HAVING FORDED WIND RIVER a little above its mouth, Captain Bonneville and his
three companions proceeded across a gravelly plain, until they fell upon the Popo Agie,
up the left bank of which they held their course, nearly in a southerly direction. Here
they came upon numerous droves of buffalo, and halted for the purpose of procuring a
supply of beef. As the hunters were stealing cautiously to get within shot of the game,
two small white bears suddenly presented themselves in their path, and, rising upon
their hind legs, contemplated them for some time with a whimsically solemn gaze. The
hunters remained motionless; whereupon the bears, having apparently satisfied their
curiosity, lowered themselves upon all fours, and began to withdraw. The hunters now
advanced, upon which the bears turned, rose again upon their haunches, and repeated
their serio-comic examination. This was repeated several times, until the hunters,
piqued at their unmannerly staring, rebuked it with a discharge of their rifles. The bears
made an awkward bound or two, as if wounded, and then walked off with great gravity,
seeming to commune together, and every now and then turning to take another look at
the hunters. It was well for the latter that the bears were but half grown, and had not yet
acquired the ferocity of their kind.
The buffalo were somewhat startled at the report of the firearms; but the hunters
succeeded in killing a couple of fine cows, and, having secured the best of the meat,
continued forward until some time after dark, when, encamping in a large thicket of
willows, they made a great fire, roasted buffalo beef enough for half a score, disposed
of the whole of it with keen relish and high glee, and then "turned in" for the night and
slept soundly, like weary and well fed hunters.
At daylight they were in the saddle again, and skirted along the river, passing through
fresh grassy meadows, and a succession of beautiful groves of willows and cotton-wood. Toward
evening, Captain Bonneville observed a smoke at a distance rising from
among hills, directly in the route he was pursuing. Apprehensive of some hostile band,
he concealed the horses in a thicket, and, accompanied by one of his men, crawled
cautiously up a height, from which he could overlook the scene of danger. Here, with a
spy-glass, he reconnoitred the surrounding country, but not a lodge nor fire, not a man,
horse, nor dog, was to be discovered; in short, the smoke which had caused such
alarm proved to be the vapor from several warm, or rather hot springs of considerable
magnitude, pouring forth streams in every direction over a bottom of white clay. One of
the springs was about twenty-five yards in diameter, and so deep that the water was of
a bright green color.
They were now advancing diagonally upon the chain of Wind River Mountains, which
lay between them and Green River valley. To coast round their southern points would
be a wide circuit; whereas, could they force their way through them, they might proceed
in a straight line. The mountains were lofty, with snowy peaks and cragged sides; it was
hoped, however, that some practicable defile might be found. They attempted,
accordingly, to penetrate the mountains by following up one of the branches of the
Popo Agie, but soon found themselves in the midst of stupendous crags and precipices
that barred all progress. Retracing their steps, and falling back upon the river, they
consulted where to make another attempt. They were too close beneath the mountains
to scan them generally, but they now recollected having noticed, from the plain, a
beautiful slope rising, at an angle of about thirty degrees, and apparently without any
break, until it reached the snowy region. Seeking this gentle acclivity, they began to
ascend it with alacrity, trusting to find at the top one of those elevated plains which
prevail among the Rocky Mountains. The slope was covered with coarse gravel,
interspersed with plates of freestone. They attained the summit with some toil, but
found, instead of a level, or rather undulating plain, that they were on the brink of a
deep and precipitous ravine, from the bottom of which rose a second slope, similar to
the one they had just ascended. Down into this profound ravine they made their way by
a rugged path, or rather fissure of the rocks, and then labored up the second slope.
They gained the summit only to find themselves on another ravine, and now perceived
that this vast mountain, which had presented such a sloping and even side to the
distant beholder on the plain, was shagged by frightful precipices, and seamed with
longitudinal chasms, deep and dangerous.
In one of these wild dells they passed the night, and slept soundly and sweetly after
their fatigues. Two days more of arduous climbing and scrambling only served to admit
them into the heart of this mountainous and awful solitude; where difficulties increased
as they proceeded. Sometimes they scrambled from rock to rock, up the bed of some
mountain stream, dashing its bright way down to the plains; sometimes they availed
themselves of the paths made by the deer and the mountain sheep, which, however,
often took them to the brinks of fearful precipices, or led to rugged defiles, impassable
for their horses. At one place, they were obliged to slide their horses down the face of a
rock, in which attempt some of the poor animals lost their footing, rolled to the bottom,
and came near being dashed to pieces.
In the afternoon of the second day, the travellers attained one of the elevated valleys
locked up in this singular bed of mountains. Here were two bright and beautiful little
lakes, set like mirrors in the midst of stern and rocky heights, and surrounded by grassy
meadows, inexpressibly refreshing to the eye. These probably were among the sources
of those mighty streams which take their rise among these mountains, and wander
hundreds of miles through the plains.
In the green pastures bordering upon these lakes, the travellers halted to repose, and
to give their weary horses time to crop the sweet and tender herbage. They had now
ascended to a great height above the level of the plains, yet they beheld huge crags of
granite piled one upon another, and beetling like battlements far above them. While
two of the men remained in the camp with the horses, Captain Bonneville,
accompanied by the other men [man], set out to climb a neighboring height, hoping to
gain a commanding prospect, and discern some practicable route through this
stupendous labyrinth. After much toil, he reached the summit of a lofty cliff, but it was
only to behold gigantic peaks rising all around, and towering far into the snowy regions
of the atmosphere. Selecting one which appeared to be the highest, he crossed a
narrow intervening valley, and began to scale it. He soon found that he had undertaken
a tremendous task; but the pride of man is never more obstinate than when climbing
mountains. The ascent was so steep and rugged that he and his companion were
frequently obliged to clamber on hands and knees, with their guns slung upon their
backs. Frequently, exhausted with fatigue, and dripping with perspiration, they threw
themselves upon the snow, and took handfuls of it to allay their parching thirst. At one
place, they even stripped off their coats and hung them upon the bushes, and thus
lightly clad, proceeded to scramble over these eternal snows. As they ascended still
higher, there were cool breezes that refreshed and braced them, and springing with
new ardor to their task, they at length attained the summit.
Here a scene burst upon the view of Captain Bonneville, that for a time astonished and
overwhelmed him with its immensity. He stood, in fact, upon that dividing ridge which
Indians regard as the crest of the world; and on each side of which, the landscape may
be said to decline to the two cardinal oceans of the globe. Whichever way he turned his
eye, it was confounded by the vastness and variety of objects. Beneath him, the Rocky
Mountains seemed to open all their secret recesses: deep, solemn valleys; treasured
lakes; dreary passes; rugged defiles, and foaming torrents; while beyond their savage
precincts, the eye was lost in an almost immeasurable landscape; stretching on every
side into dim and hazy distance, like the expanse of a summer's sea. Whichever way
he looked, he beheld vast plains glimmering with reflected sunshine; mighty streams
wandering on their shining course toward either ocean, and snowy mountains, chain
beyond chain, and peak beyond peak, till they melted like clouds into the horizon. For a
time, the Indian fable seemed realized: he had attained that height from which the
Blackfoot warrior, after death, first catches a view of the land of souls, and beholds the
happy hunting grounds spread out below him, brightening with the abodes of the free
and generous spirits. The captain stood for a long while gazing upon this scene, lost in
a crowd of vague and indefinite ideas and sensations. A long-drawn inspiration at
length relieved him from this enthralment of the mind, and he began to analyze the
parts of this vast panorama. A simple enumeration of a few of its features may give
some idea of its collective grandeur and magnificence.
The peak on which the captain had taken his stand commanded the whole Wind River
chain; which, in fact, may rather be considered one immense mountain, broken into
snowy peaks and lateral spurs, and seamed with narrow valleys. Some of these valleys
glittered with silver lakes and gushing streams; the fountain heads, as it were, of the
mighty tributaries to the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Beyond the snowy peaks, to the
south, and far, far below the mountain range, the gentle river, called the Sweet Water,
was seen pursuing its tranquil way through the rugged regions of the Black Hills. In the
east, the head waters of Wind River wandered through a plain, until, mingling in one
powerful current, they forced their way through the range of Horn Mountains, and were
lost to view. To the north were caught glimpses of the upper streams of the
Yellowstone, that great tributary of the Missouri. In another direction were to be seen
some of the sources of the Oregon, or Columbia, flowing to the northwest, past those
towering landmarks the Three Tetons, and pouring down into the great lava plain;
while, almost at the captain's feet, the Green River, or Colorado of the West, set forth
on its wandering pilgrimage to the Gulf of California; at first a mere mountain torrent,
dashing northward over a crag and precipice, in a succession of cascades, and
tumbling into the plain where, expanding into an ample river, it circled away to the
south, and after alternately shining out and disappearing in the mazes of the vast
landscape, was finally lost in a horizon of mountains. The day was calm and cloudless,
and the atmosphere so pure that objects were discernible at an astonishing distance.
The whole of this immense area was inclosed by an outer range of shadowy peaks,
some of them faintly marked on the horizon, which seemed to wall it in from the rest of
the earth.
It is to be regretted that Captain Bonneville had no instruments with him with which to
ascertain the altitude of this peak. He gives it as his opinion that it is the loftiest point of
the North American continent; but of this we have no satisfactory proof. It is certain that
the Rocky Mountains are of an altitude vastly superior to what was formerly supposed.
We rather incline to the opinion that the highest peak is further to the northward, and is
the same measured by Mr. Thompson, surveyor to the Northwest Company; who, by
the joint means of the barometer and trigonometric measurement, ascertained it to be
twenty-five thousand feet above the level of the sea; an elevation only inferior to that of
the Himalayas.
For a long time, Captain Bonneville remained gazing around him with wonder and
enthusiasm; at length the chill and wintry winds, whirling about the snow-clad height,
admonished him to descend. He soon regained the spot where he and his companions
[companion] had thrown off their coats, which were now gladly resumed, and, retracing
their course down the peak, they safely rejoined their companions on the border of the
lake.
Notwithstanding the savage and almost inaccessible nature of these mountains, they
have their inhabitants. As one of the party was out hunting, he came upon the solitary
track of a man in a lonely valley. Following it up, he reached the brow of a cliff, whence
he beheld three savages running across the valley below him. He fired his gun to call
their attention, hoping to induce them to turn back. They only fled the faster, and
disappeared among the rocks. The hunter returned and reported what he had seen.
Captain Bonneville at once concluded that these belonged to a kind of hermit race,
scanty in number, that inhabit the highest and most inaccessible fastnesses. They
speak the Shoshonie language, and probably are offsets from that tribe, though they
have peculiarities of their own, which distinguish them from all other Indians. They are
miserably poor; own no horses, and are destitute of every convenience to be derived
from an intercourse with the whites. Their weapons are bows and stone-pointed arrows,
with which they hunt the deer, the elk, and the mountain sheep. They are to be found
scattered about the countries of the Shoshonie, Flathead, Crow, and Blackfeet tribes;
but their residences are always in lonely places, and the clefts of the rocks.
Their footsteps are often seen by the trappers in the high and solitary valleys among
the mountains, and the smokes of their fires descried among the precipices, but they
themselves are rarely met with, and still more rarely brought to a parley, so great is
their shyness, and their dread of strangers.
As their poverty offers no temptation to the marauder, and as they are inoffensive in their habits, they are never the objects of warfare: should one of them, however, fall into the hands of a war party, he is sure to be made a sacrifice, for the sake of that savage trophy, a scalp, and that barbarous ceremony, a scalp dance. These forlorn beings, forming a mere link between human nature and the brute, have been looked down upon with pity and contempt by the creole trappers, who have given them the appellation of "les dignes de pitie," or "the objects of pity.'; They appear more worthy to be called the wild men of the mountains.