Christopher Carson, Familiarly Known as Kit Carson Part 8

The Blackfeet Indians were at that time, forty years ago, the terror of the whole region. It is said that the warlike tribe numbered thirty thousand souls. Of course there could not have been any very accurate estimate of the population. Not long after this the small-pox prevailed, with awful fatality. One half of the tribe perished. The dead were left unburied, as the savages endeavored to flee in all directions from the fearful pestilence.

A month pa.s.sed slowly away before Mr. McCoy with his party reached the fort. Very opportunely he brought a fresh supply of animals; having purchased a number at Fort Walla Walla. The united band returned to the Green river. Here Mr. Carson joined a party of one hundred trappers who, in their strength, were to plunge into the very heart of the Blackfeet country, on the Yellowstone river.

Arriving at the region where they were to set their traps, they divided into two companies of fifty men each. It was necessary to be always armed and on the alert, ready to repel any sudden attack. The duty of one company was to explore the streams in search of beavers and game for food.

The other party guarded the camp, dressed, rudely tanned, and packed the skins, and cooked the food. The trappers were so strong, that they not only went where they pleased, but they were eager to come in contact with the savages, that they might pay off old scores. They were, however, not molested. Not an Indian crossed their path. They subsequently learned, as a solution of the mystery, that at that time the small-pox was making dreadful ravages. Thousands were dying and it was feared the whole tribe would perish. The Indians in their terror, had secluded themselves in the remotest solitudes.

Winter was now approaching, with its freezing gales, its drifting snows, its icy streams. It was necessary to find winter quarters for two or three months. The region, drained by the Yellowstone and its tributaries, extends over thousands of square miles. In one portion of the territory there was a mountainous region inhabited by the Crow Indians. As they were the deadly foe of the Blackfeet tribe, they were disposed to cultivate friendly relations with the whites, and to enter into an alliance with them.

Quite a large band of the Crow Indians joined the trappers, and conducted them to one of their most sheltered valleys. Here they reared their huts and lodges. The mountain ridges broke the force of the cold north wind.

They had water and fuel in abundance. Game was not scarce and they had also an ample supply of dried meat in store. But as the season advanced, the cold became increasingly severe, until at last it was more intense than the trappers had ever before experienced. Still the trappers, with their rousing fires and abundant clothing, found no difficulty in keeping warm.

But the animals suffered terribly. Snow covered the valleys to such a depth, that they could obtain no food by grazing. It was with the utmost difficulty they kept the animals alive. They cut down cottonwood trees and thawed the bark and small branches by their fires. This bark was then torn into shreds, sufficiently small for the animal to chew. The rough outside bark was thrown aside, and the tender inner bark, which comes next the body of the tree, was carefully peeled off for food. There is sufficient nutrition in this barely to keep the animals alive for a time, but they can by no means thrive under it.

Quite a company of Indians reared their lodges in the same valley with the trappers. In the pleasant days they vied with each other, in various athletic games, and particularly in their skill in hunting. Both parties were very happy in this truly paternal intercourse. There were no quarrels, for there was no whiskey there. One barrel of intoxicating drink would have changed kindly greetings into hateful brawls, and would have crimsoned many knives. Independently of the anxiety, the trappers felt for their suffering animals, the six or eight weeks of wintry cold pa.s.sed away very pleasantly. The returning sun of spring poured its warmth into the sheltered valley, melting the snows and releasing the streams. With wonderful rapidity the swelling bud gave place to leaves and blossoms. The green gra.s.s sprang up on the mounds, the animals rejoiced and began even to prance in their new-found vigor. The winter had gone and the time for the singing of birds had come.

The trappers were in need of certain supplies, before they could advantageously set out on their spring hunting tour. They therefore sent two of their party to obtain these supplies at Fort Laramie, which was one or two hundred miles south of them, on the Platte river. They did not return. They were never heard from. It is probable that they fell into the hands of hostile Indians, who killed them and took possession of all their effects. This was another of those innumerable tragedies, ever occurring in this wicked world, which are only recorded in G.o.d's book of remembrance.

The trappers, after waiting for their companions for some time, were compelled to enter upon their spring hunt without them. They continued for some time setting their traps on the Yellowstone river, and then struck over to what is called the Twenty five yard river. After spending a few weeks there, they pushed on to the upper waters of the Missouri, where those waters flow through the most rugged ravines of the Rocky mountains.

Here again they were in the vicinity of their Blackfeet foes. And they learned, through some wanderer in the wilderness, that the main village of that tribe was at the distance of but a few miles from them.

In the previous collisions between the Blackfeet and the trappers, the Indians had gained decidedly the advantage. They had at one time driven the trappers entirely out of their country, having stolen their traps, and effectually prevented them from taking furs. In the conflict, in which Kit Carson was wounded, the Indians had retired, though with loss, still victorious, carrying with them all their booty of stolen horses. Most humiliating of all, they had, without firing a shot, captured all the animals of the garrison and the trappers at Fort Hall. And it was most probable that they had robbed and murdered the two men who had been sent to fort Laramie.

The trappers were all burning to avenge these wrongs. The thievish Blackfeet had made these a.s.saults upon them entirely unprovoked. The savages were greatly elated with their victories, and it was deemed essential that they should be so thoroughly chastised, that they would no longer molest those who were hunting and trapping within those wild solitudes. The whole party of trappers struck the trail which led to the Indian encampment, and cautiously followed it, until they were within ten or fifteen miles of their foes.

The company, numbering a hundred men, with one or two hundred horses and mules, presented a very imposing cavalcade. A council of war was held, and Kit Carson, with five picked men was sent forward to reconnoitre the position of the village, and to decide upon the best points of attack. The rest of the company retired to some little distance from the trail, where they concealed themselves, obliterating, as far as possible, their tracks.

It was deemed necessary to proceed with the utmost caution. The Blackfeet composed one of the most numerous and ferocious of all the Indian tribes.

Their warriors were numbered by thousands. It was certain that they would fight, and that a high degree of intelligence would guide them in the battle.

After the lapse of a few hours, Kit Carson returned from his perilous adventure. He had attained an eminence from which he could look down upon the valleys of the foe, which was in one part of an extended plain in the midst of hills. He reported that there was some great agitation in the camp. There were runnings to and fro, driving in the animals from their pasturage, saddling and packing them, and sundry other preparations indicative of a general alarm. It might be that their braves were entering on the war-path. It might be that they were preparing for flight. It was not improbable that, through their scouts, they had gained intimation of the approach of the trappers. A council of war was held. Promptly it was decided to send out forty-three men, under the leadership of Kit Carson to give the Blackfeet battle. The remaining men, fifty-five in number, were left, under Mr. Fontenelle, to discharge the responsible duty of guarding the animals and the equipage. They were also to move slowly on, as a reserve force, who could rush to the aid of the advanced force, or upon which those men could fall back in case of disaster.

They soon reached the village. It was pretty evident that they were expected. But the savages had only bows and arrows. This gave the a.s.sailants an immense advantage. They had both rifles and pistols. Taking a circuitous route, they approached the village from an unexpected quarter. They were scarcely seen before a discharge of their guns struck down ten of the bravest warriors. But at that time it was an encampment rather than a village, occupied mainly by fighting men, who greatly outnumbered their a.s.sailants. The Indians fought heroically. Each man instantly sprang behind some tree where, protected, he could watch his opportunity and keep his foe at a distance. When a rifle was once discharged, it took some time to reload; but the Indians could throw a dozen arrows in a minute, with sinewy arms, with sure aim and with deadly power.

The battle was mainly in the forest, neither party being willing to encounter the exposure of the open plain. The Indians, behind the trees, watched their opportunity. As there were several Indians to one white man, and the trappers were necessarily dispersed, seeking the protection of the trees, the Indians, as soon as a rifle was discharged, would dodge from tree to tree, ever drawing nearer to their a.s.sailants. For three hours this battle continued. The ammunition of the trappers was nearly exhausted, and they remitted the energy of their fire, awaiting the arrival of their companions. The Indians comprehended the state of things and sagaciously resolved to make a simultaneous charge, before the trappers should have opportunity to replenish their powder-horns and bullet-pouches.

There was a distance of many rods between the two contending parties. The ground was mainly level, and there was no underbrush to intercept the view. The trappers saw and understood the movement for the charge. Every man was prepared, with his loaded rifle and revolver. On came the Indians, dodging, as they could, from tree to tree, but with an impetuosity of onset which excited the admiration of their opponents. The forest resounded with their shrill war-whoop. Carson requested every man to withhold his fire until sure of his aim. "Let not a single shot," said he, "be lost." It was a fearful moment, for upon that moment depended the life of every man in the party. Should the outnumbering Indians succeed in pa.s.sing the narrow intervening s.p.a.ce, the trappers would inevitably be overpowered and from the spear-heads of the savages, forty-three scalps would be waved as the banners of their victory.

There was no simultaneous discharge but a rattling fire, occupying perhaps sixty seconds. Forty-three Indian warriors were struck by the bullets.

Eleven fell instantly dead; the others were more or less crippled by their wounds. Still the brave Indians rushed on, when suddenly there was opened upon them another deadly fire from the revolvers. This was a reinforcement of the strength of their foes which the savages had not antic.i.p.ated. They hesitated, staggered as if smitten by a heavy blow, and then slowly and sullenly retreated, until they were far beyond pistol range. Some of the mountaineers were on horseback to carry swift aid to any imperilled comrade. Kit Carson was also mounted and with his eagle eye was watching every act of his little army.

One of his aids, a mountaineer by the name of Cotton, was thrown from his horse, which slipped upon some smooth stones, and fell upon his rider, fastening him helpless to the ground. Six Indians near by rushed, with exultant yells and gleaming tomahawks, for his scalp. Kit Carson, calling on two or three to follow him, sprang from his horse and with the speed of an antelope was by the side of his fallen comrade. The crack of his rifle was instantly heard; the foremost of the savages gave one convulsive bound, uttered a death cry and fell weltering in his blood. The rest immediately fled, but before they could reach a place of safety three more were struck down by the b.a.l.l.s of those who had followed Carson. Two only of the six savages escaped.

CHAPTER VIII.

Encampments and Battles.

The Renewal of the Battle.--Peculiarities of the Fight.--The Rout.--Encampment in the Indian Village.--Number of Trappers among the Mountains.--The New Rendezvous.--Picturesque Scene of the Encampment.--The Missionary and the n.o.bleman.--Brown's Hole.--The Navajoes.--Kit Carson Purveyor at the Fort.--Trapping at the Black Hills.--Again upon the Yellowstone.--Pleasant Winter Quarters.--Signs of the Indians.--Severe Conflict.--Reappearance of the Indians.--Their utter Discomfiture.

There was now a brief lull in the battle. The Indians had not left the field and by no means acknowledged a defeat. With very considerable military skill they selected a new position for the renewal of the fight, on broken ground among a chaos of rocks, about one hundred and fifty yards from the line of their opponents. They were evidently aware of the strong reserve approaching to join the trappers. With this reserve it was necessary that the trappers should make the attack, for they could not venture to move on their way leaving so powerful a hostile army behind them.

The Indians manifested very considerable powers of reasoning, and no little strategic skill. They took the defensive, and chose a position from which it would be almost impossible to dislodge them. The trappers awaited the arrival of their comrades, and obtained a fresh supply of ammunition.

The whole united band prepared for a renewal of the battle. Thus far not one of the trappers had been wounded, excepting Cotton, who was severely bruised by the fall of his horse.

About an half hour elapsed while these movements were taking place with each party. The trappers all dismounted and then, in a long line, with cheers advanced in Indian fashion, from tree to tree, from rock to rock, every moment drawing nearer to their determined foes. The great battle, the Waterloo conflict, now commenced. Small as were the numbers engaged, limited as was the field of action, there was perhaps never a battle in which more personal courage was displayed, or in which more skill and endurance was called into requisition. Not unfrequently a trapper would occupy one side of a large boulder and an Indian warrior the other, each watching for the life of his adversary, while every fibre of mental and muscular power were roused to activity. Neither could leave his covert without certain death, and one or the other must inevitably fall.

For an hour or two this dreadful conflict continued. Gradually the superiority of the white man, and the vast advantage which the rifle gave, began to be manifest. The Indians were slowly driven back, from tree to rock, from rock to tree. Many of their warriors had fallen in death. The ground was crimsoned with their blood. The disheartened Indians began to waver, then to retreat; and then as the trappers made a simultaneous charge, and the rifle bullets whistled around them, to run in complete rout, scattering in all directions. It was in vain to attempt any pursuit.

The women and children of the Blackfeet village were on an eminence, about a mile from their homes, awaiting the issue of the conflict. They also instantly disappeared, seeking refuge no one knew where.

In this battle a large number of the Indians were killed or wounded, we know not how many. But three of the trappers were killed, though many others received wounds more or less severe. The Indian village was located on very fine camping-ground. They left nothing behind them. An Indian woman needs no Saratoga trunk for her wardrobe. Their comfortable wigwams were left standing. Here Fontenelle allowed his party to rest for several days. The dead were to be buried, the wounded to be nursed, damages to be repaired, and a new supply of provisions to be obtained. Free from all fear of molestation, the trappers explored the region for miles around, and were very successful in taking beavers.

It is estimated that the various parties of trappers, then wandering among the mountains, numbered at least six hundred men. While our trappers were thus encamped, elated with their victory over the Indians, and still more exultant over their daily success in trapping and hunting, one day an express rode into the camp, and informed them that the rendezvous was to be held, that year, upon the Mud river, a small stream flowing circuitously from the south into Green river. The party, having a large stock of beaver on hand, set out to cross the main ridge of the Rocky mountains, to dispose of their furs at the rendezvous. It required a journey of eight days. As the trapping party, nearly a hundred in number, all mounted on gayly caparisoned steeds, and leading one or two hundred pack horses, entered the valley over the distant eminences, there were two scenes presented to the eye, each peculiar in many aspects of sublimity and beauty.

It was midsummer. The smooth meadow upon which the encampment was held was rich, verdant and blooming, a beautiful stream flowing along its western border. A fine grove fringed the stream as far as the eye could reach up and down. Not a tree, stump, or stone was to be seen upon the smooth, lawn-like expanse. Its edge, near the grove, was lined with a great variety of lodges, constructed of skins or bark, or of forest boughs.

Horses and mules in great numbers were feeding on the rich herbage, while groups of trappers, Canadians, Frenchmen, Americans and Indians, were scattered around, some cooking at their fires, some engaged in eager traffic, and some amusing themselves in athletic sports. It was a peaceful scene, where, so far as the eye could discern, man's fraternity was combined with nature's loveliness to make this a happy world. Such was the spectacle presented to the trappers as they descended into the valley.

On the other hand, the trappers themselves contributed a very important addition to the picturesqueness of the view. Half a mile from the encampment, in the northeast, the land rose in a gentle, gradual swell, smooth, verdant and treeless, perhaps to the height of a hundred and fifty feet. Down this declivity they were descending, with their horses and their pack mules, in a long line of single file. They were way-worn pilgrims, and the grotesqueness of their attire, and their unshaven, uncut, and almost uncombed locks, added to their weird-like aspect.

Here the party met with two gentlemen, such as were rarely, perhaps never before, seen on such an occasion. One was a Christian missionary, Father De Smidt, who, in obedience to the Saviour's commission, "Go ye into all the world and preach my Gospel to every creature," had abandoned the comforts of civilization, to cast in his lot with the savages, that he might teach them that religion of the Bible which would redeem the world by leading all men to repentance, to faith in an atoning Saviour, and to endeavor "to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with G.o.d."

The other stranger was an English n.o.bleman, a gentleman of high character, of refinement and culture. In his ancestral home he had heard of the sublimities of the wilderness; the wide-spread prairies; the gloomy forests; the solitary lakes. He had heard of savage men, numbering tens of thousands in their tribes, almost as wild, as devoid of human traits as were the buffaloes whom they pursued with whoop and halloo over the plains. Curiosity, a very rational and praiseworthy curiosity, had lured him into these remote realms, that he might behold the wondrous works of G.o.d, and that he might study the condition of his brother man without the Gospel.

Kit Carson was, by a natural instinct, drawn into a.s.sociation with this refined English gentleman. They could each appreciate the other. They soon became acquainted, and a warm friendship sprang up between them. Mr.

Carson subsequently wrote, in reference to Sir William Stuart:

"For the goodness of his heart and numerous rare qualities of his mind, he will always be remembered by those of the mountaineers who had the honor of his acquaintance."

The terms of the commendation show the virtues which Mr. Carson could appreciate, and which he was accustomed to practice. Of the missionary, Rev. Mr. De Smidt, it has been very truly written:

"Perhaps there never was a person, in the wilds of America, who became so universally beloved, both by the white and red man. While in the mountains he acted with untiring zeal for the good of all with whom he came into contact. Wherever duty called him, there he was sure to be found, no matter what the obstacles or dangers spread upon his path. He worked during a long series of years in these dangerous localities, and when he at length returned to civilization he left an indelible name behind him."

The Rendezvous continued for twenty days. It was a constant festival, like the Olympic games of the Greeks, or the renowned Tournaments of more modern days, with the exception that business was intimately blended with pleasures. It at length broke up into small parties. Kit Carson, with seven companions, followed down the Green river, to Brown's Hole; a narrow but sunny and fertile valley about sixteen miles long. Here he found a party of traders, who were on an excursion to a numerous and quite wealthy band of Indians, called the Navajoes. They seemed to have attained a degree of civilization considerably above that of any of the other tribes.

They had fixed abodes; had immense herds of sheep, horses and mules. They had also attained, the art by a slow and tedious process, of weaving admirable woolen blankets; thick, warm and strong. These blankets were quite renowned throughout all that region, and brought a high price. Kit Carson joined the traders in their expedition to the country of the Navajoes.

Here they purchased many of these blankets, and a large drove of strong, fat mules. With these they crossed the mountains, to a distance of three or four hundred miles, to a fort on the south fork of the Platte river. At this place they disposed of their blankets and cattle to great advantage, and Mr. Carson promptly returned to the companions he had left at Brown's Hole. The traders undoubtedly received in payment the only currency of the country, beaver skins. These they probably took with them to St. Louis for ultimate sale. We know not how Mr. Carson invested his earnings. It is very certain that he did not squander them in riotous living. Subsequent events indicate that they were sent through the hands of the traders, Messrs. Thompson and Sinclair, to the States, there to be deposited to his credit.

The autumnal months had now pa.s.sed away, and the blasts of approaching winter warned the hunters that they must seek a refuge from its storms.

Mr. Carson had produced so favorable an impression upon the men at the fort on the Platte river, that they sent him a very urgent invitation to return, and take the very responsible position of steward or purveyor for the garrison during the winter. They offered him such ample emolument that he accepted their proposition, though many other parties were eager to obtain his services. I cannot help remarking, in this connection, in special reference to any of my young readers, that this is the true secret of success in life. In whatever position you are, in whatever business you are engaged, be as faithful and perfect as possible. Promotion and prosperity are then almost sure.

The task which now devolved upon Mr. Carson was, with his rifle and such aid as he might need, to supply all the animal food which twenty men might require. He performed this duty, not only to the satisfaction of all, but such was his energy, his skill, his spirit of self-sacrifice, his entire devotion to his work, and the wonderful success which attended his exertions, that he secured universal affection and esteem.

With the returning sun of spring, Mr. Carson, having well performed his task, joined Mr. Bridger and four other trappers, to go to what were called the Black Hills. This was a limited mountainous range, far away in the north, extending a distance of about a hundred miles between the Laramie and Sweet.w.a.ter rivers. These streams were tributaries of the north fork of the Platte. This region had perhaps never before been visited by either trapper, or hunter. They found beavers in plenty, and their success was excellent.

With well laden mules they again crossed the Rocky mountains to reunite themselves with the main camp of the trappers on Green river. They trapped on their way and continued success attended them. Thus enriched, they accompanied the main party to a tributary of the Wind river, where the annual Rendezvous was that year to be held. Here were renewed the usual scenes of the trapper's great Fair which we have already described.

As the Rendezvous broke up, Mr. Carson joined a large party, and recrossed the mountains to the Yellowstone, where they had already had so many b.l.o.o.d.y encounters with the Blackfeet Indians. They trapped successfully until the inclement weather forced them into winter quarters.