Captain Bonneville sets out for Green River valley—Journey up the Popo Agie—Buffaloes—The staring white bears—The smok—The warm springs—Attempt to traverse the Wind River Mountains—The Great Slope Mountain dells and chasms—Crystal lakes—Ascent of a snowy peak—Sublime prospect—A panorama "Les dignes de pitie," or wild men of the mountains
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.
