University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

Early the following morning we were
on our feet, and having partaken a slight
repast, we mounted and set off toward
Mount Hood. The traveling was now
good, being over a rolling prairie, which,
as we neared this collossal crection of nature,
gradually became more and more
level, so that our horses being refreshed
and full of fire, our speed was all that could
be desired even by the most impatient.
Before noon we reached the base of
Mount Hood; and if I had thought it sublime
at a distance, I now felt, as it were,
its sublimity in an awful degree. Up, up,
up it rose, until my eyes became strained
to trace its glistening outline in the clear,
blue ether. Its base surrounded with
sand, dead trees, and broken rocks, which
had accumulated there, perhaps, by the
torrents of ages, as they rushed and roared
down its jagged sides. For a considerable
distance above the plain, it was well
timbered; then came a long stretch of
green grass; then a long barren spot; and
then commenced the snow and ice, which
rose far beyond the ordinary hight of the
clouds—the whole combined, forming a
spectacle of which the pen can convey no
adequate idea. To the right and left
stretched away the Cascades, which, stupendous
of themselves, seemed as molehills
in compare with Mount Hood. Far
to the south rose the lofty peak of Mount
Jefferson, and as far to the north, on the
other side of the Columbia, that of Mount
St. Helens.

Having gazed upon the scene to my satisfaction,
I turned my horse to the right,
and began my ascent up a valley, formed
by the partial meeting of two hills, and
down the very bed of which roared a
sparkling streamlet. The farther I ascended,
the more wild the scene, the more
precipitous and dangerous the path. In
fact, on three occasions we were obliged
to dismount and lead our horses for a considerable
distance, and once our steps had
to be retraced for half a mile, in order to
pass around a frightful chasm. Near the
summit of the ridge we came upon a fine
spring, and an abundance of grass. Here
we encamped for the night, during which
I slept soundly.

The following day was cold and stormy,
with sleet and snow. This may surprise
the reader, who bears in mind that it was
now June; but snow-storms on the mountains
are not regulated altogether by the
seasons, and are frequently known to occur
in one part of the country, while in
another, not ten miles distant, the heat
may be excessive. As all are aware, the
higher we ascend, the colder the atmosphere;
and on many high mountains in
southern climes, there may be all kinds of
temperatures from the torrid to the frigid—
from the valley of dates, figs and oranges,
to the peaks of never-melting ice and
snow—and this within the distance of five
or ten miles.

Ere we raised our camp, I shot a mountain
goat, being the first game we had
killed since the buck of unfavorable memory.
Of this we prepared our breakfast,
and also put a few choice pieces in our
“possibles,” leaving the balance to the
wolves, which, in justice to the appreciation
they showed thereof, I must say, was
nothing but a pile of shining bones, ere
we were fairly out of sight. I now consulted
an excellent map, which I had
procured from one of the emigrants, and
referring to my compass, laid my course a
little north of east, so as to strike the
Dalles of Columbia, and thus the most
traveled route to and from Oregon City.

The day, as I have said, being stormy,
and our route lying over a wild, bleak
country, served not a little to depress the
spirits of both Teddy and myself. Nothing
of consequence occurred through the
day to distract our thoughts from their
gloomy channel, and but little was said by
either. By riding hard, we gained the
Dalles that night, and encamped on the
banks of the Columbia. Eager to arrive
at Fort Hall, we again pushed ahead on
the succeeding day, and following up the
Columbia, reached Fort Walla-Walla on

the third from our quitting the Dalles,
without any events worthy of particular
note.

This fortress, constructed on the plan
of Fort Laramie, described in “Prairie
Flower,” I shall pass without notice, other
than to say, it contained a small garrison
of resolute and daring adventurers, or
rather mountaineers and their squaw wives,
who preferred passing their lives here in
comparative case, at good wages, to the
privations and perils of trapping in the
wilderness.

Here I found a number of hardy fellows,
who had lately “come in,”—preparing to
set off again for the Blue Mountains—some
to hunt for game in the forests, and others
to trap in the streams. Here were also
several friendly Indians (friendly through
fear of the whites), the usual number of
traders, peddlers, one or two land speculators
and fur company agents, and one
French voyageur — all more or less engaged
in drinking, trafficking, and, gambling,
the usual routine of a gathering of
this kind.

Thinking it possible to raise a party
here, I made a proposition to several, but
found all had prior engagements. I next
made some inquiries concerning Black
George, and learned, much to my satisfaction,
that he had been seen quite recently
on the Blue Mountains, and that in all
probability I should find him at Fort Bois,
or Fort Hall, as he was then slowly taking
his way eastward.

“If you desire an excellent guide,” said
an agent to me, “let me recommend to
you Pierre Boreaux; who, though somewhat
eccentric at times, you will find most
faithful in the discharge of his duty. I
have tried him, sir, and know.”

“Just what I desire, exactly,” I replied.

“Come, then,” he said; and taking me
aside, he presented me to the individual in
question, who was none other than the
French voyageur previously mentioned.

He was a small, dapper personage, very
neat in his appearance, with a keen, restless
black eye, and a physiognomy more
inclined to merriment than melancholy.
His age was about forty, though he ever
took pains to appear much younger. His
penchant was for the wild and daring; and
never was he so well contented, as when
engaged in some perilous enterprise. This
taken in connection with his jovial turn
of mind, may at first seem parodoxical;
but it must be remembered, that most
persons incline less to their likes than their
opposites; and that the humorist is the
man who seldom smiles, while the man of
gravest sayings may be literally a laughing
philosopher. He was much addicted, too,
to taking snuff, of which he always managed
to have a good stock on hand, so
that his silver box and handkerchief were
in requisition on almost all occasions. He
spoke with great volubility, in broken English,
generally interlarded with French,
accompanied with all the peculiar shrugs
and gesticulations of his countrymen. He
was, in short, a serio-comical, singular
being of whom I can convey no better
idea than to let him speak and act for
himself.

“Ah, Monsieur,” he said in reply to
my salutation, taking a huge pinch of snuff
the while and bowing very politely; “ver
moche happe make you acquaintones,
Will you'ave von tam — vot you call him
— happeness, eh? — to take von leetle —
I forget him—so—(putting his thumb and
finger together, to indicate a pinch), avec
moi, eh?”

“Thank you,” I returned, “I never use
the article in that shape.”

“Ver sorre hear him. Vous remember
le grand Empereur Napoleone, eh?”

“Ay.”

“Ah! von plus great sheneral him
He take snoof, eh? Vell, you speak
now, you — vot you call him — bussiness,
eh?”

“I wish to engage you,” I replied, “to
go on a journey full of peril, in the capacity
of a guide.”

“Ou allez-vous?”

“How?”

“Ah, pardonnez-moi! I say, vere you
go?”

“To Mexico, perhaps.”

“Oui, Monsieur. I shall be ver moche
delight, I certainment assure you. Ven
you go, eh?”

“I leave here, en route for Fort Hall at
daylight to-morrow.”

Here the Frenchman took one or two
hasty pinches of his favorite, and closing
his box, said:

“Von leetle absence, Monsieur. I sall
'ave von ver moche pleasure;” and off he
skipped, as gay as a lark, to prepare himself
for the journey.

At daylight on the succeeding morning,
the Frenchman was at his post, well
mounted on a full blooded Indian pony,
armed to the teeth, and really looking
quite the warrior. Three minutes later
we had all passed the gate and were speeding
away.

This was the first meeting between
Teddy and Pierre, and I soon became
aware it was anything but a pleasant one,
particularly, on the part of Teddy, who
cast many a furtive glance upon the other,
expressive of dislike. What this arose
from -- whether from jealousy, national
prejudice, or contempt for the inferior
proportions of Pierre — I was at a loss to
determine. Never before had I seen animosity
to a fellow traveler so strongly depicted
on the features of the faithful Teddy.
It might be he fancied the Frenchman of
equal grade with himself, and was jealous
of his supplanting him in my favor, and
this seemed the most probable of the
three suggested causes. Pierre, however,
showed no ill will to the Irishman, but
merely returned his glances with a supercillious
look, as though he considered him
his inferior. But he could not long remain
silent; and so, after riding on
briskly for a short distance, he turned to
Teddy, and with a mischievous twinkle
in his small black eye, said, with much
suavity:

“Parlez vous Français?”

“Spake it in Inglish, ye spalpeen! and
thin a gintleman can answer yees,” replied
Teddy, reddening with vexation. “If it's
frog language ye's jabbering, sure it's not
mesilf as wants to know what ye says,
now.”

“Que voulez-vous, Monsieur?” inquired
the Frenchman, looking slyly at
me with a significant shrug, and secretly
enjoying the discomfiture of Teddy.

“Quack, quack, quack, kither hoben,”
rejoined Teddy, fiercely. “Sure, now, and
is it that ye can understand yourself, ye
tief! It's maybe smart, now, ye's afther
thinking yourself, by token ye can say
things I don't know the maaning of. And
so ye is smart, barring the foolish part,
which comprehinds the whole of yees.
Troth! can ye fight, Misther Frogeater?
Come, now, that's Inglish; and by St.
Pathrick's bones! I'll wager ye're too
cowardly to understand it.”

“Come, come, Teddy,” I said, “you
are getting personal. I can allow no
quarreling.”

“Och! there's no danger, your honor,”
returned Teddy, turning upon Pierre
a withering look of contempt. “It's not
inny frog-eater as is going to fight his
betthers; and sure it's not Teddy O'Lagherty
as can fight alone, jist.”

Meantime there had been a quiet, half
smile resting on the features of the Frenchman,
as though he was secretly enjoying
a fine joke. Even the abusive language
of the excited Irishman did not appear to
disturb his equanimity in the least. There
he sat, as cool and apparently as indifferent
as if nothing derogatory to his fighting
propensities had been uttered, or at
least understood by him. I was beginning,
in fact, to think the latter was the
case, or else that Teddy was more than
half right in calling him a coward, when
I became struck with a peculiar expression,
which suddenly swept over his
bronzed features, and was superseded
by the same quiet smile — as we sometimes
at noon-day see a cloud flit over a
bright landscape, shading it for an instant
only.

Suddenly Pierre reined his pony close
along side of Teddy, and in a very bland
voice, as if begging a favor, said:

“Monsieur, you say someting 'bout fight,
ch? Sare, I sall 'ave le plus grande delight
to soot you with un — vot you call him —
peestole, eh?”

“The divil ye will, now?” replied
Teddy, with a comical look of surprise.
“Sure, thin, an' it's mesilf that 'ud like
to be doing the same by you, and ye was
wort the powther it 'ud cost.”

“Sare,” returned the Frenchman with
dignity, “in my countre, ven gentilshommes
go for kill, dey nevare count de cost.
I soot you—I cut you troat—I sharge you
noting.”

“Well, be jabers! since ye've got your
foul tongue into Inglish, and be — to
yees! I'll do the same for your dirthy
self,” retorted Teddy; “for it's not Teddy

O'Lagherty as 'll be behind aven a nager
in liberalithies of that sort, now.”

“You are both too liberal of your
valor by half,” I rejoined, laughing at
what I thought would merely end in
words.

But I was soon convinced of my error;
for scarcely had the expression left my
lips, when the Frenchman. sprang from his
pony, and strking his hand on his pistols,
exclaimed:

“Je l'attaquerai: I vill 'ave at you,
Monsieur, ven you do me von leetle honoor,
sare.”

“It's not long you'll have to wait thin,”
cried Teddy; and before I could interfere
— or in fact was fully aware of what was
taking place — he had dismounted and
drawn a pistol.

“Tin paces, ye blaggard!” he cried;
“and may howly Mary be marciful to
yees!”

“Hold!” I shouted. “Rash men,
what are you about? I forbid —”

Here I was interrupted by the reports
of two pistols, followed by a stifled cry of
pain from Pierre, who instantly dropped
his weapon, and placed his hand to his
shoulder. The next moment I was on my
feet, and rushing to his assistance, accompanied
by Teddy, whose features, instead
of anger, now exhibited a look of
commiseration.

“Are you hurt, Pierre?” I inquired, as
I gained his side.

“Ver leetle scratch,” replied the Frenchman,
taking away his hand covered with
blood.

I instantly tore away his garments, and
ascertained that the ball of Teddy had
passed quite through the fleshy part of his
arm near the shoulder, but without breaking
a bone or severing an artery.”

“A lucky escape, Pierre,” I said.

He merely shrugged his shoulders, and
coolly proceeded to take snuff, with an indifference
that surprised me. When he
had done, he turned to Teddy with:

“Vill you 'ave von more — vot you
call him — le plus grand satisfactione,
eh?”

“Sure, and it's mesilf as is not over parthicular
inny ways. If ye's satisfied, I'm
contint — or conthrawise, as plases ye
most.”

“Vell, then, suppose we shake hand,
eh?” rejoined Pierre. “I soot you—you
soot me. Ve'ave both satisfactione, eh?”
and the next moment these two singular
beings were pleasantly engaged in complimenting
each other on his bravery.

O, curious human nature! From that
moment Pierre Boreaux and Teddy O'Lagherty
were sworn friends for life—non
did I ever hear an angry word pass between
them afterward.