Precautions in dangerous defiles—Trappers' mode of defence on a prairie—A mysterious visitor—Arrival in Green River Valley—Adventures of the detachments—The forlorn partisan—His tale of disasters.
AS the route of Captain Bonneville lay through what was considered the
most perilous part of this region of dangers, he took all his measures
with military skill, and observed the strictest circumspection. When
on the march, a small scouting party was thrown in the advance to
reconnoitre the country through which they were to pass. The encampments
were selected with great care, and a watch was kept up night and day.
The horses were brought in and picketed at night, and at daybreak a
party was sent out to scour the neighborhood for half a mile round,
beating up every grove and thicket that could give shelter to a lurking
foe. When all was reported safe, the horses were cast loose and turned
out to graze. Were such precautions generally observed by traders and
hunters, we should not so often hear of parties being surprised by the
Indians.
Having stated the military arrangements of the captain, we may here
mention a mode of defence on the open prairie, which we have heard from
a veteran in the Indian trade. When a party of trappers is on a journey
with a convoy of goods or peltries, every man has three pack-horses
under his care; each horse laden with three packs. Every man is provided
with a picket with an iron head, a mallet, and hobbles, or leathern
fetters for the horses. The trappers proceed across the prairie in a
long line; or sometimes three parallel lines, sufficiently distant from
each other to prevent the packs from interfering. At an alarm, when
there is no covert at hand, the line wheels so as to bring the front to
the rear and form a circle. All then dismount, drive their pickets into
the ground in the centre, fasten the horses to them, and hobble their
forelegs, so that, in case of alarm, they cannot break away. Then they
unload them, and dispose of their packs as breastworks on the periphery
of the circle; each man having nine packs behind which to shelter
himself. In this promptly-formed fortress, they await the assault of the
enemy, and are enabled to set large bands of Indians at defiance.
The first night of his march, Captain Bonneville encamped upon Henry's
Fork; an upper branch of Snake River, called after the first American trader that erected a fort beyond the mountains. About an hour after all hands had come to a halt the clatter of hoofs was heard, and a solitary female, of the Nez Perce tribe, came galloping up. She was mounted on a mustang or half wild horse, which she managed by a long rope hitched
round the under jaw by way of bridle. Dismounting, she walked silently
into the midst of the camp, and there seated herself on the ground,
still holding her horse by the long halter.
The sudden and lonely apparition of this woman, and her calm yet
resolute demeanor, awakened universal curiosity. The hunters and
trappers gathered round, and gazed on her as something mysterious. She
remained silent, but maintained her air of calmness and self-possession.
Captain Bonneville approached and interrogated her as to the object
of her mysterious visit. Her answer was brief but earnest—"I love the
whites—I will go with them." She was forthwith invited to a lodge,
of which she readily took possession, and from that time forward was
considered one of the camp.
In consequence, very probably, of the military precautions of Captain
Bonneville, he conducted his party in safety through this hazardous
region. No accident of a disastrous kind occurred, excepting the loss of
a horse, which, in passing along the giddy edge of a precipice, called
the Cornice, a dangerous pass between Jackson's and Pierre's Hole, fell
over the brink, and was dashed to pieces.
On the 13th of July (1833), Captain Bonneville arrived at Green River.
As he entered the valley, he beheld it strewed in every direction with
the carcasses of buffaloes. It was evident that Indians had recently
been there, and in great numbers. Alarmed at this sight, he came to
a halt, and as soon as it was dark, sent out spies to his place of
rendezvous on Horse Creek, where he had expected to meet with his
detached parties of trappers on the following day. Early in the morning
the spies made their appearance in the camp, and with them came three
trappers of one of his bands, from the rendezvous, who told him his
people were all there expecting him. As to the slaughter among the
buffaloes, it had been made by a friendly band of Shoshonies, who had
fallen in with one of his trapping parties, and accompanied them to the
rendezvous. Having imparted this intelligence, the three worthies from
the rendezvous broached a small keg of "alcohol," which they had brought
with them to enliven this merry meeting. The liquor went briskly round;
all absent friends were toasted, and the party moved forward to the
rendezvous in high spirits.
The meeting of associated bands, who have been separated from each other
on these hazardous enterprises, is always interesting; each having its
tales of perils and adventures to relate. Such was the case with the
various detachments of Captain Bonneville's company, thus brought
together on Horse Creek. Here was the detachment of fifty men which
he had sent from Salmon River, in the preceding month of November, to
winter on Snake River. They had met with many crosses and losses in the
course of their spring hunt, not so much from Indians as from white men.
They had come in competition with rival trapping parties, particularly
one belonging to the Rocky Mountain Fur Company; and they had long
stories to relate of their manoeuvres to forestall or distress each
other. In fact, in these virulent and sordid competitions, the trappers
of each party were more intent upon injuring their rivals, than
benefitting themselves; breaking each other's traps, trampling and
tearing to pieces the beaver lodges, and doing every thing in their
power to mar the success of the hunt. We forbear to detail these pitiful
contentions.
The most lamentable tale of disasters, however, that Captain Bonneville
had to hear, was from a partisan, whom he had detached in the preceding
year, with twenty men, to hunt through the outskirts of the Crow
country, and on the tributary streams of the Yellowstone; whence he was
to proceed and join him in his winter quarters on Salmon River. This
partisan appeared at the rendezvous without his party, and a sorrowful
tale of disasters had he to relate. In hunting the Crow country, he fell
in with a village of that tribe; notorious rogues, jockeys, and horse
stealers, and errant scamperers of the mountains. These decoyed most of
his men to desert, and carry off horses, traps, and accoutrements. When
he attempted to retake the deserters, the Crow warriors ruffled up to
him and declared the deserters were their good friends, had determined
to remain among them, and should not be molested. The poor partisan,
therefore, was fain to leave his vagabonds among these birds of their
own feather, and being too weak in numbers to attempt the dangerous
pass across the mountains to meet Captain Bonneville on Salmon River, he
made, with the few that remained faithful to him, for the neighborhood
of Tullock's Fort, on the Yellowstone, under the protection of which he
went into winter quarters.
He soon found out that the neighborhood of the fort was nearly as bad
as the neighborhood of the Crows. His men were continually stealing
away thither, with whatever beaver skins they could secrete or lay their
hands on. These they would exchange with the hangers-on of the fort for
whiskey, and then revel in drunkeness and debauchery.
The unlucky partisan made another move. Associating with his party a
few free trappers, whom he met with in this neighborhood, he started off
early in the spring to trap on the head waters of Powder River. In the
course of the journey, his horses were so much jaded in traversing a
steep mountain, that he was induced to turn them loose to graze during
the night. The place was lonely; the path was rugged; there was not the
sign of an Indian in the neighborhood; not a blade of grass that had
been turned by a footstep. But who can calculate on security in the
midst of the Indian country, where the foe lurks in silence and secrecy,
and seems to come and go on the wings of the wind? The horses had scarce
been turned loose, when a couple of Arickara (or Rickaree) warriors
entered the camp. They affected a frank and friendly demeanor; but their
appearance and movements awakened the suspicions of some of the veteran
trappers, well versed in Indian wiles. Convinced that they were spies
sent on some sinister errand, they took them in custody, and set to work
to drive in the horses. It was too late—the horses were already gone.
In fact, a war party of Arickaras had been hovering on their trail for
several days, watching with the patience and perseverance of Indians,
for some moment of negligence and fancied security, to make a successful
swoop. The two spies had evidently been sent into the camp to create a
diversion, while their confederates carried off the spoil.
The unlucky partisan, thus robbed of his horses, turned furiously on his
prisoners, ordered them to be bound hand and foot, and swore to put them
to death unless his property were restored. The robbers, who soon
found that their spies were in captivity, now made their appearance on
horseback, and held a parley. The sight of them, mounted on the very
horses they had stolen, set the blood of the mountaineers in a ferment;
but it was useless to attack them, as they would have but to turn their
steeds and scamper out of the reach of pedestrians. A negotiation was
now attempted. The Arickaras offered what they considered fair terms; to
barter one horse, or even two horses, for a prisoner. The mountaineers
spurned at their offer, and declared that, unless all the horses were
relinquished, the prisoners should be burnt to death. To give force to
their threat, a pyre of logs and fagots was heaped up and kindled into a
blaze.
The parley continued; the Arickaras released one horse and then another,
in earnest of their proposition; finding, however, that nothing short of
the relinquishment of all their spoils would purchase the lives of
the captives, they abandoned them to their fate, moving off with many
parting words and lamentable howlings. The prisoners seeing them depart,
and knowing the horrible fate that awaited them, made a desperate effort
to escape. They partially succeeded, but were severely wounded and
retaken; then dragged to the blazing pyre, and burnt to death in the
sight of their retreating comrades.
Such are the savage cruelties that white men learn to practise, who
mingle in savage life; and such are the acts that lead to terrible
recrimination on the part of the Indians. Should we hear of any
atrocities committed by the Arickaras upon captive white men, let this
signal and recent provocation be borne in mind. Individual cases of the
kind dwell in the recollections of whole tribes; and it is a point of
honor and conscience to revenge them.
The loss of his horses completed the ruin of the unlucky partisan. It
was out of his power to prosecute his hunting, or to maintain his party;
the only thought now was how to get back to civilized life. At the first
water-course, his men built canoes, and committed themselves to the
stream. Some engaged themselves at various trading establishments
at which they touched, others got back to the settlements. As to the
partisan, he found an opportunity to make his way to the rendezvous
at Green River Valley; which he reached in time to render to Captain
Bonneville this forlorn account of his misadventures.
