Part 2

Just in the heat of noonday we came to where the sage bushes were nearer together; and a fire, left by campers or Indians, had spread for some distance, leaving beds of ashes, and occasionally charred skeletons of bushes to make the scene more dreary. . . .

Wearily passed the hottest noonday hour, with many an anxious look at the horned-heads, which seemed to me to bow lower and lower, while the poor tired hoofs almost refused to move. The two young men had been out of sight for some time; when, all at once, we heard a shout, and saw, a few hundred yards in advance a couple of hats thrown into the air and four hands waving triumphantly. As soon as we got near enough, we heard them call out, “Grass and water! Grass and water!” and shortly we were at the meadows.

A Tour on the Prairies

When wagon trains reached Independence, Missouri, and prepared to jump off for the Far West, they faced some six hundred miles of prairie before reaching the mountains. There was water, grass, and game (especially buffalo) in abundance, but it was an awesome spectacle to travel week after week across the empty plains. When Washington Irving returned from many years in Europe, he wanted to see the prairie and joined an expedition in 1832 which traveled as far west as the present site of Oklahoma City. One of his companions was Henry Ellsworth, a commissioner appointed by Andrew Jackson to help pacify the Indians. In the selection that follows, Ellsworth describes the prairie in central Oklahoma, tells how one of his men captured a wild horse, and recounts his own experience in shooting a buffalo.

Henry Ellsworth Accompanies Washington Irving Across the Plains

The country today is truly delightful. The prairies are smooth, the streams frequent, and meandering so as to present a vigorous growth of stately trees on every side. The flowers of spring have disappeared and left the numerous stalks covered with seeds as mementoes of vernal fragrance, but the autumnal blossoms mixed with the prairie grass never fail to attract the eye with delight, or refresh the lungs by their sweet odours. My late travelling companion, Dr. O’Dwyer, says Eden was here and not on the Euphrates: “Adam’s paradise was in these prairies!”

Mr. Irving said often today that the most splendid parks in England did not surpass the beautiful scenery around us, and yet between both there was such a striking resemblance as to recall to his mind at once the delightful rambles he had in Europe where art had been lavish in her favors to enhance the beauties of nature. I can say also, though my residence in Europe was short, that I beheld no scenery there so truly beautiful and grand as the rich prairies of the West. And if the prairies now are so charming, what must they be decked with the variegated plumage of spring?...

I ought perhaps to mention the woods on these parks afforded excellent varieties of fruits. The season now was too late for most of them—the persimmon, haws, and winter grape were very abundant.

Our ride was made more cheering by the fresh signs of buffalo. Not the short grass but tracks and recent dung (resembling entirely that of our oxen and cows) assured us we should soon meet these _terrific_ animals. Excavations in the ground showed where they indulged in their great pastime, in _wallowing_. The excavations are generally about 10 feet in diameter and 12 to 20 inches deep. It is these hollows, especially when filled with water, that make the chase, as I found it afterwards, so difficult and dangerous. The trees also furnish _their_ evidence and every low limb was worn by the buffalo while scratching his skin after coming out of his mud or sand bath.

As soon as we had arrived at camp this evening, Billet requested the privilege to hunt a while, and mounting his horse with lariat and gun, cantered off, and was soon out of sight. The firing on all sides assured us we should have plenty of game, and the hunters soon returned loaded with deer, turkeys, etc. It was not until after supper that Billet came to our camp quite out of breath and asked for help to bring in a wild horse he had just caught the other side of Red Fork. He had brought him through the river, but got him no farther....

The horse was soon brought in, trembling at the sight of so many new things. He was between two and three years old, well made, and will doubtless make an excellent horse. The horse struggled for a while against Billet’s mode of civilization and fell exhausted in the struggle. He panted and lay as submissive as a lamb. Twenty or thirty handled him from head to foot without any offer on his part to make resistance. He gave up the contest and submitted unconditionally and never afterwards was more disobedient than colts in general, nor indeed as much.... Tomorrow Billet said he should pack him with a saddle and make him do his share of work. We did not believe it possible and waited with curiosity to see the experiment. [_He succeeded. Eds._]

Billet is an adventuresome as well as brave man. He has had both arms and one leg broken during exploits besides having his ribs on one side mashed in. He told us when he saw the horses they were distant from him. He stopped, laid down his gun, adjusted his saddle, and with lariat in hand he put spurs to his race horse, whose speed I never saw excelled. The wild horses stood amazed for a moment, then started and fled. They ran up a small hill and descending again were for a moment out of sight. When Billet came to the brow, he was frightened: a precipice was before him which he must leap or lose his prize. He chose the former, shut his eyes, and strained upon the reins and safely landed upon the bottom—a leap of 25 feet. His horse, accustomed to the race, soon recovered from the shock and continued pursuit. The race now continued for 1½ miles. He then reached the horses, and having failed in his first effort to take a Pawnee mare (with a slit in her ears) he put his lariat over the head of the horse brought to the camp. It was truly a great exploit....

No sooner had I reined my horse towards the buffalo (notwithstanding he had been racing several hours and was then wet with perspiration) than he pricked up his ears and entered into a full run. I _never_ went _half so fast before or mean to again_. I ran a quarter of a mile before [_the_] buffalo apprehended danger. They then began to make the best of their way to the west. Billet called out: “Remember the holes; let _him run_; let _him run_.” After running 1½ miles with gun in hand, almost tired to death and shook not a little, I came along side of the animal I had selected. He appeared a monster, for his weight was 1600. I fired. Billet said: “Take care; he will be upon you.” The animal now began to throw blood from his mouth and nose, which satisfied me I had reached his heart. He stopped. I fired again. Both balls entered just _back of his fore shoulder_. He now came towards me with his tongue extended and his round full eye darting vengeance. My horse parried his movements, and I fired my rifle pistol and then seized the remaining one. At this moment the buffalo fell, exhausted with the loss of blood, and stretching out his legs died before I could get to him.... Billet performed the operation of cutting out his tongue, by opening the flesh on the under jaw and through this aperture taking the tongue, which I tied to my saddle and reached the camp a little after sunset.

The Indians

Ever since James Fenimore Cooper made use of frontier life in his novels, the Indian has been romanticized in fiction as the noble savage. But Cooper’s Indians did not bear much resemblance to the real Indians who were, after all, savages living in a primitive environment. A good observer of Indians as they actually were was the eminent historian Francis Parkman, who spent the summer of 1846 traveling as far as Wyoming on the Oregon Trail. Here is his account of one of the tribes living on the plains:

Henry Ellsworth Accompanies Washington Irving Across the Plains

When we came in sight of our little white tent under the big tree, we saw that it no longer stood alone. A huge old lodge was erected by its side, discolored by rain and storms, rotten with age, with the uncouth figures of horses and men and outstretched hands that were painted upon it, well nigh obliterated. The long poles which supported this squalid habitation thrust themselves rakishly out from its pointed top, and over its entrance were suspended a “medicine-pipe” and various other implements of the magic art. While we were yet at a distance, we observed a greatly increased population of various colors and dimensions, swarming about our quiet encampment.

Morin, the trapper, having been absent for a day or two, had returned, it seemed, bringing all his family with him. He had taken to himself a wife, for whom he had paid the established price of one horse. This looks cheap at first sight, but in truth the purchase of a squaw is a transaction which no man should enter into without mature deliberation, since it involves not only the payment of the price, but the burden of feeding and supporting a rapacious horde of the bride’s relatives, who hold themselves entitled to feed upon the indiscreet white man. They gather about him like leeches, and drain him of all he has....

The moving spirit of the establishment was an old hag of eighty. Human imagination never conceived hob-goblin or witch more ugly than she. You could count all her ribs through the wrinkles of her leathery skin. Her withered face more resembled an old skull than the countenance of a living being, even to the hollow, darkened sockets, at the bottom of which glittered her little black eyes. Her arms had dwindled into nothing but whip-cord and wire. Her hair, half black, half gray, hung in total neglect nearly to the ground, and her sole garment consisted of the remnant of a discarded buffalo-robe tied around her waist with a string of hide.

Yet the old squaw’s meagre anatomy was wonderfully strong. She pitched the lodge, packed the horses, and did the hardest labor of the camp. From morning till night she bustled about the lodge, screaming like a screech-owl when anything displeased her. Her brother, a “medicine-man,” or magician, was equally gaunt and sinewy with herself. His mouth spread from ear to ear, and his appetite, as we had occasion to learn, was ravenous in proportion....

A day passed, and Indians began rapidly to come in. Parties of two, three, or more would ride up and silently seat themselves on the grass. The fourth day came at last, when about noon horsemen appeared in view on the summit of the neighboring ridge. Behind followed a wild procession, hurrying in haste and disorder down the hill and over the plain below; horses, mules, and dogs; heavily burdened _traineaux_ [_sleds_], mounted warriors, squaws walking amid the throng, and a host of children. For a full half-hour they continued to pour down; and keeping directly to the bend of the stream, within a furlong of us, they soon assembled there, a dark and confused throng, until, as if by magic, a hundred and fifty tall lodges sprang up. The lonely plain was transformed into the site of a swarming encampment. Countless horses were soon grazing over the meadows around us, and the prairie was animated by restless figures careering on horseback, or sedately stalking in their long white robes....

The Dahcotah or Sioux range over a vast territory, from the river St. Peter to the Rocky Mountains. They are divided into several independent bands, united under no central government, and acknowledging no common head. The same language, usages, and superstitions form the sole bond between them. They do not unite even in their wars. The bands of the east fight the Ojibwas on the Upper Lakes; those of the west make incessant war upon the Snake Indians in the Rocky Mountains. As the whole people is divided into bands, so each band is divided into villages.

Each village has a chief, who is honored and obeyed only so far as his personal qualities may command respect and fear. Sometimes he is a mere nominal chief; sometimes his authority is little short of absolute, and his fame and influence reach beyond his own village, so that the whole band to which he belongs is ready to acknowledge him as their head. This was, a few years since, the case with the Ogillallah. Courage, address, and enterprise may raise any warrior to the highest honor, especially if he be the son of a former chief, or a member of a numerous family, to support him and avenge his quarrels; but when he has reached the dignity of chief, and the old men and warriors, by a peculiar ceremony, have formally installed him, let it not be imagined that he assumes any of the outward signs of rank and honor. He knows too well on how frail a tenure he holds his station. He must conciliate his uncertain subjects.

Many a man in the village lives better, owns more squaws and more horses, and goes better clad than he. Like the Teutonic chiefs of old, he ingratiates himself with his young men by making them presents, thereby often impoverishing himself. If he fails to gain their favor, they will set his authority at naught, and may desert him at any moment; for the usages of his people have provided no means of enforcing his authority. Very seldom does it happen, at least among these western bands, that a chief attains to much power, unless he is the head of a numerous family. Frequently the village is principally made up of his relatives and descendants, and the wandering community assumes much of the patriarchal character.

The Trappers

The fur trade was an important industry long before the Revolution, but after the Westward Movement opened up the region beyond the Mississippi, the search for furs moved to the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific Northwest. Much of the Far West was first visited by the trappers, who ranged widely in their lonely and often hazardous vocation. Many of them were French Canadians or of French extraction, such as Henry Chatillon, the guide of Parkman’s party. In the following selection we have printed an episode from the early career of General Isaac Jones Wistar, who later became a general in the Union Army during the Civil War. Wistar at this time, about 1850, was running his trap lines in the Peace River region of western Canada. François is his partner. Needless to say, trapping was a winter occupation.

Isaac Jones Wistar Endures a Hard Winter

After the trapper has laid in his provisions, disposed of his horses, and settled down in his solitary winter quarters, incidents are few; and as none of a pleasant character are likely to occur, the fewer they are, the better for him....

In our case about this time, martens being scarce and the camp, in consequence of the lateness of our arrival, having been badly chosen, it was found necessary to shift it in the dead of winter; for which purpose, taking but little provision from our scanty store and _caching_ the rest of our effects, we pushed out in a northerly direction, hoping to find a better location on some of the other tributaries of the Peace. But with ground covered by heavy snow, streams hard bound with ice, and frequent wind storms which at the low prevailing temperatures none can face and live, our progress was slow and no place looked very attractive. Hence no great time had elapsed before we found our provisions exhausted, in a difficult country with game not to be had. Making a temporary shelter in a bad place and under unfavorable circumstances, we therefore proceeded to devote our whole attention to hunting, till after some days we became awake to the fact that the district was absolutely without game. Every day the weather permitted, we covered long distances in opposite directions, without finding so much as a recent sign or track. Then we set traps for fish in such rapids as remained open, and for birds and small animals, but without success....

After trying in vain all the resources practiced by trappers in such straits, all of which were well known to François, we ate the grease in our rifle stocks, all the fringes and unnecessary parts of our buck-leather clothes, gun and ammunition bags, and every scrap of eatable material, boiling it down in an Assinaboine basket with hot stones, and were finally reduced to buds and twigs. After many days of this extreme privation, no longer possessing strength to travel or hunt, I became discouraged; and as we lay down one night I determined to abandon the struggle and remain there, enduring with such fortitude as I might the final pangs, which could not be long deferred. At this last stage in the struggle, an event occurred of the most extraordinary character, which cannot seem more strange and incredible to any one than it has always appeared to me on the innumerable occasions when I have since reflected on it. Notwithstanding our exhaustion and desperate conclusion of the night before, François rose at daylight, made up the fire as well as his strength permitted, blazed a tree near by on which he marked with charcoal a large cross, and carefully reloading and standing his gun against that emblem, proceeded to repeat in such feeble whispers as he was yet capable of, all the scraps of French and Latin prayers he could remember, to all of which I was in no condition to give much attention. When he got through he remarked with much cheerfulness that he was now sure of killing something and urged me to make one more effort with him, which I rather angrily refused, and bade him lie down and take what had to come, like a man. With cheerful assurance he replied that he was not afraid to die, but our time had not come. He knew he would find and kill, and we would escape all right. Then desisting from his useless effort to get me up, François, leaving his heavy snow-shoes behind, directed himself with weak and uneven steps down the little stream in the deep gorge of which our camp was made; and never expecting to see him again, my mind relapsed into an idle, vacuous condition, in which external circumstances were forgotten or disregarded. But scarcely a few minutes had elapsed, and as it afterwards appeared he had hardly traversed a couple of hundred yards when I heard his gun, which I knew never cracked in vain.

I had thought myself unable to rise, but at that joyful sound promptly discovered my mistake. I found François in the spot from which he had fired, leaning against a tree in such deep excitement that he could speak with difficulty. On that rugged side hill apparently destitute of life, in that most improbable of all places, within sound and smell of our camp, he had seen, not a squirrel or a rabbit, but a deer. Attempting to climb for a better shot, the deer jumped, and with terrible misgivings he had fired at it running. He had heard it running after his shot but was sure he had made a killing hit. Scrambling with difficulty up the hill, we found a large clot of blood and a morsel of “lights” [_lungs_], which we divided and ate on the spot. After taking up the trail we soon found the animal....

After passing safely through that period of starvation, we were glad enough to get back to the old camp and make the best of it during the remainder of the season, which furnished little more of incident to vary the monotony of our solitary occupation.

The Emigrants

In the year that Parkman visited Wyoming, 1846, the Oregon Trail was a well-traveled route. Thousands of emigrants in covered wagons were moving westward from Independence or St. Joseph, Missouri, along the Platte River towards Wyoming and the South Pass over the Rockies. In the next selection Parkman describes an emigrant train he encountered near the point where the trail struck the Platte River in central Nebraska.

Francis Parkman Encounters a Wagon Train

About dark a sallow-faced fellow descended the hill on horseback, and splashing through the pool, rode up to the tents. He was enveloped in a huge cloak, and his broad felt hat was weeping about his ears with the drizzling moisture of the evening. Another followed, a stout, square-built, intelligent-looking man, who announced himself as leader of an emigrant party, encamped a mile in advance of us. About twenty wagons, he said, were with him; the rest of his party were on the other side of the Big Blue, waiting for a woman who was in the pains of childbirth, and quarreling meanwhile among themselves.

These were the first emigrants that we had overtaken, although we had found abundant and melancholy traces of their progress throughout the course of the journey. Sometimes we passed the grave of one who had sickened and died on the way. The earth was usually torn up, and covered thickly with wolf-tracks. Some had escaped this violation. One morning, a piece of plank, standing upright on the summit of a grassy hill, attracted our notice, and riding up to it, we found the following words very roughly traced upon it, apparently with a red-hot piece of iron:—

MARY ELLIS DIED MAY 7th, 1845 Aged two months.

Such tokens were of common occurrence.

We were late in breaking up our camp on the following morning, and scarcely had we ridden a mile when we saw ... the emigrant caravan, with its heavy white wagons creeping on in slow procession, and a large drove of cattle following behind. Half a dozen yellow-visaged Missourians, mounted on horseback, were cursing and shouting among them, their lank angular proportions enveloped in brown homespun, evidently cut and adjusted by the hands of a domestic female tailor. As we approached, they called out to us: “How are ye, boys? Are ye for Oregon or California?”

As we pushed rapidly by the wagons, children’s faces were thrust out from the white coverings to look at us; while the care-worn, thin-featured matron, or the buxom girl, seated in front, suspended the knitting on which most of them were engaged to stare at us with wondering curiosity. By the side of each wagon stalked the proprietor, urging on his patient oxen, who shouldered heavily along, inch by inch, on their interminable journey. It was easy to see that fear and dissension prevailed among them.... Many were murmuring against the leader they had chosen, and wished to depose him....

We soon left them far behind, and hoped that we had taken a final leave; but our companions’ wagon stuck so long in a deep muddy ditch, that before it was extricated the van of the emigrant caravan appeared again, descending a ridge close at hand. Wagon after wagon plunged through the mud; and as it was nearly noon, and the place promised shade and water, we saw with satisfaction that they were resolved to encamp. Soon the wagons were wheeled into a circle: the cattle were grazing over the meadow, and the men, with sour, sullen faces, were looking about for wood and water. They seemed to meet but indifferent success. As we left the ground, I saw a tall slouching fellow ... contemplating the contents of his tin cup, which he had just filled with water.

“Look here, you,” said he; “it’s chock-full of animals!”

The cup, as he held it out, exhibited in fact an extraordinary variety and profusion of animal and vegetable life.