Prose sketches and poems written in the western country |
NARRATIVE OF A SECOND JOURNEY IN THE
PRAIRIE. |
 |
 | Prose sketches and poems |  |
NARRATIVE OF A SECOND JOURNEY IN THE
PRAIRIE.
After Lewis had returned to Taos from his trapping
expedition in the mountains, I first became acquainted
with him. In the month of August, I heard that Mr. John
Harris, of Missouri, was collecting a party for the purpose
of entering and trapping the Comanche country, upon the
heads of Red River and the Fore Washita; and I was induced,
by the prospect of gain, and by other motives, to
go up from Santa Fe to Taos, and join him. After my
arrival, however, I thought it best to buy an outfit of Mr.
Campbell, who was going into the same country, and to
join him, and did so. The only Americans in our party,
Santa Fe, and myself. There was likewise a Frenchman.
I bought my outfit—one horse, one mule, six traps, and
plenty of powder, lead, and tobacco, and went out to the
valley of the Picuris, a distance of about thirty miles, over
the hills and among the pine woods. Here and there was
a little glade, among the hills, grassy and green; but generally
it was all a bleak and unproductive country. The
pine trees were stripped of bark to the height of six or
eight feet by the Apaches, who prepare the inner coat of
the bark in some manner, and eat it; and I observed that
it was only one particular kind of pine which they used,
viz. the rough yellow pine. My friend and myself were
alone, and in consequence, we soon lost our way; we
traveled until nearly night, and then retraced our steps for
about four miles, to a place where we had seen the remains
of an Indian fire. Here we kindled a large fire,
tied our horses, and laid down with our guns by our sides.
We were awakened early in the morning by the howling
of wolves close to us, which, however, was of short duration.
We then mounted, and proceeded again towards
Taos, but meeting a Mexican, who was going to our camp
to recover a horse, which he said he lost, we turned
back again, and about noon arrived at camp; where we
staid four or five days, lounging about and quarrelling with
the New Mexicans, for whom we had killed several oxen,
and who disliked the idea of going to San Fernandez to
receive their pay. On the fourth of September, those of
our party and of Harris's for whom we had been waiting,
came out from Taos. Both parties joined, made up between
seventy and eighty men, of whom about thirty were
Americans. One was a Eutaw, one an Apache, and the
others were Mexicans. Among the men who came out
on the fourth, was Lewis, who belonged to the party of
Harris.
The reader need not expect much delineation of character.
Trappers are like sailors; when you describe one,
the portrait answers for the whole genus. As a specimen
of the genuine trapper, Bill Williams certainly stands foremost.
He is a man about six feet one inch in height,
gaunt, and red-headed, with a hard, weather-beaten face,
sinew, and the most indefatigable hunter and trapper in
the world. He has no glory except in the woods, and his
whole ambition is to kill more deer and catch more beaver
than any other man about him. Nothing tires him, not
even running all day with six traps on his back. His
horse fell once, as he was gallopping along the edge of a
steep hill, and rolled down the hill with him, while his
feet were entangled in the stirrups, and his traps dashing
against him at every turn. He was picked up half dead,
by his companion, and set upon his horse, and after all he
outwitted him, and obtained the best set for his traps.
Neither is he a fool. He is a shrewd, acute, original man,
and far from illiterate. He was once a preacher, and afterwards
an interpreter in the Osage nation.
There was Tom Banks, the Virginian, with his Irish
tongue, and long stories about Saltee, as he called Saltillo,
and the three tribes of Indians, the Teuacauls, Wequas,
and Toyahs, whose names were never out of his boasting
mouth. He claimed to have been prisoner among the
Comanches three months; but he lied, for he could not
utter a word of their language.
There were various others, better at boasting than at
fighting; and a few upon whom a man might depend in
an emergency.
We left the valley of the Picuris on the sixth of September,
taking the pass which, following the river up, led out
to the large valley of the Demora, at which we arrived on
the same day, and encamped near the Old Village—in it, in
fact. These New Mexicans, with a pertinacity worthy of
the Yankee nation, have pushed out into every little valley
which would raise half a bushel of red pepper—some
of them like this—on the eastern side of the mountains,
thus exposing themselves to the Pawnees and Comanches,
who, of course, use them roughly. The former tribe broke
up the settlement in this valley about fifteen years ago, and
the experiment has never been repeated, though this valley,
and that of the Gallinas, are great temptations to the
Spaniards. The sole inhabitants of the Old Village now,
are rattlesnakes, of which we killed some two or three
dozen about the old mud houses. The third day brought
Demora and Sepellote, about fifty miles from San Miguel,
and on the Missouri wagon road. Buffalo are frequently
found in the winter not far from here, namely, at the
springs called `Los Ojos de Santa Clara,'—`The Eyes of
Saint Clara,' distant a day's journey beyond. While at
the Old Village, the night before, a consultation had been
held, to determine what course we should pursue. Lewis
advised to cross to the main fork of the Canadian branch
of the Arkansas, or, as it is commonly called, Little Red
River, and then following his trail, to go on to the Washita,
trap it, and then to the heads of Red River. But, acting
under a wrong impression and a radical mistake, this advice
was rejected. It was supposed by all of us, that Red
River and all its main branches headed into the mountains,
and that it was only necessary to keep under the
mountains, and we should necessarily find beaver. It was
determined, then, to obtain an old Comanche, who had
been converted, and was married in San Miguel, as our
guide, and to go directly to the rivers which we supposed
lay not far to the south-east of us, and contained beaver.
Accordingly, on arriving the next day, at the wagon road,
it was agreed that the party should go down the Gallinas
a day or two, and cross over to the Pecos, where I was to
find them. For at that time we supposed that the Gallinas
creek ran into Red River, while, on the contrary, it
runs into the Pecos. While they, therefore, followed the
course of the Gallinas, I, in company with three of our
Mexicans, went into San Miguel to bring out the Comanche.
The country is a rolling prairie for a part of the way between
the Demora and San Miguel. About noon we
reached the Gallinas, where we rested and fed our mules.
We then struck into the hills, crossed the little creek called
the Tecolote, (Owl) and slept at night at the Ojo de
Bernal, within seven miles of San Miguel, where we arrived
the next morning. That day and the next we spent
there, waiting the return of a messenger from Taos, and
purchasing a horse; and on the third day, late in the
morning, we left again the village of Saint Michael. Various
prophecies were uttered, all boding ill to us. The
women in particular seemed to take a great interest in our
well-being. In fact, while we were at the Old Village of
the Demora, there came in some dozen Mexicans who had
gone from Taos to Red River, having hard bread and
other `notions,' to trade with the Comanches. The Indians
wisely concluded that it was better to get it all for
nothing, than to give in return their buffalo robes and
horses; and they accordingly took violent possession of
the mules and horses of the luckless pedlers, drove them
off, and kept their hard bread in spite of their bows and
arrows. Besides this, a new story had come in, that a
man had been shot by the Caiawas, about four days' journey
out of San Miguel, and found by some of the Puebis.
Accompanied by many good wishes, prayers and benedictions,
however, we left the village on the twelfth, and
reached that night a little village below, on the Pecos,
(whose course we followed) where we slept. The next
morning we bought a sheep, and started again. At noon
we heard that our party was about fifteen miles distant,
down the river. We were then at the last settlement,
about forty miles from San Miguel. Beyond, there are
some deserted ranchos, as they are called—that is, sheeppens
and shepherd huts. At night we reached the party,
and right glad was I to be delivered from the peril of riding
about in a dangerous country, accompanied only by
four Mexicans (for an old man who had been sent from
Taos to bear a letter to the Comanche went out with us)
and an old faithless Indian, of a tribe to which a white
man is like a smoke in the nostrils. A lone American
has no mercy from them, and little aid from the Mexicans
who may chance to be with him. Not long ago one
Frenchman went out from Taos in company with a hundred
and fifty Mexicans, and was by them given up to half
their number of Comanches, to be murdered. It was even
said that the Spaniards danced round his scalp in company
with the Indians. One of these fellows was with me,
and another one was with the party. I knew it not at the
time, or the Señor Manuel Leal should not have accompanied
me. The Comanches have killed several of our
countrymen when alone. Mr. Smith was out hunting
one woman and two men before they despatched him.
They have his scalp now, and sold his saddle, gun, pistols,
&c. to the Spaniards. They killed another man the year
before in the same way—blowing off half his head with a
fusee. This winter, two hundred and fifty of them attacked
a party of twelve men on the Canadian, killed two
and wounded several of them. Nor, though at peace with
the Spaniards, do they serve them any better. On the
fifth of July last, (1832) they killed the nephew of the
Commandant Viscara, while out alone and unarmed, with
the oxen of his uncle, about three miles from Little Red
River, and with thirty or forty troops in sight. They gave
him thirteen wounds, took off all his hair except the foretop,
and still left him alive.
When Mr. Flint, in his Francis Berrian, described
these Indians as noble, brave, and generous, he was immensely
out in the matter. They are mean, cowardly,
and treacherous. Neither (since I am correcting a gentleman
for whom I have a great regard) is there any village
of the Comanches on the Heads of the Arkansas.[1]
Neither is the Governor's palace, in Santa Fe, anything
more than a mud building, fifteen feet high, with a mud-covered
portico, supported by rough pine pillars. The
gardens, and fountains, and grand stair-cases, &c., are, of
course, wanting. The Governor may raise some red pepper
in his garden, but he gets his water from the public
spring. But to return.
The next day after my arrival, we kept on down the
Pecos, agreeably to the direction of our guide, intending
to follow the river as far as the Bosque Redondo, or Round
Grove. This river Pecos, which derives its name from
the Pecos tribe of Indians, rises in the same lake with the
river of Santa Fe, and, passing by San Miguel, keeps a
south-easterly course. At a distance of about one hundred
and twenty miles from San Miguel, it being there a
deep stream about thirty yards wide, it bends to the south,
and runs into a deep, narrow, and rocky cañon, in which
cañon, but emerging from it below, it keeps on its course
southwardly, and runs into the Del Norte near San Antonio.
It is a long but narrow river, and however important
it may be to the people of San Miguel, it is of no
great consequence in any other way.
On the fifteenth, we started, all together, down the
Pecos; but early in the morning a dispute arose between
Harris and Campbell, which ended in a separation. Harris
was now for going on to Little Red River, through a
dry prairie. We were for following our guide and the
Pecos. We turned down to the river, and Harris kept on
ahead, but soon followed our example by taking to the
river. Campbell and myself were delayed, recovering a
mule which had joined to those of Harris, and in the
mean time our party encamped on the river. Harris went
into the cañon of the river, and followed it down, and the
next morning we turned to the hills above the cañon, and
came upon the river below, leaving him struggling in it
among the rocks. He was obliged at last, finding egress
below impossible, to ascend the precipitous sides of the
cañon and come out upon the hills. After this we never
encamped together until we reached the Bosque Redondo,
the point where we were to leave the river and strike into
the prairie. We were six days in reaching the Bosque,
including the fifteenth, and during the time we traveled
in a south-east direction. The country along the river
was hilly, red, and barren, devoid of timber, except on the
river. At the Bosque we encamped near some lodges of
poles, the remains of an old Comanche camp, and Harris
encamped half a mile or more above us.
The Spaniards who composed our party were now getting
frightened. We had already had two alarms of Indians,
which, although unfounded, still tended to dispirit
the cowardly pelayos; and, added to this, the name of the
Llano Estacado, on whose borders we then were encamped,
and which lay before us like a boundless ocean, was
mentioned with a sort of terror, which showed that it was
by them regarded as a place from which we could not escape
alive. This Stake Prairie is to the Comanche what
the desert of Sahara is to the Bedouin. Extending from
on the east, northward to an unknown distance, and
southward to the mountains on the Rio del Norte, with no
game but here and there a solitary antelope, with no water
except in here and there a hole, and with its whole surface
hard, barren and dry, and with the appearance always
of having been scorched by fire. The Comanche
only can live in it. Some three or four human skulls
greeted us on our passage through it; and it is said that
every year some luckless Spaniard leaves one of these mementos
lying in the desert. It is a place in which none
can pursue. The Comanches, mounted on the best steeds
which the immense herds of the prairie can supply, and
knowing the solitary holes of water, can easily elude pursuit.
Just before encamping at the Bosque Redondo, some of
our Spaniards were met by a party of their countrymen,
who had just returned from the Cañon del Resgate, in the
Stake Prairie. They had been there to trade hard bread,
blankets, punche, beads, &c., for buffalo robes, bear skins,
and horses, and were returning with the avails of their
traffic.
After night, Campbell and myself were called upon to
attend a council of the Spaniards of our party. We accordingly
went, and found Manuel, the Comanche, acting
as chief counsellor in the matter, and Manuel Leal and
another of the fraternity officiating as spokesmen. They
informed us that the traders had brought bad reports from
the Comanches: that they and the hostile Caiawas were
gathered in great strength in the Cañon del Resgate; that
they had defeated the American wagons, taking fifteen
hundred mules and one scalp, and lost several men in the
contest; that they were much excited against the Americans,
and had determined that none of us should trap in
their country; and that they had sent word to Manuel,
the Comanche, that if he entered their country guiding
us, they would sacrifice both us and him. They likewise
told us that there were no buffalo in the prairie; and
though all the rest was a lie, this was indeed the truth.
Manuel, the Comanche, then declared that he would not
enter the Stake Prairie, if one American remained in the
thus that they would not fight for and with us, that they
would leave us to the mercy of the Comanches, or perhaps
give us into their hands, it was determined to leave them
on the next morning; and thus went my last good opinion
of New Mexican character. I had tried these men for the
last; had put confidence in them; and knew that if they
were not worthy of it, there were none in the country who
were; and I found this last, best specimen of character, as
mean, as treacherous, as cowardly, as any other portion of
the people of the province. A man does not like to be
made a fool of, and I felt ashamed of myself for ever thinking
again (after repeated proofs to the contrary) that any
New Mexican could be a man. I think I never felt so
badly as I did the next morning, when I stood a four
hours' guard, in company with four Mexicans, and in a
camp of them where I knew that not one would fight for
me.
The next morning I went to the camp of Harris, and
joined his party. R— and Pierre accompanied me, and
Campbell returned to Taos. That day we lay by, and the
next we entered the Stake Prairie. I think it was the
twenty-first of September that we left the Pecos, leaving
the party of Campbell waiting for oxen on which to subsist.
The Bosque Redondo is about one hundred and
twenty miles from San Miguel, or perhaps it may be nearer
one hundred and fifty. As I kept no journal, and am
writing merely from memory, I cannot certainly say; but
I am not far from the true distance.
We entered the Llano Estacado by the road of the Comanches
and Comanche traders. We had been given to
understand that in the course of fourteen days we should
arrive at a descent, or falling off of the prairie to the east,
and that there (rising out of this ceja, or eye-brow, as they
called it) we should find the rivers Azul, (which we took
to be Red River,) San Saba, Javalines, Las Auces, and
one other, whose name I have forgotten. We had with us
one man who had trapped on some of these rivers, and
who said that there was beaver on them. We never were
on the Rio Azul, to my knowledge, but I am inclined to
think that it is the main branch of the Colorado; the San
north of the San Saba, and Javalines and Las Cruces are
branches of the San Saba. They all head near the same
degree of longitude.
Oct. 21.—We left the Pecos, taking a course to the
northward, in search of the road which was to lead us to
the Cañon del Resgate. Our route lay, for about ten
miles, across an uneven, dry, barren plain towards the edge
of the Stake Prairie, which seemed like a low ridge before
us. Reaching this about noon, we discovered that two of
our Mexicans were missing, intending, as we supposed, to
join the party of Campbell, through fear of entering the
desert. Two or three of the party went back, accordingly,
and brought them up. We then proceeded three or four
miles, passing, on our way, a good sweet spring of water,
where we first came into the road; and following up the
branch which ran down by this spring, we encamped in a
grassy meadow to the east of the stream. This day Bill
Williams killed an antelope, which was divided among
the whole party of forty-five men. Here we saw plenty of
sign of wild horses.
22.—Left camp early, and followed the road, which
now took a south-easterly direction. The day was exceedingly
hot, and we were frequently tantalized by seeing
at a distance ponds which appeared to be full of clear
rippling water. The deception would continue until we
were within a dozen rods of the place, and it would then
be found to consist of merely a hollow, encrusted over
with salt. About noon, thirst becoming excessive, two or
three of us rode ahead. The prairie was still uneven and
rugged. We passed through a body of sand-hills, and
then descending from them, came upon a hollow where
the earth appeared damp, and there were two or three old
holes which had been dug either by the traders or by the
Comanches. We here stopped and dug for water, obtaining
enough to satiate our thirst. It was warm, but fresh.
The eagerness with which our men drank, as they came
up one by one, and threw themselves upon the ground,
was amusing. Some of the party were for encamping
here, but we overruled them, and went on. After traveling
four or five miles, we came upon a large lake, and
encamped. No antelope was killed to-day. Some of the
party tried to kill cranes, and Bill Williams succeeded towards
night in bringing one to camp. This day we saw
two skulls bleaching in the sun. Traveled this day about
eighteen miles.
23.—Started early again, and hunted the road an hour
or two; in the mean time crossed a piece of marshy
ground. Some of us here went ahead to hunt; killed
nothing. Towards night we thought we saw buffalo at
a distance upon a ridge; we went to it accordingly, but
found it to be only weeds looming up in the distance;
turned down to a piece of low ground, where there was
water in holes, and encamped; found here the remains of
a defeated party of Spaniards—old blankets, saddles, &c.
Here, finding ourselves in danger of starving, Harris killed
an old mare, in which our mess refused to be partakers.
We had determined to starve two days longer before eating
any of it. This day we traveled on the road about
twelve miles. This road was now broad and plain, consisting
of fourteen or fifteen horse trails side by side; its
course still south-east.
24.—Early this morning Bill Williams killed an antelope,
which was divided among the whole party. After
eating, we started again, still keeping the road, still very
hot, and no water on the road. Stopped at noon on a hill,
and lay in the sun; saw horse tracks here. About the
middle of the afternoon we reached a low place fed by a
spring which came out under limestone rocks; this was
very good water. Here were plenty of old Comanche
lodge poles, sites of lodges, half burnt sticks, &c., and
piles of buffalo bones. Wherever the Comanches kill
buffalo they make piles of bones, for the purpose of appeasing
the offended animals, and have ceremonies performed
over them by their medicine men; and no matter
how poor a fire they have, or how wet and cold it may be,
they will not burn a bone, alleging that it would make
them unlucky in hunting. A son of Harris killed an antelope,
here, and our mess still ate no horse meat. We
traveled this day about twelve miles, and still toward the
southeast, following the road.
25.—Six of us, this morning, kept to the right of the
party, for the purpose of hunting. About noon we reached
a hole of water, at which we found the track of a buffalo
bull. We separated, accordingly, three to the sand-hills
on the left, and the others of us to those which lay to the
right, along on the edge of a large dry salt lake. The
idea of getting buffalo inspired us, and we pushed on
cheerily with our jaded animals, now weary with running
antelope. After traveling among the hills to the distance
of a mile and a half from the place where we separated,
we saw five bulls below us in a wide hollow, lying down.
One of us went back then to the party, to bring more men
and better horses, with which to run the buffalo, and in
the mean time my companion and myself dismounted, and
lay awaiting his return. In the course of an hour we
were joined by some thirteen, including the three from
whom we had separated. We approached warily to within
a hundred yards of the animals, and then rushed upon
them; and had I been mounted on anything but a slow
mule, the chase would have been exciting. As it was, I
was soon distanced; for though a buffalo appears, both
standing and running, to be the most unwieldy thing in
the world, I can assure my readers that they get along
with no inconsiderable degree of velocity; and, strange as
it may seem, no matter how old and lean a buffalo may
be, no matter if he cannot run ten steps after he is up, still
you can never see more than one motion when he rises;
he is up and running in an instant. Shot after shot and
shout after shout told the zeal of the hunters, and in a
short time one buffalo fell about three miles from me.
Thither I went, and while the hunters were busy cutting
up the animal, Lewis and myself went in pursuit of another,
which was wounded. Our expedition was unsuccessful;
we accordingly followed the party, now in motion,
and after traveling about eight miles through a dry plain,
covered with scrub oak bushes, very small, we encamped
at a spring near the road, and in the course of two hours
the other hunters came in, having killed two more buffalo.
Here was nothing to burn, not even the ordure of horses,
which had hitherto never failed us; we could only make
a blaze of tall weeds, and throw in our meat. I can conceive
blackened with the brief blaze, impregnated with the
strong filthy smoke of the weeds—and only half cooked—
it required the utmost influence of that stern dictator,
hunger, to induce us to eat it. The reader is not to imagine
that the meat of the buffalo is all good. Oh no!
The meat of the cow is, of a certainty, superior to any
meat on earth; but even horse-meat is better than the
flesh of a lean old bull. To add to our comforts, the
ground here was covered with sand-burs which easily
pierced through our thin moccasins, and kept us continually
employed in picking them out of our feet. Traveled
to-day about eighteen miles.
26.—This day I mounted my horse, determining not
to be left behind again in a chase. Very windy. I have
forgotten this day's journey entirely. We traveled, however,
nearly all day, and must have made fifteen miles in
a south-east direction.
27.—This day the road turned first north, and then
nearly north-west, leading through a deep soft sand.
About the middle of the afternoon, we came in sight of
trees. These were the first we had seen since leaving the
Pecos, and they were merrily hailed by all the party, as
though they had been old friends. There is nothing adds
so much to the loneliness of the prairie as the want of timber.
Bill Williams, a Frenchman by the name of Gerand,
and myself, were now ahead, pushing on to reach water
and timber, for we were both tired and hungry. It was
likewise very cold and windy, and the sand was continually
blowing in our eyes. We had entirely lost the road,
and when we at length ascended the highest sand-hill near
us and saw an uneven plain extending in front of us, we
found that we were not yet near the water. Antonio, our
guide, indicated a place where he said he had once
encamped, and where there was water, and while looking
towards it, we thought we saw buffalo in the distance.
We accordingly pushed on, leaving Antonio to wait for the
pack mules, hoping ourselves to kill a cow before night.
Arriving within half a mile of them, we found that they
were horses, and at the same time that we were close upon
a camp of the Comanches, around which the horses were
joined by half a dozen more of the party, who informed us
that a young squaw was with the party. We all then returned
to meet the pack mules, and to take measures for
any emergency. On arriving at the party, Bill Williams
insisted on shooting the woman who was riding towards
the camp leading a horse packed with wood. Bill was
actually senseless with fear, or he would not have done it.
He drew his pistol, and was only deterred from shooting her
by a threat of instant death if he did so. I do not think
that we would have shot him for her; but he supposed
that we would do it, and it answered our purpose. The
girl went on, and we held a consultation upon the course
to be pursued. Bill declared that he would sooner sleep
three nights without water, than go to the village, and
the silence of several others gave assent to what he said.
But the rest of us overruled him, and we determined on
proceeding and encamping at the water. Our Spaniards
commenced firing off and reloading their guns; and in
the mean time the Comanches began to come out,
mounted, towards us. Three of them, including an old
chief, first met us. We directed our interpreter to ask
them if they were friends? They answered that they
were—that they had shaken hands with the Americans,
and were friends. Bill was again protesting that he would
kill the chief, but was again hindered by the same significant
threat as before. As they now began to come in
greater force from the village, we directed the chief to
order them to keep their distance, and we moved forward,
agreeably to the request of the chief, who wished us to
encamp near the village. Notwithstanding our former
order, the Indians pressed upon us, all armed with spears
and bows; and seeing that Antonio hesitated, through
fear, to interpret for us, I directed the chief in Spanish (at
which I was the only linguist) to send back his men, or we
would fire upon them. This threat produced the desired
effect, and we were molested no more until we reached the
place for encamping, upon the edge of a marshy spot of
ground, with here and there a hole of water. Just above
us was the village, consisting of about twenty lodges, together
with some additional minor edifices. A good Caiawa,
with six or eight poles, and in the form of a cone, covered
with dressed buffalo hides, which, when new, are perfectly
white, but grow brown and smoky with age. Inasmuch
as these Comanches are wandering Indians, and as it is
seldom that they find themselves in a place where they can
obtain lodge-poles, they are obliged to carry them wherever
they go. Thus you may know their trail by the marks
which the poles make as they are dragged along, suspended
on each side of their horses. They likewise carry
an abundance of stakes for securing their horses.
The Comanches are a nation entirely distinct from the
Pawnees, with whom they are often confounded, because
a part of the western desert is common ranging ground
for both nations. Generally speaking, westwardly from the
degree of longitude, distant four hundred miles from the
border of Arkansas territory, and extending to the Rocky
mountains, and bounded on the north by the upper
branches of the Arkansas, and on the south by the Rio
del Norte, is the country of the Comanches. Still, as I
have mentioned before, the Pawnees do rob and murder
along the mountains to a considerable distance south; and,
as well as the Caiawas and Arapehoes, are to be found on
the main Canadian, and to the south of it.
The Comanches are a part of the Snake or Shoshone
nation, and speak nearly the same language. They have
no settled place of abode, and no stationary villages. They
follow the buffalo, and are most commonly to be found, in
the winter, along the Pecos and del Norte; and in the
summer, on the Canadian and the Semaron; but even to
this, there are exceptions. This last winter, they were
upon the Canadian, as they were likewise in July, 1832.
In the winter of 1831-2, they were not on that river at
all, but were gathered in numbers along the del Norte below
the Pass. As to their number of warriors, I doubt if any
one knows much about it. The country through which
they range is so large, and they are so liable to be confounded
with other tribes, that we are not likely to have
any certain idea of their numbers. I have heard the
whole nation estimated at 10,000 warriors; but I am mistaken
if they have more than five thousand. As we knew
the Presidio del Norte, and bordering on the Indians of
Texas, were, for all our purposes, entirely distinct from
the northern Comanches, we took great pains to find out
to which our present acquaintances belonged. We knew
that those in the south were more friendly to the Americans,
and less treacherous, than those in the north, who,
although speaking a different language from the Caiawas,
are still always allied with them, and are, like them, the
deadly enemies of the Americans. They uniformly asserted
that they were from the del Norte, and were friendly.
In corroboration of this, they had a few red and green
American blankets, which we thought they must have obtained
from San Antonio in Texas. They might, however,
have obtained them of the Snakes, as they do their
guns; while the Snakes are supplied by the trappers and
traders. Seeing but few warriors about, we inquired
where they all were? They answered, `To the north, hunting:'
and this induced us to believe only that they were
with the Caiawas on the track of the returning wagons.
The old chief told us, too, that when he was in Santa Fe
just before, he went thither for the purpose of making
peace with the Americans there as he had done in San
Antonio. If he was in Santa Fe, he and his party were
the Indians who killed the nephew of Viscara. On the
whole, we concluded to believe them to be hostile and
northern Comanches, whom fear, and not their own good
will, forced to keep peace with us. Soon after our arrival,
the few young men who were in the village, mounted and
went off in different directions, as the chief said, for the
purpose of hunting—but, as we believed, to give intelligence
to the other villages, and to the scattered warriors—
and none were left in the village, except the old men, women
and children. The people of this village appeared
to be extremely poor. They had no blankets—no buffalo
robes—no meat—and were dressed shabbily, and
without any of that gaudiness which some Indians exhibit.
A dirty and ragged dress of leather, and part of a ragged
blanket, was the common apparel. They are, in fact, a
very common-looking Indian, much inferior in person to
the Osages, the Shawnees, the Delawares, or any of the
possessing that acute and at the same time dignified look
common to the Aboriginal. They are of middle height,
and like all Indians, have good limbs, and long black hair,
which they leave uncut. Some of them had their hair joined
behind to buffalo or horse hair, and a rope of the latter
depending from it, which nearly reached the ground.
The old women, particularly, were hideously ugly. I imagine
that there is no being on earth who would be as valuable
to a painter desirous of sketching his satanic majesty,
as an old Comanche woman. They reminded me strongly
of Arab women, whom I have seen painted out in divers
veritable books of travels. The same high cheek-bones—
long black hair—brown, smoked, parchment-like skin—
bleared eyes, and fiendish look—belong to the women of
both nations. While looking at them, I could hardly help
shuddering, as the thought would strike me, that possibly
they might, ere long, have the opportunity of exercising
the infernal ingenuity of their nature upon me. Several of
us went to their village, distant from us perhaps three
hundred yards, and bought wood and a little dried buffalo
meat of them, with tobacco and vermillion. The young
man, in particular, who was the only intelligent-looking
Indian among them, took especial pains to obtain me
some meat, and likewise offered me a good horse for red
cloth enough to make me a pair of leggings. I had no
such article, however. Horses are their only riches. There
were about a thousand of them round this village, and a
few mules. I particularly observed one mule in the mark
of Agustin Duran, custom-house officer at Santa Fe. In
the evening, the same young fellow came down and invited
Harris and his clerk, Bill Williams and myself, to go
up and eat with him. Taking our guns, we went accordingly.
We found the old chief and his family outside of
the lodge, seated round a fire, over which a small brass
kettle was hanging. On our arrival, we were motioned to
our seats with true Indian gravity, and something of respect.
The contents of the brass kettle were then emptied into a
wooden bowl, and placed before us. It was the boiled flesh of
a fat buffalo, cow, perfectly fresh, having been killed that
day—and a most delicious meal it was to us. Kettle after
of the chief; for it takes but five minutes to boil this meat.
A man never knows how much meat he can eat, until he
has tried the prairie; but I assure the reader that four
pounds at a meal is no great allowance, especially to a
hungry man. On ending the supper, we paid them with
tobacco and a knife or two, and returned to our camp—
not, however, without that indispensable ceremony, a
general smoke, in which my pipe went once or twice
round the whole party, women and all. The next morning,
the chief wished us to lay by a day or two, and hunt
buffalo. He assured us that there was an abundance of
buffalo cows on a lake about nine miles to the north-east,
and that his young men should accompany our hunters
thither. We declined remaining, chiefly through apprehension
of treachery. Finding that we would not remain,
he promised us that at the next village his son and daughter
in law should join us and conduct us to the beaver.
He said that we should find beaver in nine days.
28.—Gathered up our horses and left the camp of the
Comanches, directing our course nearly due east, and following
the trail by which the chief and his party had come
a day or two before. Our route at first, lay through sand-hills,
just before emerging from which, we found two or
three hackberry trees, and several of us delayed, picking
the berries. From the sand hills we now came again upon
the prairie, and found much difficulty in tracking the
marks of the lodge-poles along its hard surface—and in
addition it began to rain. Just at night, we followed the
path into a break in the prairie, which opened into a long
hollow, in which we encamped by the side of a pond,
which is the head of one of the chief branches of the Colorado
or the Brazos de Dios river.
Lest I may be misunderstood, I will explain why I use
both these names in speaking of this river. The reader,
by consulting the map, will find two rivers running through
Texas, of which the longer one is called (in most maps, if
not in all) the Colorado. But I have been informed, that
not long since the names were changed, and that the long
river is now called the Brazos. The reason given me for
the change, is this:—Some years ago there was a drought in
water came down in the long river (or the Colorado). The
pious Spaniards accordingly changed names, and called
the long river the Brazos de Dios, (or the Arms of God,)
on account of the especial care which it took of them, and
of the benefits which they received from it. We were now
in the Cañon del Resgate, and supposed ourselves to be
on the heads of Red River, but we began to question the
probability of finding the immense quantities of beaver
which we had anticipated. Still, however, we had abundance
of hope, though it was at times mingled with a little
distrust. Our beef, too, was nearly gone, but Bill Williams,
fortunately, killed an antelope, which was divided
as usual. Ducks were abundant in this pond, and one or
two were killed. Yesterday we traveled about twenty
miles north-east, and to-day twenty more, a little south of
east, making in both days about forty miles.
29.—This day we followed the valley down for some
distance. There was the bed of a stream, but water was
not running. Here and there it stood in ponds and holes.
The day was cold and windy, with a little rain. We then
went out of the valley to the left, and traveled in the prairie,
for the cañon was merely a break in the plain, of the
width of two or three hundred yards, and as soon as you
ascended the low sides of it, you were again on the illimitable
plain; and, like a well in the desert, the valley cannot
be seen until you are close upon it. About the middle
of the afternoon we saw in the valley another encampment,
and descended to it, for the purpose of procuring wood
and water. On our approach, the women mounted their
horses and took to the hills. A boy, whom they had taken
prisoner from the Mexicans, came out and talked with us,
and we sent him to assure the fugitives of our friendship.
They soon returned, and as it was raining hard, we commenced
trading for wood, and with difficulty bought
enough to make fires. Bill Williams then went over and
obtained part of a lodge cover, and two of the ugliest old
women I ever saw brought the lodge poles and put it up
for him. One of our party was lame with the rheumatism,
and we managed to keep him out of the rain in the lodge.
We bought some more dried meat, some dried grapes and
us all night, and almost every gun in camp was wet.
We traveled this day about fifteen miles in a south-east direction.
30.—Left the valley and traveled in the prairie to the
right of it. Late in the afternoon we turned down to timber,
and found no water in the valley. Some of the party
went to the distance of two miles above and below. Several
of the party, among whom was myself, brought in terrapins
hanging to their saddles. Our meat was gone, and
these animals cost no ammunition. Some, likewise, had
killed prairie dogs. The little plot of hackberry and bitter
cottonwood, where we encamped, appeared to have been a
great haunt of the buzzards and crows, and just after sunset,
the hawks began to gather in, and we commenced
shooting them, and thus, by means of hard labor, managed
to satiate our hunger. Hawks and prairie dogs do very
well, but there is too little meat about a terrapin. Traveled
eighteen miles to-day.
Oct. 1.—This day we again followed the road, which
now kept down the valley, and after going about three
miles we found rain-water standing in small holes. Soon
after, we came to a miry branch, and gave our animals
drink. Early in the day Bill killed an antelope, and about
noon, as we ascended a hill upon the edge of a valley, (to
the left of it,) we saw two or three Indians on the other
side in the prairie. Some of our party were behind. Bill
gave the sign of Indians, by riding four or five times round
in a circle of about ten feet in diameter; and when they
rejoined us we all turned down to the valley again—still
hunting terrapins—and at night we encamped on the
creek at a large hole of water. Traveled this day about
fifteen miles.
2.—About noon of to-day, reached the site of an old encampment
of the Indians; found some remnants of wood
and a few acorns. We went, perhaps, a hundred yards
beyond and encamped at a clear pond of water. Towards
night a Comanche came to us, armed with bow, arrows,
spear and shield, the latter ornamented with feathers and
red cloth. For his viaticum he bore the mane-piece of a
horse. He remained with us all night, and informed us
water would run soon. Another antelope was killed this
day. Traveled this day about twelve miles.
3.—Traveled for a time in the valley, and were rejoiced
at finding the water begin to run; it was a shallow, clear
stream of sweet water, about twenty yards wide, and we
began to have hopes of beaver. About noon we ascended
the hills to the right, (following the road,) and traveled in
the prairie. We here found a few bushes of the mesquito,
the first we had seen. In the afternoon we saw below, in
the valley, horses feeding, and we descended the hills with
much difficulty into the cañon, and found another village.
The valley was here wider, and was full of small hills interspersed
with mesquito bushes, that is, a kind of prickly,
green locust bush, which bears long narrow beans in
bunches, of a very pleasant and sweet taste. In this village
were about fifty lodges, much handsomer, too, than
those in the other villages; and, as in the two former, there
were multitudes of horses. I think that around the three
camps there could not have been less than five thousand
horses—and some of them most beautiful animals. Here,
too, there was a medicine lodge of black skins, and closely
shut up. We bought some meat and mesquito meal, made
by grinding the beans between two stones. Here, also,
there were no warriors. Several of the women had
their legs cut and mangled by knives, as in the first village,
where they had disturbed us all night by their lamentations.
I know not how they had lost the men for whom
they were mourning, but at the time I supposed that it had
been done in the attack on the wagons. This day we
traveled about sixteen miles, perhaps more.
4.—About two miles below the village we came to a
large lake, and here Antonio wished us to leave this river
and go to the south, until we struck the Mochico, crossing
which, he assured us that in four or five days we would
come upon the San Saba. Harris, however, who seemed
destined always to go wrong, determined on following
down the river on which we then were, and which he very
wisely took to be the south fork of the Canadian. We
traveled this day about fifteen miles, and encamped on the
still south-east.
5.—This day we killed another antelope, and encamped
early, upon the creek. While I was on the first guard,
the hunters brought in a Comanche horse which they had
found, blind of one eye. At their approach, almost every
animal in company broke their ropes or drew their stakes.
Had a yell been raised then, we should not have saved one
animal. Traveled this day about ten miles.
6.—This day we passed an old camp of the Comanches,
and followed their trail down the bed of the river, which
here was dry. Encamped at night in a thicket of mesquito
bushes, near a large pond of water, and where, for
the first time, the river water was salt. It likewise began
to wind around, keeping, however, its general course to
the south-east. Traveled this day about fifteen miles.
7.—Started late, crossed the fork we had been so long
traveling on, went over to the other, and encamped. These
two forks are nearly of the same size. In going from one
to the other, we passed through a large level prairie, covered
with tall mesquito bushes; and finding some very
large, deep purple, prickly pears, Lewis and myself ate of
them, and the consequence was, a terrible ague all night.
The river bottom where we encamped was wide and
grassy, and shaded with large cottonwood. Traveled
this day near twenty miles, in a due south-east course. At
night, killed the Comanche horse which had been brought
in. Of this I partook, but just before dark two or three
deer were killed close to camp. Encamped at the junction
of the two forks.
8.—Lay by this day.
9.—Left early in the morning, crossed the river, and
struck into the hills. The valley and the prairie had now
disappeared, and we were in a country of broken, red,
barren hills and deep gullies, then dry, but which must, in
the spring, carry the whole water of the prairie into the
branches of the Brazos and Red River. Lewis, Irwin and
myself lost the company. We were on the right of the river.
After waiting for the party for some time, we turned down to
the river, but found no trail. We then went into the hills
again, and followed the river up, and met with Bill Williams
till night, and then encamped together. We had plenty of
meat, however. The next morning we separated again
from Bill, took to the hills on the right, and followed down
the river, nearly to a high hill which we had seen the day
before. Finding still no trail, and not imagining that the
party had been farther from the river than we had, and
had struck in again between us and the hill, we turned
back and went up nearly to our old camp. Here we
struck the trail and followed it till dark, and encamped
within about four miles of the party, without water or food,
having traveled that day nearly forty miles, through the
worst country upon earth. We could hardly go five rods
at a time without crossing a gully, and were often obliged
to dismount, and sometimes we lost an hour in going up
and down one of them, to find where to cross it. Just
after dark we heard three guns fired in the direction of the
river, and answered them by three more. This day we
had seen a large signal-smoke rise to the right behind a
mountain, and another still farther below answered it.
11.—Went down to the river and found the party, got
breakfast, scolded awhile with Harris, and started. We
still kept down the river—though not following all its
windings—and encamped on the southern bank of it.
Traveled this day, in a south-east direction, about eighteen
miles.
12.—This day we crossed the river several times in the
course of the forenoon; dug for water, which was, as
usual, salt. About noon five of us left the party, turned
into the hills on the north-east side of the river, and left
this fork of the Brazos forever. Striking our course for a
hill which we saw at a distance, we traveled about twelve
miles after leaving the party, and encamped by a hollow of
water and among some mesquito bushes. Traveled to-day,
in the whole, about twenty-two miles.
On reviewing our route thus far, it will appear that
about two hundred and sixty miles to the south-east of San
Miguel, or three hundred and ten from Santa Fe, is the
head of the branch of the Brazos upon which we had been
traveling; that, keeping down this river to the distance of
seventy-eight miles, still south-east, and then striking a
village, we should have reached the small creek Mochico
in three days—that is, in the distance of forty miles; that,
crossing this branch, which also runs a south-east course,
we should have reached, in five days more, (seventy miles)
the Rio Azul, a river of clear running water, running also
to the south-east, and which is, without any doubt, the
main branch of the Brazos; that, keeping down this six
or eight days, we should have reached the point where the
San Saba joins it, turning up which river we should have
passed the mouths of three branches running into it.
Thus much we were informed by Manuel, the Comanche,
before we left him, and it was corroborated by Antonio.
One hundred and forty-six miles below the head of the
branch on which we traveled (on the Del Resgate) another
fork came in from the north and joined it; and one hundred
and eighty-four miles from the head of it, or four
hundred and ninety-four miles, nearly, south-east of Santa
Fe, we left the Del Resgate. It was here about fifty yards
wide, containing water only here and there in holes.
The country upon which we entered after leaving the
river, was hilly, red and barren, thinly covered with mesquito
bushes, and in the hollows with hackberry trees. At
almost every step you could see marks of water, although
at this time it was perfectly dry and hard. These general
marks of inundation, the numerous gullies at every step,
and the rough, washen appearance of the red hills, all
prove that, in the spring, the rush of water through this
country must be tremendous, and travel, in any way, impossible.
We supposed that we were about ten days'
journey from the Cross Timbers, and on the waters of Red
River. I had a horse, and each of my companions a mule,
and although we were in the midst of enemies, we had little
fear of not reaching the United States in safety. Besides
Lewis and myself, our little party consisted of Irwin,
Ish and Gillett. Irwin was an Englishman, who had just
come by land from California—a brave, good-humored
man, and not much afraid of anything save wild animals.
Ish and Gillet were young men, from Missouri, who had
been hired in Santa Fe by Harris. The latter was a mere
boy, the former was much of a man, brave as a lion, active
with the exception of Irwin, a pistol or two. He, however,
made up for this apparent deficiency, by bearing a double-barrelled
English fowling-piece. We had, likewise, a
plenty of ammunition and Spanish blankets.
I cannot wonder that many men have chosen to pass
their life in the woods, and I see nothing overdrawn or
exaggerated in the character of Hawk-eye and Bushfield.
There is so much independence and self-dependence in
the lonely hunter's life—so much freedom from law and
restraint, from form and ceremony, that one who commences
the life is almost certain to continue in it. With
but few wants, and those easily supplied, man feels none
of the enthralments which surround him when connected
with society. His gun and his own industry supply him
with fire, food and clothing. He eats his simple meal,
and has no one to thank for it except his Maker. He travels
where he pleases, and sleeps whenever he feels inclined.
If there is danger about, it comes from enemies, and not
from false friends; and when he enters a settlement, his
former life in the woods renders it doubly tedious to him:
he has forgotten the forms and ceremonies of the world;
he has neglected his person, until neatness and scrupulous
attention to the minutiæ of appearance are wearisome to
him; and he has contracted habits unfit for polished and
well-bred society. Now, he cannot sit cross-legged upon
a blanket; and instead of his common and luxurious
lounging position, he must be confined rigidly to a chair.
His pipe must be laid aside, and his simple dress is exchanged
for the cumbersome and confined trappings of the
gentleman. In short, he is lost, and he betakes himself to
the woods again, for pure ennui; and the first night on
which he builds his fire, puts up his meat to roast, and
lies down upon the ground, with the open sky above him,
and the cool, clear, healthy wind fanning his cheek, seems
to him like the beginning of a better and freer life.
13.—We started this morning early, and at noon we
reached another and still larger branch of the Brazos, running
the same course, (to the south-east.) We crossed it,
and rested on the north bank, near a large hole of water
in the bed of the river, but which was so immensely salt
from the tip of my finger, and it is no exaggeration when
I say that it was as salt as the water of the ocean. It was,
in fact, perfect brine, of a deep dirty yellow color, so
strongly was it impregnated with salt. After stopping two
hours, we went down the river a short distance, among the
mesquito bushes, and Lewis shot a young doe, and Ish an
old buck. We cut up and packed the meat, crossed the
river, and kept on towards the south-east, which course
we had pursued all day. Just at night we came upon the
river again, crossed it, and encamped on the other side of
it, in a small thicket of bushes. This afternoon we had
seen an abundance of horse tracks, and marks of lodge-poles,
and we concluded that there must be a village of
Comanches not far above where we were encamped. Here
we dug several holes in the bed of the river, which was a
hundred yards wide, and contained water in holes. It
was all alike salt, and we found it impossible to drink it.
We foolishly cooked part of our deer and ate it; and,
more foolishly still, some of us added salt, of which I had
a little in my pocket. At dusk we put out our fire, and
would have slept well, had we not dreamed of drinking
huge draughts of water. Once in the night I conceived
myself lying flat by a river, with the water touching my
lips, but entirely unable to get a drop of it into my mouth.
Traveled east about eighteen miles.
14.—Left the river early, and bore to the north-east.
About ten in the forenoon we came in sight of the river
again to the right of us; descended into a deep narrow
valley running into the river at right angles, and containing
the bed of a little stream, which we followed up for
two miles, partly searching for water, and partly because
unable to cross it. Found no water; crossed it high up,
and took our course again. About two in the afternoon, we
came upon the river again, still to the right, and running
a course parallel with us; bore down towards it, and came
upon a deep, rocky hollow, running into it, and containing
water in holes. Tormented with intense thirst, and with
the heat of the day, we were rejoiced at finding water, and
not more for ourselves than for our animals, who were
trembling under us with weakness, and wearing that dim
suffering from thirst. Drove them down the sides of the
canon, at the risk of their necks, and followed them. We
found the water very salt, but still we could drink it. It
seemed as if our animals would never become satiated
with the water; they returned to it again and again, and
stood pawing in it whenever they were allowed to get to it,
until after dark. The quantities which we ourselves drank
of it were immense. The large wooden Comanche bowl,
which Irwin bore, and which held about a pint and a half,
was but a single draught for either of us, and for half an
hour it was hardly out of the hands of one of us before it
was in those of another; and so salt was the water, that it
had hardly passed down our throats before we were as
thirsty as ever. Before we slept that night, I hesitate not
to say, that we each drank three gallons of this water.
After smoking, eating and drinking, we slept, only disturbed
by the noise of a bear, who came tumbling down
the side of the hollow, close to us. We traveled this day
about twelve miles to the north-east.
15.—This morning we turned to the east and left this
river, which we there named the Salt Fork of the Brazos,
or in good Spanish, `The Brazo Salado.' Part of the
morning we traveled in a high prairie, or table land, and
we then came to a place where this table sunk down
abruptly into a lower country; here we descended into a
long, narrow valley between the abrupt sides of the upper
table land, which seemed, to look back upon them, to be
mountains rising out of the plain. The country ahead,
too, was very hilly and broken. About ten we arrived at
a large clear limestone spring of water, where we stopped
and drank plentifully; from this spring, a small stream of
water ran down the valley, in a course nearly north-east.
We followed the valley down, and crossed this hollow
about forty times. The valley was full of horse-tracks and
signs of Indians; and still, the temptation of a large catfish
or two which we saw in the spring under the shelving
rocks, was enough to induce us to fire a shot or two at them,
which however, was unsuccessful. About two miles below
the spring, we encamped on the edge of the branch, in
green, heavy grass, and close to an abundance of hackberry
running a course nearly north-east—and after dinner, we
continued that course, until, weary of crossing the creek,
we bent more to the east and left it to our left; crossed
the point of a hill and left a high and conspicuous conical
hill to the right, about six miles beyond which we emerged
from the broken hills into the mesquito, covering the bottom
on the edge of another river, about as wide as the
Salt Fork, and of the same character. Just on the
descent to the river, was an old enclosure which had been
built by the Comanches, of brush, and a circle surrounded
with converging poles, which reminded me of the threshing
floors of the New Mexicans. Passing through the mesquito,
we reached the river, and found water, but salter,
if possible, than the former. While we were sitting on
our animals, watching them put their mouths to the water
and refuse it, Lewis raised a laugh, by observing, that if
Tom Banks reached that river, he would have salt tea
enough,—alluding to his verbiage about Saltillo. This
branch ran the same course as the former, and we supposed,
joined it not far below. Crossed it and went up to
the high mesquito prairie on the other side of it, and encamped
without water. We now supposed ourselves to be
on the north side of Red River, but we were immensely
out of the matter. Traveled this day about eighteen
miles; gained perhaps twelve, east.
16.—Our route this day, lay in the forenoon through a
level prairie covered with mesquito bushes. We now began
to hope that we should soon arrive at the open prairie.
But at noon we came upon a break of the prairie into low,
uneven ground, and saw away in front of us what appeared
to be a large river. Here, Lewis went out, killed a deer,
and brought it in whole. After dinner, I delayed in camp
until the party were two miles ahead. About three miles
from camp, we passed a small hill with a pile of stones on
the summit,—probably the fruits of the superstition of the
Comanches. At night, we encamped on a small branch
of salt water which runs into the river. Here we saw a
bear, but could not get a shot at him. To-day traveled
about fifteen miles north-east.
17.—Crossed the river, which is about twenty yards, or
perhaps thirty, wide—sandy, and with little water, like all
the rest; and like them, too, running to the south-east.
After crossing the river, we continued on about three
miles, and crossed a branch of the same stream, running
with clear but very salt water through a grassy valley.
After crossing, we kept up the branch for some distance,
and ascended into the prairie, which was still clothed
with mesquito bushes. Here we tried in vain to kill a
deer, and stopped at noon on a deep hollow, with brackish
water. In the afternoon, we kept on through the prairie,
and towards night, came upon a hole of muddy water,
beat up, as well as surrounded, by innumerable horse
tracks. Here we concluded to pass the night; and immediately
on stopping, Ish pointed out to us four or five wild
horses, very quietly feeding not far from the water. Lewis
and he accordingly went out with the intention of killing
one; and after several shots, succeeded, and returned to
camp, bearing a portion of the animal. Fire had been
made in the mean time, and every man was soon busily
employed in roasting horse-meat. Before we had time to
eat, however, a sudden trampling was heard approaching—
and we stood to our arms, when suddenly about a hundred
horses came careering down towards the water. They
had approached within thirty yards of us before they discovered
us, when, with a general snort, they galloped
swiftly by us. As they passed, Ish discharged his big
gun, which added wings to their terror, and they were
soon out of sight and hearing, and we returned to our
cooking. Upon eating our meat, we found it far from unpleasant.
It was tender, sweet and very fat; and on the
whole, is far preferable to the meat of a lean deer. The
choice piece in a horse, is under the mane; and this we
left roasting under the coals, wrapped in the skin until the
morning. After this, two or three of us went out on the
track of the horses, and about two hundred yards from
camp we found a beautiful young roan filly, dead—the
effects of Ish's big gun. Of this animal, we took a small
portion and returned to camp; and for the sake of satisfying
my curiosity, I took with me the tongue. This part of
the beast, I found not very palatable.
It seems astonishing, that from the few horses introduced
so short a time since, into America, by the Spaniards,
there should now be such immense herds in the prairie, and
in the possession of the Aboriginals. Hardly a day passed
without our seeing a herd of them, either quietly feeding,
or careering off wildly in the distance. They are the
most beautiful sight to be met with in the prairie. Of all
colors, but most commonly of a bay, and with their manes
floating in the wind, they present a beautiful contrast to
the heavy, unwieldy herds of buffalo, which seem, even at
their best speed, to be moved by some kind of clumsy machinery.
Some old patriarch always heads the gang, and
possesses the command over them. We were witnesses on
one particular occasion to an example of communication
between these animals, which proves them possessed of
something nearly allied to the power of speech. We had
seen a herd feeding at a distance, and we watched them to
see what effect would be produced upon them, when they
should receive our smell in the air; or, as hunters say,
the wind of us, which was blowing across our path in their
direction. On feeling it, they started in a slow trot,
headed, as usual, by a noble-looking old patriarch. Three
only of the whole herd were bold enough to separate and
take another direction. On discovering this defection of
his troops, the old chief turned back, and the whole herd
halted. Trotting briskly to the three deserters, he communicated
with them for a moment or two, and probably finding
remonstrance unavailing, started back and put his followers
in motion, quickly accelerating their gait to a gallop.
You may see the leader sometimes before, and sometimes
behind his troops, biting them and urging them on,
by every means in his power. As to the tale of their keeping
one of their number as sentinels, I believe nothing
of it. Their acute smell gives them sufficient warning,
and does away the need of a sentry. We traveled to-day
about fifteen miles in a course nearly east-north-east.
18.—Left camp in the morning, after a hearty meal of
horse-meat, and traveled through a high mesquito prairie.
The bushes, however, began to grow thinner and smaller,
and we now hoped to reach speedily to the high open
prairie, an event which we anxiously looked for. About
covered with thick hackberry trees, and in a short distance,
came upon a creek about twenty yards wide, running
clear water, but salt. This is a branch of Red River.
Here we nooned, and for the first time saw a flock of wild
turkeys, out of which we killed one. Leaving our camping
ground, we crossed the creek and kept down it some
distance, and then turned to the east. Towards night,
we struck another branch, and followed the bed of it to
the mouth, where it joined the creek on which we nooned,
and here we encamped. The water of the creek which
ran rippling over the stones, reminding us of the clear
streams of our own country and the mountains, was very
salt, but there was a small tide of good water (that is, not
too salt to drink) in the bed of the creek. Here we ate
our turkey, with the addition of a little horse-meat to relieve
the dryness of it. This day we traveled perhaps
fifteen miles east-north-east.
19.—This morning we finished our horse-meat, and
followed the course of the creek two or three miles, and
found sweet water under a bluff rock in the bed of the
river. We had, for several days, been tormented by constant
thirst; for salt water satisfies a man only while he is
drinking it. We now drank enough to satiate us, and took
a general smoke upon the occasion. We then struck into
the prairie, and Lewis killed a fat buck. We then turned
down to a branch of standing water, and nooned; and in
cooking our dinner, we set the long grass of the bottom
on fire, and had a noble blaze and smoke. We ate our
dinner, and left it burning, not without apprehensions of its
being observed by Indians. We still kept on our course
through the mesquito prairie, and towards night descended
into a hollow, and hunted water, but were driven out by
the gnats and musquitoes without finding any. On emerging
again from the hollow, we came upon an old Comanche
village, which must have contained, when occupied,
at least five hundred souls. After traveling through
the prairie until nearly night, we found a hollow of good,
and, for a rarity, perfectly fresh water. Here we encamped,
and in the night were awakened by the snorting
of one of our mules. After gathering our arms and waiting
of the alarm was simply a deer or two, whistling at a distance.
Traveled this day about eighteen miles east-northeast.
20.—After traveling about five miles in a broken prairie
country, we discovered two or three buffalo ahead of us,
and Lewis and Ish went on and wounded two of them,
one of which, an old cow, ran up into the prairie and fell.
She was too poor for us to touch, and we left her lying
there. We were now fairly in the broad open prairie, and
among the buffalo; and to the wanderer in the prairie,
nothing is so inspiriting as the thought of the immense
herds of these animals which are found on its broad bosom.
Their numbers are truly astonishing. You may see them
for whole days on each side of you as far as your sight will
extend, apparently so thick, that one might easily walk for
miles upon their backs, listlessly feeding along, until they
take the wind of you, and then moving off at a speed, of
which the unwieldy animals seem hardly capable. Wherever
they have passed, the ground looks as if it had been
burnt over.
Except in their faculty of smelling, the buffalo is the
most stupid animal in the world; and if you will creep towards
them, and obtain two or three shots at them before
you are seen, you may then rise and fire half a day at
them: they will only look stupidly at you out of their little
eyes, and now and then utter a grunt. But when they
have once smelt the blood of a companion, they are apt to
abscond. When an old bull is shot in any vital part, and
the hunter remains unseen, he will run a little way, and
then stand and bleed to death; but let him once see the
hunter, and become enraged, and it seems impossible to
kill him. I have seen them live for a length of time
which seemed astonishing, when ball after ball had been
shot into their heart and lungs. A cow will commonly
stand when shot, until she bleeds to death. The enraged
old bull, making fight, has rather a formidable appearance,
shaking his huge head, matted over with hair, and
glaring with his little twinkling eyes. A large herd of
them would make a tremendous charge upon a body of
horse, if they could be brought up to it. Nothing could
not enter at a distance greater than ten steps. Like all
other animals, they take especial care to defend their
young; and you may frequently see in the prairie rings
perhaps fifteen or twenty feet in diameter made by the
buffalo. They place their calves in the centre, and tramp
round them during the night, to protect them from the
wolves.
The flesh of an old bull is the worst meat in the world
during the summer and autumn; and that of the fat cow
is undoubtedly the best. I know of nothing edible, which
I would not exchange for the hump ribs of a fat buffalo
cow.
After leaving the old cow, we went on to a small hollow
bordered by cottonwood and willows, and encamped in
the bottom of the hollow. We had traveled this forenoon
in a course nearly east-north-east thirteen miles, and we
now determined to change our course and turn to the
north. We supposed ourselves to be on the north side of
Red River, and were desirous of reaching the Washita.
Accordingly, in the afternoon we traveled in a north
course about eight miles, and encamped in the open prairie,
on the edge of a hole of water. We saw in the evening,
plenty of scattering bulls, all with their faces turned
to the south, and we knew that the cows could not be far
behind them. We likewise saw a herd of elk trotting off
at a distance; and at night, we made a fire, for the first
time, of the dry ordure of the buffalo, which is the common
fuel in the prairie. It makes an excellent fire, and has
saved me from freezing to death several times. Here we
heard also for the first time, the buffalo grunting about us
in the night. Traveled this day in the whole, about
twenty-one miles.
21.—Early in the morning, we came suddenly upon a
broad river with bluff banks, running in a course nearly
east. Here, then, was Red River at last, which we
thought was far behind us. Now, however, there could
be no dispute. Here it was, a broad sand bed, more than
a mile wide, with not a drop of water visible, and with a
high prairie on each side—while the only thing to relieve
the monotony, was a few hackberries growing under the
water just under the opposite bank. Here were plenty of
new roads, made by the buffalo in crossing the river. On
ascending the bluff, we came again upon a high prairie
covered by numerous villages of prairie-dogs, who sat chattering
at us from their holes. This singular little animal,
which has no resemblance to a dog except in the
name, is to be found in villages throughout the whole
prairie, and always in the highest part of it, where they
must dig to an immense depth to reach water. They are
about as large as a gray squirrel, of a brown color, and
shaped nearly like a woodchuck. They are always found
in villages, and there is commonly one hole which has
five times the quantity of earth piled around it that
any other house in the village can boast of. They have
many enemies. The rattlesnake lives in the same hole
with them and devours them; and the little brown prairie
wolf and the tiger-cat lie in wait for them at their
very doors. You will frequently, too, find owls nestled in
their holes. We stopped at noon in a small low place full of
buffalo wallows. There had been water here, but it was
here no longer. We found a hole, at length, about as large
as my body, and scraped a small hole, from which I
obtained a draught or two of mud and water, which left
my throat plastered over with the former substance. We
ate our last venison and went on. In the afternoon we
saw some cows; and towards night my horse began to fail,
and we turned down to a small creek, timbered with hackberry,
for the purpose of encamping, and Lewis and Ish
killed three cows and a yearling calf. The water on
which we encamped was both muddy and salt. Traveled
this day about fifteen miles in a direction nearly north.
Thus it will be seen, that from our departure from the
Del Resgate branch of the Brazos river, we had traveled
about one hundred and forty miles when we reached Red
River, in a course generally north-east.
22.—Traveled generally this day in the prairie, now
and then crossing a small creek, and encamped at night
in an open place near a deep hole of water. This day we
saw an abundance of cows, and heard them grunting about
us at night. We were now in all the glory of a prairie
of timber; and we lay down at night with a feeling of
freedom and independence, which man does not always
enjoy in a city. Traveled to-day about fifteen miles north.
23.—Early this morning, a band of buffalo came about
us, and we lay in camp and killed two; took the tongues
and the hump meat, and went on. About noon, we
saw the first pecan tree which had greeted us, and we
hailed it as something peculiar to home. You would have
supposed that we had reached a house or a city. We likewise
found some scattering oak glades, and began to feel
out of danger. Just after noon, we came upon a creek of
good water, bordered with excellent grass, and determined
to stop and recruit our horses. We turned down and
encamped accordingly, after traveling this day about nine
miles nearly north. Moccasin making and mending
clothes occupied the remainder of the day; and not only
at this time, but often afterwards, we had reason to rejoice
that Irwin was with us to play the part of tailor, in which
he was an adept.
24.—Lay by to-day, and in the evening Lewis and Ish
killed one cow and a yearling, and wounded a barren cow;
feasted upon marrow bones and hump ribs, and threw fear
to the winds, very piously handing over the Comanches,
with our good wishes, to his Satanic Majesty.
25.—Left camp, and, after proceeding about a mile,
found our wounded cow, yet alive, and able to make fight;
killed her and took the fleece. She was, to use a western
expression, powerful fat. Plenty of meat packed now,
every horse bearing a whole buffalo fleece; that is, all the
meat on the outside of the back-bone, hump ribs and side
ribs. We crossed several creeks this forenoon, none of
which were running; all, however, well timbered, and
with good bottoms. Just before stopping at noon, Lewis
shot an excellent buck, from his horse, and killed him in
his tracks. We took his fleece likewise. Soon after, he
killed a badger, and at the place where we encamped, we
killed three raccoons. We stopped at a pond of water on
the bank of a small creek, and I think I never enjoyed
any experiment in epicurism so well as I did the mixture
of buffalo and deer meat which we had here, and for several
encamped this night, but I think that we made, this day,
about fifteen miles, in a course, as usual, nearly north.
26.—Traveled, this day, through the same kind of
country as yesterday. Nooned on a creek of running
water, after crossing one or two creeks in the forenoon.
Directly after setting out again, we crossed another creek,
and were keeping down it to the east, when we described a
range of hills to the north, and determined to keep our
course until we reached them. We accordingly kept on
across the prairie, and encamped at night on another small
creek, where we hunted turkies unsuccessfully. Traveled
this day about fifteen miles north.
27.—This day we passed through immense herds of
buffalo, and, about three in the afternoon, ascending a table
hill which lay in front of us, saw that there were no
buffalo ahead. We kept on until the middle of the afternoon,
and encamped near a pond of water, and not far
from a deep creek. It soon commenced raining, and during
the storm Lewis killed a cow, and we brought the
meat into camp. Here we lay two days, when the storm
ceased.
30.—Moved this morning about six miles, to the top of
a hill to the north of us, and stopped again, our animals
being worn out by the storm. We encamped in a grove of
oak, and made our first oak fire. Towards evening Lewis
killed four buffalo cows, and we were again kept from
starvation.
31.—Lay by this day, killed three turkeys, and had a
change of diet.
Nov. 1.—This day we again turned our course to the
north, through the prairie. For a mile or two I rode, but
was obliged to dismount and drive my horse before me.
At noon, we encamped on a small creek, and at night in
the Cross Timbers on the edge of a deep hollow. This
day, for the first time, we saw a few grapes. Traveled
about twenty-one miles, N. E. by N.
2.—This morning I left my horse and went forward on
foot, packing a blanket upon my back. From this day
until the seventh there was little variety in our traveling;
sometimes in the open prairie, and sometimes for miles in
which hardly allowed our mules to force a way through
them. My ancles were frequently covered with blood,
and nothing but my strong pantaloons of leather saved my
legs from being served in the same manner.
On the seventh, towards night, we heard a gun fired to
the left of us, and knew, by the crack, that it was a fusee
or a musket. We accordingly supposed it to proceed
from a Comanche. Proceeding on, however, we came,
about three of the afternoon, upon a deep river of running
water, which we all took to be the Washita, but which
Lewis concluded, from its size, it could not be. He supposed
it to be Red River; and finding it impossible to
cross it, we turned back sadly, and encamped about four
miles from it. The expression of despair upon the countenances
of some of the party was ludicrous.
8.—This morning we turned down the river, determined
to go in upon it and cross it. We had not proceeded far
when we saw an Indian at a distance of about five miles,
in the prairie. We still, however, kept down the slope of
the prairie, toward the river, at a slow gait, expecting his
approach, and in about half an hour he appeared within
a quarter of a mile of us, coming through a small point of
timber. When within two hundred yards of us he stopped.
We motioned to him to come on, and after some hesitation,
he did so. I asked him in Spanish if he could speak
that language, supposing him to be a Comanche, for
they generally speak that language. Thinking that I
wished to know his nation, he answered, `Wawsashy'
(Osage.) It was a pleasant sound to us, and seeing it
confirmed by his single point of hair upon the top of his
head, we shook hands with him, and inquired of him, by
signs, where his camp was. He pointed to the top of the
hill, and wished us to go there and eat, to which we
agreed, being desirous of finding out where we actually
were. Seeing me on foot, he gave me his horse to ride,
and kept ahead of us on foot, chattering continually to us,
and accompanying his orations with an abundance of signs.
We soon knew for a certainty that he was an Osage, by
the frequent garnishing of his discourse with the word
Wawsashy, and by the terminations iginy and oginy, as
three miles, we stopped upon the summit of the prairie,
and kindled a small fire; and in the course of a half hour
were joined by about a dozen more of the tribe, all armed
with fusees, except one, who bore a rifle. Before they
joined us, however, we saw them run two or three wild
horses, which they do by taking stations, and pursuing
wild animals in turn, until some one comes near enough
to the prey to place a noose over his head, which noose is
carried, attached to the end of a long and light pole or wand.
After joining us, and before we started again, some of them
managed to steal all our tobacco, except one small piece,
and then offering me another horse to ride, we moved
towards their camp. It was past noon when we reached
it, for it was at least thirteen miles from the river. As
we approached, the inhabitants of the village, who had
been warned of our approach, not only by various strange
shouts, but also by messengers, came out to meet us in
great numbers; and after crossing a branch of the river,
we entered the camp with our arms nearly shaken off at
the elbows, by the rough, but friendly greetings of our new
friends. Entering the village, which consisted of about
thirty lodges, we were conducted to the chief's tent, where
we found a young Frenchman, who could speak very good
English. He informed us that this was the tent of the
principal chief, and that our property would be very safe
in it. We entered and shook hands with the chief and
his subordinates, who occupied the interior. We bestowed
ourselves in various positions upon the buffalo robes which
were laid about the fire, and maintained a true Indian
gravity, until they should see fit to address us. The young
Frenchman then asked us where we were from. We told
him, and he interpreted it to our hosts, who uttered the
common exclamation, huh! and listened till we should
speak again. Give me an Indian for a listener always.
We gave them some details of our route, to which they
listened with surprise, and perhaps with incredulity. If
so, they were too polite to show it. They had, as it
appeared, been at our old camps, and taken us for Pawnees,
for they know no other name for any wandering Indian,
than Pawnee. After the conference was over I produced
immediately shown, and requests were made for tobacco,
to which I was, of course, bound to respond, and we had
a general smoke. We passed the remained of this day
and the next with them, and were called upon, every hour
in the day, to go to some lodge and eat. In the course of
the second day and evening, we ate fifteen times, and
were obliged to do so, or affront them.
These Osages are generally fine, large, noble-looking
men, supplied with immense Roman noses. Young
Clarimore, the chief of the party, in particular, was a very
fine, noble-looking fellow. They are much more generous
and friendly, too, than the Choctaws or Cherokees, in their
treatment of strangers, and fed us bountifully on the meat
of the buffalo, bear, deer and pole-cat; of the latter of
which, however, we partook merely out of compliment.
Their lodges, unlike those of the Comanches, are round,
and not conical, and are not more than eight feet in height.
The tops of them were formed of thin fleeces of buffalo
meat, which was drying in the smoke, supported by the
bent saplings, of which the lodges are built. We found
that, contrary to our fears, we were upon the Washita,
and in the edge of the Cross Timbers; a consummation
which we had long been very devoutly looking for.
10.—Left the camp in company with the Osages, and
traveled in a south-east direction about twelve miles, and
encamped again with them.
11.—This morning, left the Osages. They had solicited
us strongly to go on with them, and we would have been
wise had we done so. Lewis, Irwin and Gillet exchanged
their mules for horses this morning, but Ish kept his mule.
Lewis and Irwin obtained young and unbroken wild
horses, (or, as the hunters call them, mestangs) and
Gillet got an old worn-out hack. At parting, the chief
presented us with an abundance of good meat; and in
return, we gave him a red and gaudy Mexican blanket;
and after lingering behind his men, and shaking hands
with us, he left us.
From this time till the night of the thirteenth, our route
lay through the Cross Timbers and the Washita Hills;
and on that afternoon, we turned down from the hills to the
These three days were the worst part of the route. The
gravel wore our feet to the quick, even through our moccasins,
and the bushes and briars offered almost insurmountable
obstacles to our progress. Probably in these three
days, we traveled fifty miles, and gained, upon a straight
line, thirty.
14.—Left the Washita and struck out from it. From
this day till the twentieth, we traveled nearly an easterly
course; sometimes in timber, sometimes in burnt prairie.
On the 19th, we had a snow-storm. We had crossed two
running creeks about twenty yards wide, besides several
small ones—all branches of Blue. On the twentieth, in
the morning, we came upon a Delaware, who was hunting
deer. He conducted us part of the way to his camp, and
then left us to hunt deer a while, as he said; but we never
found his camp. I do not suppose that he intended us to
do so. We obtained a small piece of tobacco of him, however,
of which we had had none for six or seven days.
Both of these days (the nineteenth and twentieth) we were
without meat, not even a mouthful.
21.—This day, at noon, killed a small deer, and ate
ravenously—eating the whole animal except one ham and
one shoulder. From this day to the 23d, we kept nearly
the same course, (east) and about noon of the 23d, we
struck Blue, and kept down it, as we did also on the twenty-fourth,
till, about noon, we found ourselves in the bottom of
Red River, at the mouth of Blue. Here we encamped,
and laid by this day and the next, 25th. From the crossing
of the Washita to the mouth of Blue, we had traveled,
I believe, nearly one hundred and sixty miles,—perhaps
more. The distance, upon a straight line, is not more than
one hundred and twenty miles.
On the 14th, we killed four old bulls. They were the
last we saw; the same day we killed and ate an opossum.
On the 22d, Gillet killed his horse, and became my companion
on foot. During these last days, the prairie had
been on fire all around us; and I assure the reader that
there is not the least danger of a person getting caught
and burnt up by it. I can outwalk it two to one, even in
a good wind; and I think I could save myself by running
befallen me of late, was the loss of my last knife, which I
left behind me on the 23d; and of course, I had a fair
chance to discover the true value of fingers in the woods.
The country was, as before, at times prairie, covered
with long grass; or, where the fire had been, hard, black
and dry. At times we passed through spots of oak timber,
and now and then, a small patch of briars and scrub oak.
The water was now all sweet and clear, and there was an
abundance of it.
On the 25th, we lay by in the bottom of Red River, and
Lewis killed an old bear and cub. Some turkeys, also,
were unroosted by some of us, and we could have killed
plenty of deer, had we wished. There can be no better
place for hunting than this bottom; but for briars and
vines, I take it to be the worst place on earth.
From this day until the 28th, we had every variety of
traveling, except that which was pleasant and easy. We
crossed Blue on the morning of the 26th, and then took
nearly a north course. That night I felled a tree about a
foot in diameter, with a tomahawk, for the sake of grapes.
On the 27th, we encamped early, and cut a bee tree,
obtaining a good quantity of honey to eat with our bear
meat; and the next morning we struck the road which
goes in to Fort Towson. Owing to our making a slight
mistake, and taking the wrong end of it, however, we did
not manage to reach that place. There is a conical bare
mound called the Cadeau Hill, near this place in the road,
and also a timbered hill, both of which Lewis thought he
would know, but did not. We followed the road about
six miles in a north-west direction, and concluding that
we were not getting homeward, we stopped and ate on
the edge of the timbered hill; followed the road a little
further until it vanished, and then we again struck an
east course. Had we taken the other end of the road,
we should have been spared some trouble.
On the morning of the 29th, our northward course
brought us to the first fork of Boggy, where we cut a sycamore
and crossed upon it; part of the log was under water,
and it was altogether a slippery business, especially for
Irwin, who had received a kick a day or two before, and
in the west, `Coon it across.' A lame leg is no great
accommodation in the prairie. After crossing, we kept to
the east, but soon found ourselves getting entangled in a
bottom, and turned to the north again; and on the 30th,
about noon, we reached the other fork of Boggy. Here
we heard a dog baying, and the cries of Indians; and
while we remained on the bank, Lewis went to find the
Indians. He returned just at night, and, of course, we
deferred crossing until the morning. Killed some turkeys,
and contented ourselves. The next morning we cut a
willow and crossed on it, and were then obliged to cut a
road through the cane with knives. At noon we ate nothing;
and at night we finished our turkeys.
Dec. 1.—In the morning we met a Choctaw, who informed
us that there was a road not far ahead. We nooned,
however, before reaching it; and after starting again,
turned off of our course, to the sound of an axe, and found
five or six Choctaws, cutting a bee tree. We offered to
buy some of the honey, but they refused to sell it, but tried
to beg powder and balls. A Choctaw is, without exception,
the meanest Indian on earth. About the middle of
the afternoon we reached the road which runs from Fort
Smith to Red River. We, however, not knowing that
there was any such road, supposed it to run from the ford
of Boggy to Fort Towson, on Red River, to which we
wished to go; and we accordingly took the north end of
the road, being then twenty-three miles from Red River,
and the weather too cloudy and wet for us to see the sun,
or to know our course. We traveled about sixteen miles
after striking the road, and encamped in the rain, without
food. From this time, we traveled from thirty to thirty-five
miles a day, driving the wearied animals before us.
On the 2nd, I sold my rifle to the Choctaws, for about
a dozen pounds of meat, and Ish disposed of his in the
same manner.
On the 4th, we encamped with two or three Delawares,
and Irwin sold his double-barrelled gun for meat likewise.
Upon leaving the Delawares, the next morning, and striking
across to the road, we took the wrong end of it, and
following it eight or ten miles, came to the Kiamesia.
again; and on the 9th, we reached, about noon, the house
of a certain sub-agent for the Choctaws, called McLellan,
an acquaintance of Lewis's, but whose heart was not quite
big enough to allow him to invite us to dine with him. We
accordingly went on to the ferry on the Porteau, where we
arrived after dark, and found a little Frenchman there,
who had nothing to eat but pounded corn, and nothing to
cook it in but a kettle that held about a pint and a half.
It took us about half the night to cook three kettles full of
said corn, from each kettle of which, each man got perhaps
six spoonfuls.
On the 10th we reached Fort Smith, and we must have
made a most ludicrous appearance. Falstaff's ragged
regiment was nothing to us. I had a pair of leather pantaloons,
scorched and wrinkled by the fire, and full of
grease; an old greasy jacket and vest; a pair of huge moccasins,
in mending which I had laid out all my skill during
the space of two months, and in so doing, had bestowed
upon them a whole shot-pouch; a shirt, which, made of
what is commonly called counterpane, or a big checked
stuff, had not been washed since I left Taos; and, to crown
all, my beard and mustachios had never been clipped during
the same time. Some of us were worse off. Irwin,
for example, had not half a shirt. In short, we were, to
use another western expression, `as pretty a looking set
of fellows as ever any man put up to his face.'
From the crossing of Blue to the first crossing of Boggy,
we traveled about fifty miles; thence to the second crossing,
about twenty-eight; thence to the road about twenty-seven,
and on the road, about two hundred miles. In
the whole, then, we traveled from Taos about fourteen
hundred miles, or about thirteen hundred from San Miguel,
out of which I walked a distance of about six hundred
and fifty miles.
I have been less exact in describing our rout after
crossing the Fore Washita, because Washington Irving,
who was at the Cross Timbers on the Washita, not far
from the time at which we crossed it, will describe that
portion of the western world in a manner which would do
shame to any poor endeavors of mine to convey an idea of
prairie, for in such case, we could have given him more
material for a description of the `far west;' and I should
probably have had our journey laid before the public by
better hands than my own.
And now, in leaving this portion of my work, I beg to
assure the reader that if there be any errors to be corrected
thus far, they are by no means intentional. He will please
to recollect that I have written entirely from my own
memory, aided by that of Mr. Lewis. I find also another
difficulty in writing. After living in the West, where
many things which are peculiar to a wild life are common
and uninteresting, one is apt to hurry over the minutiæ of
them in laying them before a part of the public to whom
they are strange and new. One can hardly realize that
what is so common to him and every one around him, can
be interesting to any portion of the public, and for fear of
being tedious and prolix, he is, perhaps, brief and unsatisfactory.
With this brief apology, I leave the recital of our
adventures in the Western Desert.
The reader may wish to know what became of the
party which we left. In the month of April, Mr. J.
Scott, whom we had left with the party upon the Del Resgate
fork of the Brazos, came into Fort Smith in company
with two others of the party; and the account which he
gives me of the route of the party after we left it, is as follows:—They
kept down the river for about twelve days
after our departure, and then struck a due north course to
the Fore Washita, crossing on the way only one more
branch of the Brazos, but having passed the mouths of
three branches which put into the Del Resgate from the
north. They crossed Red River near the mouth of the
branch which I mentioned as the only branch of Red
River crossed by us. After striking the Washita, they
kept up it nearly to its head, then crossed to the Canadian,
and followed it down nearly to its junction with the Arkansas.
They passed the whole winter upon the Canadian,
and Harris was into Fort Gibson in the month of January.
In the spring they left the Canadian, and took a south
course, crossed Red River, and about one hundred and
after Harris had in vain attempted to persuade them to remain.
Some half dozen of the party, including Bill Williams,
turned back, soon after we left them, and went back
on foot towards Taos. Thus much for Cæsar and his fortunes.
In the month of December, 1832, a party of twelve men
left Taos, to come into this country by the way of the Canadian.
They had proceeded only about two hundred
miles from Santa Fe, when they were attacked by the Comanches;
two men were killed and several wounded; all
their animals were killed, and they left their money and
baggage, and kept on down the river on foot. Five of
them soon after left the river, and struck for Missouri,
where they arrived safely; the other five still kept on
down the river, and three of them went ahead of the others
and came in. One of the two who were left behind was
named Wm. R. Schenck, a native of Ohio; he had been
wounded in the leg, and as nothing has been heard of him
or his companion, the probability is, that they died in the
prairie. The reader will find, in this book, a few lines
occasioned by the receipt of the tidings of his death.
[The date, Oct. 21, on the 45th page, should probably be Sept. 21. Its inconsistency
with the other dates was not noticed in season to correct it in the text,
which agrees with the manuscript.]
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