains were there, brown, steep, hemlock-clad. Deep game trails led through the tangled meshes of the forest, and in the sparkling rivulets the trout jumped at the floating gnats and other insects. Gorges and canyons had to be passed, where the howling waters raced in an apparent agony, and flute-like came the sound of the snow-cold water against the pebbly bottoms.
At night the scream of the mountain lion echoed across the silent valleys, while the bleat of the antelope could be heard upon the vast plains near the river-bed. Eagles soared above, peering disdainfully at the black specks of men beneath; and sage hens craned their necks at them, when they tramped from the river in search of game. Over all was the clear, pure air of that vast mountain plateau, which invigorates, stimulates, and makes one feel as if he had the strength of ten. Inspired and stimulated by the thought that they were making history, it is no wonder those men pressed steadily on, determined to view the gray waters of the fog-sheeted Pacific in the end.
One of the first things noticed by the members of the expedition, when they began to encounter the tribes living near the Rockies, was the fact that every warrior or chief who was looked up to as a brave man wore a necklace of terrible bears’ claws. This proved that the possessor had by his own individual prowess, and usually in an encounter at close quarters, succeeded in slaying one of those monster denizens of the wilds, afterwards known as grizzly bears.
There can be no doubt that this beast is by all odds the most savage and dreaded wild animal of the Western World. Indeed, there are those who say they would much rather meet a lion or a tiger in its native country than the grizzly bear. When an Indian, with his primitive weapons, and at the risk of his life, was able to take those claws, and string them about his neck, none could dispute his right to the title of a valiant man.
Those who have hunted big game under every sun are frank enough to say that if a grizzly bear could climb a tree like a panther, and get over ground as fast as a lion, he would stand without a peer as the most feared game to be found. In these modern days of the repeating rifle of large bore, and the exploding bullet, it is not very difficult to kill the monster; but every one who has seen a grizzly bear in his native haunts is willing to hold in honor those red hunters of the early times, who, armed only with hatchet and knife, deliberately sought an encounter, bent on proving their right to the name of warrior.
The Indians took toll of the big silver-sided salmon as they made their way up the Columbia to spawn. They used as a rule a primitive fish spear with which they were very expert.
There were always salmon to be found at the foot of the fall, or in shallow creeks that emptied into the big river, but, when the spring finally came, the fish would pass in from the sea in multitudes beyond reckoning, all eager to get up to the shallow waters where they could spawn.
Eye witnesses of undoubted veracity have described the scene where, in places, the multitude of these big fish was so great that they filled the stream with a solid mass.
Of course those days are past. In these times, when numerous canneries are operating along the river, and millions of tins of fish are put up every season, it could hardly be expected that the supply would continue in unlimited quantities. Though as yet there has been no serious inroad made, thanks to the action of the Federal Government, and the work of the active Fish Commissioners, who see to it that the fish wheels, by means of which catches are made, are regulated according to law. Still the sight of the untold numbers that greeted the eyes of the explorers on that early spring of 1806 has passed forever.
The fear sometimes felt by the explorers that the Indians were using poisoned arrows was not unfounded, since it was well known that some of the tribes resorted to this fiendish practice, with the flint-tipped weapons intended for war purposes.
Their usual way of making the arrows deadly was to find a healthy looking rattlesnake, and provoke him by thrusts from a long stick. When the reptile had become sufficiently furious, and was lunging madly, a piece of raw meat would be fastened to the end of the pole, and this he was coaxed to strike again and again, until it was well saturated with the green virus from his fangs.
When this infected meat had become a mass of poison, arrows were dipped in it, and allowed to dry. Once these entered the flesh of an enemy, as a rule his death was certain. Of course an entirely different lot of arrows would be used for hunting purposes, the deadly sort being kept only for war.
History however does not record many deaths from this source, so it must be taken for granted that, as a rule, the Indians disliked resorting to such a severe measure of defense. Possibly it did not appeal to them as exactly fair, and they were more than ready to measure their tomahawks and knives and spears, as well as their ordinary arrows, against the guns owned by the white men. Certainly no one of the Lewis and Clark party suffered from poisoned arrows during the long journey across the western country.
[1] The notes will be found at the end of the book.
[2] “The Pioneer Boys of the Missouri” and “The Pioneer Boys of the Yellowstone.”
[3] See “The Pioneer Boys on the Great Lakes.”
[4] See “The Pioneer Boys of the Missouri.”
[5] See “The Pioneer Boys of the Yellowstone.”