Route of Mr. Stuart- Dreary Wilds.- Thirsty Travelling.-A Grove and Streamlet.- The
Blue Mountains.- A Fertile Plain With Rivulets.- Sulphur Spring- Route Along Snake
River- Rumors of White Men.-The Snake and His Horse.- A Snake Guide.-A Midnight
Decampment.- Unexpected Meeting With Old Comrades- Story of Trappers' Hardships-
Salmon Falls- A Great Fishery.- Mode of Spearing Salmon.- Arrival at the Caldron
Linn.- State of the Caches. - New Resolution of the Three Kentucky Trappers.
IN retracing the route which had proved so disastrous to Mr. Hunt's party during the
preceding winter, Mr. Stuart had trusted, in the present more favorable season, to find
easy travelling and abundant supplies. On these great wastes and wilds, however,
each season has its peculiar hardships. The travellers had not proceeded far, before
they found themselves among naked and arid hills, with a soil composed of sand and
clay, baked and brittle, that to all appearance had never been visited by the dews of
Not a spring, or pool, or running stream was to be seen; the sunburnt country was
seamed and cut up by dry ravines, the beds of winter torrents, serving only to balk the
hopes of man and beast with the sight of dusty channels, where water had once poured
along in floods.
For a long summer day they continued onward without halting, a burning sky above
their heads, a parched desert beneath their feet, with just wind enough to raise the light
sand from the knolls, and envelop them in stifling clouds. The sufferings from thirst
became intense; a fine young dog, their only companion of the kind, gave out, and
expired. Evening drew on without any prospect of relief, and they were almost reduced
to despair, when they descried something that looked like a fringe of forest along the
horizon. All were inspired with new hope, for they knew that on these arid wastes, in the
neighborhood of trees, there is always water.
They now quickened their pace; the horses seemed to understand their motives, and to
partake of their anticipations; for, though before almost ready to give out, they now
required neither whip nor spur. With all their exertions, it was late in the night before
they drew near to the trees. As they approached, they heard, with transport, the rippling
of a shallow stream. No sooner did the refreshing sound reach the ears of the horse,
than the poor animals snuffed the air, rushed forward with ungovernable eagerness,
and plunging their muzzles into the water, drank until they seemed in danger of
bursting. Their riders had but little more discretion, and required repeated draughts to
quench their excessive thirst. Their weary march that day had been forty-five miles,
over a tract that might rival the deserts of Africa for aridity. Indeed, the sufferings of the
traveller on these American deserts is frequently more severe than in the wastes of
Africa or Asia, from being less habituated and prepared to cope with them.
On the banks of this blessed stream the travellers encamped for the night; and so great
had been their fatigue, and so sound and sweet was their sleep, that it was a late hour
the next morning before they awoke. They now recognized the little river to be the
Umatilla, the same on the banks of which Mr. Hunt and his followers had arrived after
their painful struggle through the Blue Mountains, and experienced such a kind relief in
the friendly camp of the Sciatogas.
That range of Blue Mountains now extended in the distance before them; they were the
same among which poor Michael Carriere had perished. They form the southeast
boundary of the great plains along the Columbia, dividing the waters of its main stream
from those of Lewis River. They are, in fact, a part of a long chain, which stretches over
a great extent of country, and includes in its links the Snake River Mountains.
The day was somewhat advanced before the travellers left the shady banks of the
Umatilla. Their route gradually took them among the Blue Mountains, which assumed
the most rugged aspect on a near approach. They were shagged with dense and
gloomy forests, and cut up by deep and precipitous ravines, extremely toilsome to the
horses. Sometimes the travellers had to follow the course of some brawling stream,
with a broken, rocky bed, which the shouldering cliffs and promontories on either side
obliged them frequently to cross and recross. For some miles they struggled forward
through these savage and darkly wooded defiles, when all at once the whole landscape
changed, as if by magic. The rude mountains and rugged ravines softened into
beautiful hills, and intervening meadows, with rivulets winding through fresh herbage,
and sparkling and murmuring over gravelly beds, the whole forming a verdant and
pastoral scene, which derived additional charms from being locked up in the bosom of
such a hard-hearted region.
Emerging from the chain of Blue Mountains, they descended upon a vast plain, almost
a dead level, sixty miles in circumference, Of excellent soil, with fine streams
meandering through it in every direction, their courses marked out in the wide
landscape by serpentine lines of cotton-wood trees, and willows, which fringed their
banks, and afforded sustenance to great numbers of beavers and otters.
In traversing this plain, they passed, close to the skirts of the hills, a great pool of
water, three hundred yards in circumference, fed by a sulphur spring, about ten feet in
diameter, boiling up in one corner. The vapor from this pool was extremely noisome,
and tainted the air for a considerable distance. The place was much frequented by elk,
which were found in considerable numbers in the adjacent mountains, and their horns,
shed in the spring-time, were strewed in every direction around the pond.
On the 10th of August, they reached the main body of Woodvile Creek, the same
stream which Mr. Hunt had ascended in the preceding year, shortly after his separation
from Mr. Crooks.
On the banks of this stream they saw a herd of nineteen antelopes; a sight so unusual
in that part of the country, that at first they doubted the evidence of their senses. They
tried by every means to get within shot of them, but they were too shy and fleet, and
after alternately bounding to a distance, and then stopping to gaze with capricious
curiosity at the hunter, they at length scampered out of sight.
On the 12th of August, the travellers arrived on the banks of Snake River, the scene of
so many trials and mishaps to all of the present party excepting Mr. Stuart. They struck
the river just above the place where it entered the mountains, through which Messrs.
Stuart and Crooks had vainly endeavored to find a passage. The river was here a rapid
stream, four hundred yards in width, with high sandy banks, and here and there a
scanty growth of willow. Up the southern side of the river they now bent their course,
intending to visit the caches made by Mr. Hunt at the Caldron Linn.
On the second evening, a solitary Snake Indian visited their camp, at a late hour, and
informed them that there was a white man residing at one of the cantonments of his
tribe, about a day's journey higher up the river. It was immediately concluded that he
must be one of the poor fellows of Mr. Hunt's party, who had given out, exhausted by
hunger and fatigue, in the wretched journey of the preceding winter. All present who
had borne a part in the sufferings of that journey, were eager now to press forward, and
bring relief to a lost comrade. Early the next morning, therefore, they pushed forward
with unusual alacrity. For two days, however, did they travel without being able to find
any trace of such a straggler.
On the evening of the second day, they arrived at a place where a large river came in
from the east, which was renowned among all the wandering hordes of the Snake
nation for its salmon fishery, that fish being taken in incredible quantities in this
neighborhood. Here, therefore, during the fishing season, the Snake Indians resort
from far and near, to lay in their stock of salmon, which, with esculent roots, forms the
principal food of the inhabitants of these barren regions.
On the bank of a small stream emptying into Snake River at this place, Mr. Stuart found
an encampment of Shoshonies. He made the usual inquiry of them concerning the
white man of whom he had received intelligence. No such person was dwelling among
them, but they said there were white men residing with some of their nation on the
opposite side of the river. This was still more animating information. Mr. Crooks now
hoped that these might be the men of his party, who, disheartened by perils and
hardships, had preferred to remain among the Indians. Others thought they might be
Mr. Miller and the hunters who had left the main body at Henry's Fort, to trap among the
mountain streams. Mr. Stuart halted, therefore, in the neighborhood of the Shoshonie
lodges, and sent an Indian across the river to seek out the white men in question, and
bring them to his camp.
The travellers passed a restless, miserable night. The place swarmed with myriads of
mosquitoes, which, with their stings and their music, set all sleep at defiance. The
morning dawn found them in a feverish, irritable mood, and their spleen was completely
aroused by the return of the Indian without any intelligence of the white men. They now
considered themselves the dupes of Indian falsehoods, and resolved to put no more
confidence in Snakes. They soon, however, forgot this resolution. In the course of the
morning, an Indian came galloping after them; Mr. Stuart waited to receive him; no
sooner had he come up, than, dismounting and throwing his arms around the neck of
Mr. Stuart's horse, he began to kiss and caress the animal, who, on his part, seemed
by no means surprised or displeased with his salutation. Mr. Stuart, who valued his
horse highly, was somewhat annoyed by these transports; the cause of them was soon
explained. The Snake said the horse had belonged to him, and been the best in his
possession, and that it had been stolen by the Wallah-Wallahs. Mr. Stuart was by no
means pleased with this recognition of his steed, nor disposed to admit any claim on
the part of its ancient owner. In fact, it was a noble animal, admirably shaped, of free
and generous spirit, graceful in movement, and fleet as an antelope. It was his
intention, if possible, to take the horse to New York, and present him to Mr. Astor.
In the meantime, some of the party came up, and immediately recognized in the Snake
an old friend and ally. He was, in fact, one of the two guides who had conducted Mr.
Hunt's party, in the preceding autumn, across Mad River Mountain to Fort Henry, and
who subsequently departed with Mr. Miller and his fellow trappers, to conduct them to a
good trapping ground. The reader may recollect that these two trusty Snakes were
engaged by Mr. Hunt to return and take charge of the horses which the party intended
to leave at Fort Henry, when they should embark in canoes.
The party now crowded round the Snake, and began to question him with eagerness.
His replies were somewhat vague, and but partially understood. He told a long story
about the horses, from which it appeared that they had been stolen by various
wandering bands, and scattered in different directions. The cache, too, had been
plundered, and the saddles and other equipments carried off. His information
concerning Mr. Miller and his comrades was not more satisfactory. They had trapped
for some time about the upper streams, but had fallen into the hands of a marauding
party of Crows, who had robbed them of horses, weapons, and everything.
Further questioning brought forth further intelligence, but all of a disastrous kind. About
ten days previously, he had met with three other white men, in very miserable plight,
having one horse each, and but one rifle among them. They also had been plundered
and maltreated by the Crows, those universal freebooters. The Snake endeavored to
pronounce the names of these three men, and as far as his imperfect sounds could be
understood, they were supposed to be three of the party of four hunters, namely,
Carson, St. Michael, Detaye, and Delaunay, who were detached from Mr. Hunt's party
on the 28th of September, to trap beaver on the head waters of the Columbia.
In the course of conversation, the Indian informed them that the route by which Mr.
Hunt had crossed the Rocky Mountains was very bad and circuitous, and that he knew
one much shorter and easier. Mr. Stuart urged him to accompany them as guide,
promising to reward him with a pistol with powder and ball, a knife, an awl, some blue
beads, a blanket, and a looking-glass. Such a catalogue of riches was too tempting to
be resisted; besides the poor Snake languished after the prairies; he was tired, he said,
of salmon, and longed for buffalo meat, and to have a grand buffalo hunt beyond the
mountains. He departed, therefore, with all speed, to get his arms and equipments for
the journey, promising to rejoin the party the next day. He kept his word, and, as he no
longer said anything to Mr. Stuart on the subject of the pet horse, they journeyed very
harmoniously together; though now and then, the Snake would regard his quondam
steed with a wistful eye.
They had not travelled many miles, when they came to a great bend in the river. Here
the Snake informed them that, by cutting across the hills they would save many miles of
distance. The route across, however, would be a good day's journey. He advised them,
therefore, to encamp here for the night, and set off early in the morning. They took his
advice, though they had come but nine miles that day.
On the following morning they rose, bright and early, to ascend the hills. On mustering
their little party, the guide was missing. They supposed him to be somewhere in the
neighborhood, and proceeded to collect the horses. The vaunted steed of Mr. Stuart
was not to be found. A suspicion flashed upon his mind. Search for the horse of the
Snake! He likewise was gone -- the tracks of two horses, one after the other, were
found, making off from the camp. They appeared as if one horse had been mounted,
and the other led. They were traced for a few miles above the camp, until they both
crossed the river. It was plain the Snake had taken an Indian mode of recovering his
horse, having quietly decamped with him in the night.
New vows were made never more to trust in Snakes, or any other Indians. It was
determined, also, to maintain, hereafter, the strictest vigilance over their horses,
dividing the night into three watches, and one person mounting guard at a time. They
resolved, also, to keep along the river, instead of taking the short cut recommended by
the fugitive Snake, whom they now set down for a thorough deceiver. The heat of the
weather was oppressive, and their horses were, at times, rendered almost frantic by the
stings of the prairie flies. The nights were suffocating, and it was almost impossible to
sleep, from the swarms of mosquitoes.
On the 20th of August they resumed their march, keeping along the prairie parallel to
Snake River. The day was sultry, and some of the party, being parched with thirst, left
the line of march, and scrambled down the bank of the river to drink. The bank was
overhung with willows, beneath which, to their surprise, they beheld a man fishing. No
sooner did he see them, than he uttered an exclamation of joy. It proved to be John
Hoback, one of their lost comrades. They had scarcely exchanged greetings, when
three other men came out from among the willows. They were Joseph Miller, Jacob
Rezner, and Robinson, the scalped Kentuckian, the veteran of the Bloody Ground.
The reader will perhaps recollect the abrupt and willful manner in which Mr. Miller threw
up his interest as a partner of the company, and departed from Fort Henry, in company
with these three trappers, and a fourth, named Cass. He may likewise recognize in
Robinson, Rezner, and Hoback, the trio of Kentucky hunters who had originally been in
the service of Mr. Henry, and whom Mr. Hunt found floating down the Missouri, on their
way homeward; and prevailed upon, once more, to cross the mountains. The haggard
looks and naked condition of these men proved how much they had suffered. After
leaving Mr. Hunt's party, they had made their way about two hundred miles to the
southward, where they trapped beaver on a river which, according to their account,
discharged itself into the ocean to the south of the Columbia, but which we apprehend
to be Bear River, a stream emptying itself into Lake Bonneville, an immense body of
salt water, west of the Rocky Mountains.
Having collected a considerable quantity of beaver skins, they made them into packs,
loaded their horses, and steered two hundred miles due east. Here they came upon an
encampment of sixty lodges of Arapahays, an outlawed band of the Arrapahoes, and
notorious robbers. These fell upon the poor trappers; robbed them of their peltries,
most of their clothing, and several of their horses. They were glad to escape with their
lives, and without being entirely stripped, and after proceeding about fifty miles further,
made their halt for the winter.
Early in the spring they resumed their wayfaring, but were unluckily overtaken by the
same ruffian horde, who levied still further contributions, and carried off the remainder
of their horses, excepting two. With these they continued on, suffering the greatest
hardships. They still retained rifles and ammunition, but were in a desert country, where
neither bird nor beast was to be found. Their only chance was to keep along the rivers,
and subsist by fishing; but at times no fish were to be taken, and then their sufferings
were horrible. One of their horses was stolen among the mountains by the Snake
Indians; the other, they said, was carried off by Cass, who, according to their account,
"villainously left them in their extremities." Certain dark doubts and surmises were
afterwards circulated concerning the fate of that poor fellow, which, if true, showed to
what a desperate state of famine his comrades had been reduced.
Being now completely unhorsed, Mr. Miller and his three companions wandered on foot
for several hundred miles, enduring hunger, thirst, and fatigue, while traversing the
barren wastes which abound beyond the Rocky Mountains. At the time they were
discovered by Mr. Stuart's party, they were almost famished, and were fishing for a
precarious meal. Had Mr. Stuart made the short cut across the hills, avoiding this bend
of the river, or had not some of his party accidentally gone down to the margin of the
stream to drink, these poor wanderers might have remained undiscovered, and have
perished in the wilderness. Nothing could exceed their joy on thus meeting with their
old comrades, or the heartiness with which they were welcomed. All hands immediately
encamped; and the slender stores of the party were ransacked to furnish out a suitable
The next morning they all set out together; Mr. Miller and his comrades being resolved
to give up the life of a trapper, and accompany Mr. Stuart back to St. Louis.
For several days they kept along the course of Snake River, occasionally making short
cuts across hills and promontories, where there were bends in the stream. In their way
they passed several camps of Shoshonies, from some of whom they procured salmon,
but in general they were too wretchedly poor to furnish anything. It was the wish of Mr.
Stuart to purchase horses for the recent recruits of his party; but the Indians could not
be prevailed upon to part with any, alleging that they had not enough for their own use.
On the 25th of August they reached a great fishing place, to which they gave the name
of the Salmon Falls. Here there is a perpendicular fall of twenty feet on the north side of
the river, while on the south side there is a succession of rapids. The salmon are taken
here in incredible quantities, as they attempt to shoot the falls. It was now a favorable
season, and there were about one hundred lodges of Shoshonies busily engaged
killing and drying fish. The salmon begin to leap shortly after sunrise. At this time the
Indians swim to the centre of the falls, where some station themselves on rocks, and
others stand to their waists in the water, all armed with spears, with which they assail
the salmon as they attempt to leap, or fall back exhausted. It is an incessant slaughter,
so great is the throng of the fish.
The construction of the spears thus used is peculiar. The head is a straight piece of elk
horn, about seven inches long, on the point of which an artificial barb is made fast, with
twine well gummed. The head is stuck on the end of the shaft, a very long pole of
willow, to which it is likewise connected by a strong cord, a few inches in length. When
the spearsman makes a sure blow, he often strikes the head of the spear through the
body of the fish. It comes off easily, and leaves the salmon struggling with the string
through its body, while the pole is still held by the spearsman. Were it not for the
precaution of the string, the willow shaft would be snapped by the struggles and the
weight of the fish. Mr. Miller, in the course of his wanderings, had been at these falls,
and had seen several thousand salmon taken in the course of one afternoon. He
declared that he had seen a salmon leap a distance of about thirty feet, from the
commencement of the foam at the foot of the falls, completely to the top.
Having purchased a good supply of salmon from the fishermen, the party resumed their
journey, and on the twenty-ninth, arrived at the Caldron Linn, the eventful scene of the
preceding autumn. Here, the first thing that met their eyes was a memento of the
perplexities of that period; the wreck of a canoe lodged between two ledges of rocks.
They endeavored to get down to it, but the river banks were too high and precipitous.
They now proceeded to that part of the neighborhood where Mr. Hunt and his party had
made the caches, intending to take from them such articles as belonged to Mr. Crooks,
M'Lellan, and the Canadians. On reaching the spot, they found, to their astonishment,
six of the caches open and rifled of their contents, excepting a few books which lay
scattered about the vicinity. They had the appearance of having been plundered in the
course of the summer. There were tracks of wolves in every direction, to and from the
holes, from which Mr. Stuart concluded that these animals had first been attracted to
the place by the smell of the skins contained in the caches, which they had probably
torn up, and that their tracks had betrayed the secret to the Indians.
The three remaining caches had not been molested; they contained a few dry goods,
some ammunition, and a number of beaver traps. From these Mr. Stuart took whatever
was requisite for his party; he then deposited within them all his superfluous baggage,
and all the books and papers scattered around; the holes were then carefully closed
up, and all traces of them effaced. And here we have to record another instance of the
indomitable spirit of the western trappers. No sooner did the trio of Kentucky hunters,
Robinson, Rezner, and Hoback, find that they could once more be fitted out for a
campaign of beaver-trapping, than they forgot all that they had suffered, and
determined upon another trial of their fortunes; preferring to take their chance in the
wilderness, rather than return home ragged and penniless. As to Mr. Miller, he declared
his curiosity and his desire of travelling through the Indian countries fully satisfied; he
adhered to his determination, therefore, to keep on with the party to St. Louis, and to
return to the bosom of civilized society.
The three hunters, therefore, Robinson, Rezner, and Hoback, were furnished, as far as
the caches and the means of Mr. Stuart's party afforded, with the requisite munitions
and equipments for a "two years' hunt;" but as their fitting out was yet incomplete, they
resolved to wait in this neighborhood until Mr. Reed should arrive; whose arrival might
soon be expected, as he was to set out for the caches about twenty days after Mr.
Stuart parted with him at the Wallah-Wallah River.
Mr. Stuart gave in charge to Robinson a letter to Mr. Reed, reporting his safe journey
thus far, and the state in which he had found the caches. A duplicate of this letter he
elevated on a pole, and set it up near the place of deposit.
All things being thus arranged, Mr. Stuart and his little band, now seven in number,
took leave of the three hardy trappers, wishing them all possible success in their lonely
and perilous sojourn in the wilderness; and we, in like manner, shall leave them to their
fortunes, promising to take them up again at some future page, and to close the story of
their persevering and ill-fated enterprise.