Set off to return—Battle of buffaloes—Fort Clark—Arrival at St. Louis

By this time, the curiosity which first prompted me to undertake this voyage, being amply gratified, I began to feel a strong desire of returning to civilized pursuits. My habits were not formed to this wild, irregular existence, and I began to wish for a return with much anxiety. Lisa was disposed to second my wishes; he had resolved to load with skins two of the boats purchased from Hunt, to put six men in each, and to give me the command of them. Mr. Bradbury gladly embraced this opportunity of returning, and put on board all his boxes of plants and his collection of specimens. About the last of July, with joyful hearts, we bid adieu to the village of Arikara. Lisa gave me particular directions not to stop on account of any Indians, and if possible, to go day and night. The river was now extremely {195} high, and with six oars, we were able to make little short of twelve miles an hour.

The first day, weather uncommonly fine, we passed the Chienne river, and continued under way sometime after night; but considering this not altogether safe, we thought it prudent to lie by until daylight. Early the next morning we reached the great bend. Vast numbers of buffaloes were seen at both sides; as this was near the season when the bulls seek the society of the cows, for at other times they are never seen in the same herd; the most tremendous bellowing was heard on every side. The country, from the Mandan villages thus far, about four hundred miles, is beautiful, and the soil of the river bottoms rich. The proportion of wood is about the same as would be suffered to remain if the land were in the highest state of cultivation: but the upland is entirely bare, and the traveller might go many miles before he would come to another stream where any but dwarf trees or shrubs might be seen. The wind rising, we were compelled to remain in the bend during the whole afternoon. On the N. E. side, the river is lined for the whole distance, by bluffs, nearly bare, {196} and cut up into numerous gullies; cherries, currants, gooseberries, and dwarf plum trees, are seen along the shore. On the S. W. side, there is a tract of bottom land the whole way, and better wooded than any between this and the Mandan village. The islands, which are met with at the distance of every few miles, are all surrounded by cedar or cotton-wood, but the inside are meadows.

The next day we passed the White river, which appears to be about the size of the Chienne, each of which is as large as the Alleghany or Monongahela, and navigable to a great distance. No doubt, in time, towns will be built at the confluence of those rivers, as is the case on the Ohio at this day. With Mr. Bradbury, I amused myself in making remarks upon the appearance of different spots, as we glided rapidly past them; seated on the stern of the boat from morning till night, we had no other mode of passing the time. At no great distance below White river, the Black bluffs begin—a barren and miserable country for nearly an hundred miles along the river: there are scarcely any bottoms, and the bluffs in most places without even a covering of {197} grass. What the country may be, at some distance from the river, I do not know; but certainly as it respects the margin of the stream, I see no likelihood of any settlements ever being formed along it; there must consequently be a hiatus between the settlements which may hereafter be made above, and those below. Yet we contemplated this part of the country with much pleasure, for its wild and romantic appearance. Descending in the middle of the river, we had a much better view than when we came up, being then compelled by the swiftness of the current to choose either one side or the other. In some places, the hills rose to the height of mountains; nothing was wanting but some old ruined castles, to complete the sombre, yet magnificent amphitheatric landscapes. It contributed much to our amusement, to observe the herds of buffaloe, ascending and descending by a winding path.

Towards evening the sky became dark and lowering, the hollow sounding wind, and the feeble distant flashes of lightning, with a frightful redness around the edges of the horizon, foretold an approaching storm. Our oarsmen {198} exerted themselves to their utmost, to reach some woody point, behind which we might seek a shelter. But in vain—the bleak and dreary bluffs continued on each side, and the lurid darkness of the coming storm was fast obscuring what remained of daylight. It was thought prudent to land in a little recess of the bluffs, the best the moment would permit us to choose; but the wind had full scope, as we were in the midst of a long reach. We were not long in suspense. The flashes of lightning became every moment more vivid, and the thunder, in tremendous peals, seemed to shake the earth. A dreadful gale ensued, which threatened every moment to dash our little barques to pieces, or whelm them in the waves: and called forth our utmost exertions to preserve them. For nearly an hour, it was found necessary to hold our blankets to the sides of the boats, to prevent them from filling. Our strength was almost exhausted with fatigue, when the violence of the wind abated, and was succeeded by a heavy rain, which poured upon us the whole night. Had our boats sunk we should have lost every thing, and most probably have perished. For myself, I was accustomed {199} to these things; but I felt for my friend Bradbury. Poor old man, the exposure was much greater than one of his years could well support. His amiable ardor in the pursuit of knowledge, did not permit him for a moment to think of his advanced age; and wherever he may be, (for I have not heard from him for several years,) he carries with him the warmest wishes of my heart.

The next day we passed the Poncas village. The inhabitants had gone into the plains. In the evening when within a few miles of a point above the isle a Bon homme, our ears were assailed by a murmuring noise. As we drew near it grew to a tremendous roaring, such as to deafen us. On landing we discovered the grove crowded with buffaloe, the greater part engaged in furious combat—the air filled with their dreadful bellowing. A more frightful sight cannot easily be imagined. Conceive several thousand of these furious animals, roaring and rushing upon each other, producing a scene of horror, confusion, and fierceness, like the fight of armies: the earth trembled beneath their feet, the air was deafened, and the grove was shaken with the shock of {200} their tremendous battle. I am conscious that with many, I run the risk of being thought to indulge in romance, in consequence of this account: but with those who are informed of the astonishing number of the buffaloe, it will not be considered incredible. We soon discovered that a herd of males had broken in amongst a number of females and that these were the cause of a conflict, which raged with unparallelled fury. We fired amongst them but without producing much effect; we then embarked and proceeded on our voyage. On the hills in every direction they appeared by thousands. Late in the evening we saw an immense herd in motion along the sides of the hill, at full speed: their appearance had something in it, which, without incurring ridicule, I might call sublime—the sound of their footsteps, even at the distance of two miles, resembled the rumbling of distant thunder.

The next morning great numbers of buffaloe were seen swimming the river, we frequently steered amongst them, and fired on them through wantonness, which I could not restrain, however blameable. The weather was delightful, and we had an extraordinary {201} run of one hundred and forty-two miles from daylight till dark. In the evening we passed the grave of Floyd, and for a moment we thought it proper to

At the Maha village we found no one. This was not disagreeable to us, as we supposed the Big Elk, who is a chief of great celebrity, would not be disposed to treat us well, in consequence of the neglect to pay him our respects in ascending. From the Poncas to the Mahas, the bottoms are wider, and better wooded than above, but the upland much the same. We found the lowlands almost every where under water—were in consequence compelled this evening to encamp on some drift wood. It was dangerous to proceed after night on account of the number of trees fixed in the bottom of the river, and besides in almost every bend there were a number which had fallen in: even in the day time there was frequently great difficulty in passing along, we several times narrowly escaped being dashed to pieces. The arks, or flat boats, in use on the Ohio and {202} Mississippi, could not possibly navigate this river.

The following day we passed the Blackbird hill, and the river Platte. The navigation in this part is much more dangerous than above, from the number of trees fixed in the bottom. The bottoms are also much wider, and better wooded; in some places for twenty miles and upwards, we were out of sight of the high lands: but the low grounds were every where inundated. The water rushed into the woods with great velocity, and in bends it poured over the gorge into the river again; a sheet of water sometimes for a mile, flowed over the bank, forming singular cascades of eighteen inches in height.

In something more than two days afterwards, we arrived at Fort Clark, having come a thousand miles in eight or nine days, without meeting a living soul. Here we were treated politely by the officers. Mr. Sibly, the factor, had returned but a few days before, from a journey to the interior, and shewed us specimens of salt, which he had procured at the salines, on the Arkansas.

{203} We arrived at St. Louis early in August, having made fourteen hundred and forty miles in little better than fourteen days. Here we experienced all the pleasure of a safe return after an absence of nearly five months. I was much gratified with my excursion and if there be any thing in this rude and hasty diary, to please my friends, that gratification will be more than doubled.

About the latter end of October, Lisa returned to St. Louis. Mr. Henry had joined him at the Arikara village, having passed the mountains early in the spring, and having encountered incredible sufferings and dangers. Lisa had left trading establishments with the Sioux, below the Cedar island, as well as with the Mandans, and Arikaras. Mr. Nuttal, who had chosen to remain sometime longer with Lisa, had also returned.

The party of Mr. Hunt had set off for its destination on the Columbia.

{204} This immense tract of country has now become the theatre of American enterprise. There prevails amongst the natives west of the mountains, a spirit of wild adventure, which reminds us of the fictitious characters of Ariosto. The American hunters constitute a class, different from any people known to the east of the mountains. The life which they lead is exceedingly fascinating. Their scene ever changing—ever presenting something new. Confined by no regular pursuit—their labor is amusement. I have called the region watered by the Missouri and its tributaries, THE PARADISE OF HUNTERS; it is indeed to them a paradise. I have been acquainted with several, who, on returning to the settlements, became in a very short time dissatisfied, and wandered away to these regions, as delightful to them, as are the regions of fancy to the poet.

[53] For a representation of painted robes, see Smithsonian Report, 1885, part ii, pp. 397-406. On picture-writing in general, consult Mallery, “Picture-Writing of American Indians,” Bureau of Ethnology Report, 1888-89.—Ed.