Part 4

That evening, the moon was in full and rising high above the lake and mountain, its soft light bathed the splendid landscape in floods of silver. The mighty ranges of the great divide were sharply outlined in cold, gleaming white. Below their ragged summits dark green forest masses filled the spaces to the margin of the water. At intervals, steam jets played along the shore and the deep valley of the Upper Yellowstone reached the farthest limit of vision in the foreground. On the left front appeared a group of ghastly hills of chalky lustre by the banks of Pelican Creek, and beyond there a winding valley constantly rising as it receded with glittering channels, from thermal springs threading its long, green slopes. On the right front loomed up the yellow flank of Mount Sheridan, seemingly ready to burst forth with sulphurous flames; and flooding the space between lay the glorious lake with its rippling moonlit waters, its long sand beaches and deeply indented shores, its rocky islands of splendid coloring, its cliffs and inlets, and its still lagoons. A picture indescribable, unequalled and alone. From the distant marshes on the newborn Yellowstone came the sound of fluttering cries of restless waterfowl. From the echoing forest beyond, the mountain lions screaming and moaning at intervals while we put the finishing touches on our little vessel. Starr and Applegate, both expert boatmen, paddled the little canoe far out on the sparkling waters and sang Crow Indian war songs, as the work went on. The horses and mules having stuffed themselves with luxuriant mountain grasses, came up and stood meditatively with their noses over the camp fires in thorough contentment. It was a night and a scene to be remembered--a touch of nature vibrating into infinity.

In this entry also, seated by the campfire in a wonderfully expansive mood of the utmost wellbeing, touched by the serene beauty of his surroundings, Doane takes occasion to describe the other members of his party, the "picked men selected for special qualifications."

Of the men who composed my party, Sergeant Fred Server was a Philadelphian of good family--a wild boy--who had settled down to a splendid daring soldier, an expert horseman, a good shot, a man of perfect physique and iron constitution.

Private F. R. Applegate was a small, wiry Marylander, used to hard knocks, thoroughly at home anywhere, full of expedients and know all about managing small water craft.

Private Daniel Starr was a man of powerful voice and massive form, had served on a war vessel, could turn his hand to any work. A man of infinite jest and humor, and reckless beyond all conception. He was already a celebrity in Montana on account of his uproarious hilarity, daring, and wild adventures. He ran the first boat on the Yellowstone Lake in 1871, had piloted several parties through the Park, and was always a volunteer in anything which promised a new field and a basis of new stories of the most ludicrous and most exaggerated character.

Private William White was a quiet, solemn young fellow, useful in any service, full of romantic ideas, sober, reserved. A man of fearless disposition.

Private John B. Warren was an Englishman, very set in ideas, an older man than the others. A man of intelligence, a most indefatigable fisherman and an all round utility man.

Private C. B. Davis was a born cook. He lived for his stomach alone and knew how to prepare food for its pacification. He saw no value in anything that was not edible; talked, thought, and dreamed of good things to eat, but came out strongly over a camp fire. With a dishcloth in one hand and "something dead" in the other, he smiled beamingly into the yawning interior of an open Dutch oven, and inhaled with unspeakable delight the fragrant aroma of a steaming coffee pot. The above formed the regular detail for the expedition.

The others, Private Morgan Osborn, a carpenter, was a careful, sober man, not used to the mountains, faithful and honest and therefore useful.

Private John L. Ward was a hardy, vigorous man, good on a trail, in a boat, or on a wheel mule, a packer and a woodsman.

They were all enthusiastic on the subject of the present expedition, and were reliable, intrepid men.

The "little vessel" was launched on October 26. No champagne christening this, but she rode on an even keel and rose in fine style to the waves. Doane, Starr, Applegate, and Ward voyaged out to Stevenson's Island and returned. The next day the boat was carefully loaded, it carried everything except the saddle outfits on the animals. A broken-down mule was left behind, and with a mule harnessed to a tow line, and one man to steer the boat off shore, she was so pulled along the beach for some 12 miles. At a rocky promontory, the tow line was taken in and two men rowed the craft around the point. Coming close to shore a wave struck the "little vessel under the lee quarter, and swamped her instantly." The water was shallow and everything was saved, but camp was made at once, 15 miles from the point of launching.

The rest of the afternoon and half the night was spent in keeping fires going to dry out the baggage. The following morning it was discovered that waves had knocked loose some of the calking on the bottom of the boat. It was repaired with the remaining oakum and pitch. At this point, the Lieutenant was "very uneasy on account of the snow in sight on the Continental Divide in front of us", so decided to leave Starr, Applegate, and Ward to complete repairs to the boat, while he and the others, with all the "property, should push on, cross the divide, break a trail and return with mules and horses to the lake shore to meet the party with the boat."

Doane and his group accordingly struck through the forest for several miles on October 28, reached the lake shore again and followed it to the "lower end of the southwest arm where the foothills come on the shore. Skirted around to the east side past the great group of silicate springs (probably the West Thumb area) and camped at the foot of the Great Divide at the nearest point opposite Heart Lake."

The following morning the land party remained near camp "in hopes that the men with the boat might come", and spent their time examining the springs.

One crater cone still active stands in front of the main group, pouring a stream of boiling water into the cold surrounding lake. It is here that anglers catch the trout and cook them on the hook.

The boat failing to appear, Doane and his men started up the slope to the Divide in a "heavy and blinding snow storm" through a "tangled forest." The weather turned very cold, travel was difficult up the slopes in snow some 2 feet in depth. On the top of the ridge it was necessary to stop and build a fire, the animals and men were "loaded with snow and ice." The party reached a "hot spring basin" a mile from Heart Lake long after dark, built a great fire of seasoned pines, and spent most of the night drying out.

Doane was not at all satisfied with the route he had followed, and on the following day, in clear weather, the party worked its way back to Yellowstone Lake by a route which proved to be much shorter. The boat not having arrived, a watchfire to serve as a beacon was built on a bluff on the lake shore. Doane's entry in the journal for October 30 indicates his concern for the fate of the voyageurs, Starr, Applegate, and Ward.

That was their third day and I was consumed with anxiety. A cold, wintry blast was driving down the lake in a direction at right angles to their course. The waves were running high and on the opposite shore we could see the surf flying against the rocks, covering them with glittering masses of ice. It was growing colder every minute, and the night was intensely dark. A driving sleet began to fall. This was dangerous, as it adhered to whatever it touched. Our apprehensions were almost beyond endurance. I knew those men would start that night no matter what perils might be encountered. They had twenty miles to come, in an egg shell boat which had never been tried in rough water. Nothing could live in that icy flood half an hour, if cast overboard. The wind and cold were both increasing constantly. Hour after hour passed. I followed the beach a couple of miles, but finding no traces returned. The Sergeant went in the other direction with like results. We were standing together on the shore despairing when suddenly there was borne to us on the driving blast the sound of boisterous and double jointed profanity. The voice was Starr's and we knew that the daring, invincible men were safe and successful. We ran to meet them and helped them beach, and unload the few articles that the boat contained. The oars were coated an inch thick and the boat was half full of solid ice. When the three men came in front of the camp fire, they were a sight to behold. Their hair and beards were frozen to their caps and overcoats and they were sheeted with glistening ice from head to foot.

The boat had nearly filled three different times, but Applegate, who steered, threw her bow to the waves and held her there while the others bailed her out. They found that she would not bear the cross sea, so they kept her head to the wind, and forced her to make leeway by pulling stronger on the opposite side and working the steering oar to correspond. Thus they battled with the storm hour after hour until they had drifted twenty miles and reached the other shore. We changed clothing with them and after giving them a warm supper made them go to bed at once. The rest of the night we put in drying their clothes, as they soundly slept.

On October 31, the boat was cleared of ice by chopping it out with axes, hot ashes were thrown in to dry her out inside, and "slipper poles" were cut and fitted under her to serve as runners. Dragging side poles were also attached to fend her off standing trees in passing. Two mules were hitched to the boat in tandem to drag her, and although progress was slow because the boat frequently became wedged between trees, and the deep snow made travel very difficult for the mules, the Divide was crossed, and "at 9 o'clock at night we left her on the Pacific slope of the Rocky Mountains, and went on with the tired stock into camp."

On November 2, the extra men, Ward and Osborn, with their horses and the 3 poorest mules, were started back to Fort Ellis, since they were no longer needed. They were to pick up the mules and property left at different points on the way, and after an arduous trip of several days they reached Fort Ellis safely.

The Lieutenant and his reduced party now had 7 horses and 4 pack mules. In camp at Heart Lake it was necessary to make extensive repairs to the boat, the cold had "shrunken the boards and opened all the seams." She was finally in order and launched on Heart Lake on November 5. During this layover the party feasted on baked porcupine, which "resembled in taste young pork with a faint flavor of pine."

The party moved across and around Heart Lake on November 6, the boat loaded with all the equipment, the horses and mules taken along the western shore. It was necessary to drag the boat across the frozen lower section of the lake for some 3 miles to the outlet, there the volume of the stream was so small it would not float the craft, even unloaded, over the rocks of the stream bed. For the next several days the "little vessel," the men, and the animals took a beating from the stream, the weather, and the terribly hard going.

November 18th. Reached camp in the forenoon with all the calking melted out of the seams and all the ice thawed out of the interior of the boat by the floods of boiling water passed through in the river channel just above. Took her out of the water and put her on the stocks to be dried out and thoroughly repaired. Her bottom was a sight to behold. The green pine planks were literally shivered by pounding on the rocks. The tough stripping of the seams, two inches or more in thickness, was torn away. Two of the heaviest planks were worn through in the waist of the vessel, and three holes were found in her sides. The stern was so bruised and stove that we had to hew out a new one. We took out the seats, floor, and bulkheads, and this gave us lumber enough to put on a new bottom. Mended the holes with tin and leather. Recalked her, using candles and pitch mixed for the filling. Split young pines and put a heavy strip on each seam and made her stronger than ever. This occupied the 19th which was a stormy day, and the 20th, which was clear long enough to enable us to finish the boat. When it is remembered that the wood had to be dry before the pitch would adhere, and that we were obliged to keep a bed of coals under the boat constantly to effect this on ground saturated with snow water and with the snow falling most of the time, it can be realized that the labor was of the most fatiguing description. Half of the party worked while the others cared for the animals and slept. Warren here came out as an invaluable member of the party. He kept the camp full of trout and we fared sumptuously. The stream from Shoshone Lake is the true Snake River and not the one we are on. It is twice as large as this one, and should be mapped as the main stream.

From this point we feel sure of plenty of water and will start with a partial load in the boat. The strain on the animals has been terrible as they have had to double trip the route almost constantly, which means three times the distance of actual progress. We have had but little depth of snow, and this, while favorable in one sense, has been detrimental in another, as it has allowed the game to run high on the mountains, where we had not time to go. Had there been deeper snow, the water supply would have been greater, the game would have been forced down to the valleys, and we would not have been obliged to use the animals so constantly.

The problem was to get where the boat would carry the property and make distance before the animals gave out. Also to get to settlements before rations were exhausted. I knew we had the formidable "Mad River Canyon" of the old trappers between us and human habitations. With plenty of large game in range, this would have caused no uneasiness, but we were descending daily and leaving the game behind.

I spend many an hour over this problem studying all the chances, and endeavoring to be prepared to act instantly in any possible emergency that might arise.

The party resumed their travel on November 21, Doane, Starr, Applegate, and White in the boat, Sergeant Server, Warren, and Davis with the animals. The boat was headed down the now powerful stream, Applegate steering, Starr astride the bow. Starr and White were armed with "spike poles" to push her off rocks and guide her into deep channels.

All was lovely. Starr had just begun to sing one of his favorite missionary hymns, something about "the Gospel ship is sailing now," when the river made a sudden turn to the left with a boiling eddy, and the boat crashed head on against the overhanging wall of rock, smashing all the lodge poles and compelling the boisterous singer to turn a somersault backward to save himself from being instantly killed. The gallant little craft bore the shock without bursting, and we went down stream (stern) foremost a short distance onto a shelfing rock where an examination developed the fact that nothing was damaged excepting twenty-two fine lodge poles.

On November 23, nearing Jackson Lake, the valley of the Snake was opening before the party.

Hundreds of otter were seen. These growled at us in passing from their holes in the bank, not being accustomed to boats. We shot several.... An hour later we ran out into Jackson's Lake, and passed the train just as a mule fell under a log across the trail, struggled a moment, and died. Camped on the lake shore three miles from the inlet.[1]

The following day both land and water parties progressed along the western shore of Jackson Lake, the train finding

... terrible severe traveling, climbing over rocks and through tangled forests of pine, aspen, and other varieties of timber.... Abandoned one horse.... We were too near the mountains to get a full view, but above us rose the huge masses of glistening granites too steep to retain much snow.... On the opposite shore are extensive Beaver swamps, and great areas of marsh, now frozen.[2]

The trout bite well, and we have a good supply. Ate our last flour today. Starr cooked one of the fine otter killed the day before. The flesh was nice looking. It was very fat and tempting. Baked in a Dutch oven and fragrant with proper dressing we anticipated a feast, were helped bountifully and started with voracious appetites. The first mouthful went down, but did not remain. It came up without a struggle. Only Starr could hold it. The taste was delicately fishy, and not revolting at all, but the human stomach is evidently not intended for use as an Otter trap. Like Banquo's ghost, "It will not down." We did not try Otter again.

November 25th. Laid over, giving the stock a rest and repaired boat. Warren kept us well supplied with trout, which were in fine condition. In the afternoon my attention was called to an object moving in the lake. It proved to be a deer, swimming from the large island across to the opposite shore of the little bay. We had just finished with the little boat, and catching up the big rifle, while the others pushed off, Starr and Applegate rowed (me) out to intercept the deer. It saw us coming and turning to the left reached the shore about three hundred yards away, where it stopped, shivering on the bank. We stopped and let the boat settle to steadiness and I fired. The deer was badly hit, and stood still. I fired again, and it fell into the water dead. It was the first game we had killed for a long time and came in the nick of time. After dragging it into the boat we found the two bullet holes about three inches apart and the last one had gone through the heart of the animal.

When the gun was fired first, the whole party turned out along the shore thinking than an avalanche was coming, and the noise of the second discharge had not ceased when we landed with the game. It was an echo. We spent hours testing it afterward, and surely nothing on earth can equal it. The report of the big rifle was followed by a prolonged roar that seemed to eddy in the little bay in a vast volume of condensed thunder, then charged up the great channel in a hollow, deep growl giving consecutive reports which bounded from cliff to cliff and these re-echoed until far up the canyon came back a rattle of musketry as on a skirmish line, mingled with mournful waves of vibratory rumbling. These were succeeded by cracks and rustlings, and a moaning sigh which slowly receded and died away far up along the heights. Time, one minute and 25 seconds. We tried our voices together, and the result was deafening and overwhelming. There were seven in the party, and we were answered back by a hoarse mob of voices in accumulating thousands from the great gorge, and these, a moment after retreating up the channel called to each other and back at us 'til the multiplied voices mingled in a harsh jargon of weird and wild receding volume of sound, ending in a long moaning sigh and a rustling as of falling leaves among the gleaming spires far away above us.

I then tried Starr's tremendous voice alone, and had him call, "Oh, Joe!" with a prolonged rising inflection on the first and an equally prolonged falling inflection on the second word, repeating it at intervals of 30 seconds. Experience had taught us that this call could be heard more distinctly and farther in the mountains than any other practiced. The sound of his voice at the first call had not ceased when a hundred exact repititions were reflected to the little bay. Then a rush of hoarse exclamations followed up the gorge and the fusilade of calls on very rock and cliff answered, "Oh, Joe!" And these sounds echoed and re-echoed a thousand times reaching higher and higher along the mighty walls, 'til faint goblin whispers from the cold, icy shafts and the spectral hollows answered back in clicking notes and hisses, but distinctly always the words, "Oh, Joe!"

A full band of music playing here would give such a concert as the world has never heard. There is a weird, unearthly volume and distinctness to the echo here, and a chasing afar off and returning of the sounds, unequalled and simply indescribable. We named this inlet Spirit Bay.[3]

The party continued along the lake shore, the usual mode of travel being 3 men in the boat, 4 with the animals on land. Doane's horse was abandoned on November 26. All of the men were violently ill from the deer meat, the Lieutenant diagnosing the sickness as "cholera morbus." The party was forced to lay over most of 2 days, but reached the outlet of the lake on November 30, started down river, and camped 2 miles downstream from the Buffalo Fork on that date, the boat having made about 30 miles that day.

December 1st. Moved on down the river. Sergeant and myself still very weak. Camped opposite Gros Ventre Butte, which is in the middle of the valley, and in front of Mount Hayden (earlier name for the Grand Teton) and its mighty canyon. (From this description this camp appears to have been opposite Blacktail Butte, in the vicinity of the present location of Moose.) During the day Warren and White followed a herd of Elk 'til dark, but did not get one. Light snow on the ground. Weather warm. At noon 65 degrees. Distance 12 m.

The boat now carries all the property as the animals can carry no more. The river is a fine broad stream but the current is that of a mountain torrent and the channel divides so often that we counted over one hundred islands today. Occasionally therefore, we came to shoal water by getting in the wrong shute and had to lift her over. The bed of the stream is entirely of coarse gravel and boulders, mostly of granite, and the banks are low. Fishing good, but fresh fish is too thin a diet to subsist on alone. We have now no coffee, sugar, tea, bacon, and worst of all, no tobacco. Nothing but a few beans left. The game is scarce and shy. I cannot hunt and keep the observations at the same time. The boat can now go faster than the stock, but we cannot separate, with "Mad River Canyon" in front of us.