"As they approached the lake, they passed over a country of bold and striking scenery, and through several 'gates,' as they called certain narrow valleys. The 'standing rock' is a huge column, occupying the centre of one of these passes. It fell from a height of perhaps 3,000 feet, and happened to remain in its present upright position.

"At last, on the 6th of September, the object for which their eyes had long been straining was brought to view.

"September 6.—This time we reached the butte without any difficulty; and ascending to the summit, immediately at our feet beheld the object of our anxious search, the waters of the Inland Sea, stretching in still and solitary grandeur, far beyond the limit of our vision. It was one of the great points of the exploration; and as we looked eagerly over the lake in the first emotions of excited pleasure, I am doubtful if the followers of Balboa felt more enthusiasm when, from the heights of the Andes, they saw for the first time the great Western Ocean. It was certainly a magnificent object, and a noble terminus to this part of our expedition; and to travellers so long shut up among mountain ranges, a sudden view over the expanse of silent waters had in it something sublime. Several large islands raised their high rocky heads out of the waves; but whether or not they were timbered was still left to our imagination, as the distance was too great to determine if the dark hues upon them were woodland or naked rock. During the day the clouds had been gathering black over the mountains to the westward, and while we were looking, a storm burst down with sudden fury upon the lake, and entirely hid the islands from our view.

"On the edge of the stream a favorable spot was selected in a grove, and felling the timber, we made a strong corral, or horse pen, for the animals, and a little fort for the people who were to remain. We were now probably in the country of the Utah Indians, though none reside upon the lake. The India rubber boat was repaired with prepared cloth and gum, and filled with air, in readiness for the next day.

"The provisions which Carson had brought with him being now exhausted, and our stock reduced to a small quantity of roots, I determined to retain with me only a sufficient number of men for the execution of our design; and accordingly seven were sent back to Fort Hall, under the guidance of Francois Lajeunesse, who, having been for many years a trapper in the country, was an experienced mountaineer.

"We formed now but a small family. With Mr. Preuss and myself, Carson, Bernier, and Basil Lajeunesse had been selected for the boat expedition—the first ever attempted on this interior sea; and Badau, with Derosier, and Jacob (the colored man), were to be left in charge of the camp. We were favored with most delightful weather. Tonight there was a brilliant sunset of golden orange and green, which left the western sky clear and beautifully pure; but clouds in the east made me lose an occulation. The summer frogs were singing around us, and the evening was very pleasant, with a temperature of 60 degrees—a night of a more southern autumn. For our supper, we had yampak, the most agreeably flavored of the roots, seasoned by a small fat duck, which had come in the way of Jacob's rifle. Around our fire tonight were many speculations on what tomorrow would bring forth; and in our busy conjectures we fancied that we should find every one of the large islands a tangled wilderness of trees and shrubbery, teeming with game of every description that the neighboring region afforded, and which the foot of a white man or Indian had never violated. Frequently, during the day, clouds had rested on the summits of their lofty mountains, and we believed that we should find clear streams and springs of fresh water; and we indulged in anticipations of the luxurious repasts with which we were to indemnify ourselves for past privations. Neither, in our discussions, were the whirlpool and other mysterious dangers forgotten, which Indian and hunter's stories attributed to this unexplored lake. The men had discovered that, instead of being strongly sewed, (like that of the preceding year, which had so triumphantly rode the canons of the Upper Great Platte), our present boat was only pasted together in a very insecure manner, the maker having been allowed so little time in the construction that he was obliged to crowd the labor of two months into several days. The insecurity of the boat was sensibly felt by us; and mingled with the enthusiasm and excitement that we all felt at the prospect of an undertaking which had never before been accomplished was a certain impression of danger, sufficient to give a serious character to our conversation. The momentary view which had been had of the lake the day before, its great extent and rugged islands, dimly seen amidst the dark waters in the obscurity of the sudden storm, were well calculated to heighten the idea of undefined danger with which the lake was generally associated."

"September 8.—A calm, clear day, with a sunrise temperature of 41 degrees. In view of our present enterprise, a part of the equipment of the boat had been made to consist of three airtight bags, about three feet long, and capable each of containing five gallons. These had been filled with water the night before, and were now placed in the boat, with our blankets and instruments, consisting of a sextant, telescope, spyglass, thermometer, and barometer.

"In the course of the morning we discovered that two of the cylinders leaked so much as to require one man constantly at the bellows, to keep them sufficiently full of air to support the boat. Although we had made a very early start, we loitered so much on the way—stopping every now and then, and floating silently along, to get a shot at a goose or a duck—that it was late in the day when he reached the outlet. The river here divided into several branches, filled with fluvials, and so very shallow that it was with difficulty we could get the boat along, being obliged to get out and wade. We encamped on a low point among rushes and young willows, where there was a quantity of driftwood, which served for our fires. The evening was mild and clear; we made a pleasant bed of the young willows; and geese and ducks enough had been killed for an abundant supper at night, and for breakfast next morning. The stillness of the night was enlivened by millions of waterfowl.

"September. 9.—The day was clear and calm; the thermometer at sunrise at 49 degrees. As is usual with the trappers on the eve of any enterprise, our people had made dreams, and theirs happened to be a bad one—one which always preceded evil—and consequently they looked very gloomy this morning; but we hurried through our breakfast, in order to make an early start, and have all the day before us for our adventure. The channel in a short distance became so shallow that our navigation was at an end, being merely a sheet of soft mud, with a few inches of water, and sometimes none at all, forming the low water shore of the lake. All this place was absolutely covered with flocks of screaming plover. We took off our clothes, and, getting overboard, commenced dragging the boat—making, by this operation, a very curious trail, and a very disagreeable smell in stirring up the mud, as we sank above the knee at every step. The water here was still fresh, with only an insipid and disagreeable taste, probably derived from the bed of fetid mud. After proceeding in this way about a mile, we came to a small black ridge on the bottom, beyond which the water became suddenly salt, beginning gradually to deepen, and the bottom was sandy and firm. It was a remarkable division, separating the fresh water of the rivers from the briny water of the lake, which was entirely saturated with common salt. Pushing our little vessel across the narrow boundary, we sprang on board, and at length were afloat on the waters of the unknown sea.

"We did not steer for the mountainous islands, but directed our course towards a lower one, which it had been decided we should first visit, the summit of which was formed like the crater at the upper end of Bear River Valley. So long as we could touch the bottom with our paddles, we were very gay; but gradually, as the water deepened, we became more still in our frail bateau of gum cloth distended with air, and with pasted seams. Although the day was very calm, there was a considerable swell on the lake; and there were white patches of foam on the surface, which were slowly moving to the southward, indicating the set of a current in that direction, and recalling the recollection of the whirlpool stories. The water continued to deepen as we advanced; the lake becoming almost transparently clear, of an extremely beautiful bright green color; and the spray which was thrown into the boat and over our clothes, was directly converted into a crust of common salt, which covered also our hands and arms. 'Captain,' said Carson, who for sometime had been looking suspiciously at some whitening appearances outside the nearest islands, 'what are those yonder?—won't you just take a look with the glass?' We ceased paddling for a moment, and found them to be the caps of the waves that were beginning to break under the force of a strong breeze that was coming up the lake. The form of the boat seemed to be an admirable one, and it rode on the waves like a water bird; but, at the same time, it was extremely slow in its progress. When we were a little more than half way across the reach, two of the divisions between the cylinders gave way, and it required the constant use of the bellows to keep in a sufficient quantity of air. For a long time we scarcely seemed to approach our island, but gradually we worked across the rougher sea of the open channel, into the smoother water under the lee of the island, and began to discover that what we took for a long row of pelicans, ranged on the beach, were only low cliffs whitened with salt by the spray of the waves; and about noon we reached the shore, the transparency of the water enabling us to see the bottom at a considerable depth.

"The cliffs and masses of rock along the shore were whitened by an incrustation of salt where the waves dashed up against them; and the evaporating water, which had been left in holes and hollows on the surface of the rocks, was covered with a crust of salt about one eighth of an inch in thickness.

"Carrying with us the barometer and other instruments, in the afternoon we ascended to the highest point of the island—a bare, rocky peak, 800 feet above the lake. Standing on the summit, we enjoyed an extended view of the lake, inclosed in a basin of rugged mountains, which sometimes left marshy flats and extensive bottoms between them and the shore, and in other places came directly down into the water with bold and precipitous bluffs.

"As we looked over the vast expanse of water spread out beneath us, and strained our eyes along the silent shores over which hung so much doubt and uncertainty, and which were so full of interest to us, I could hardly repress the almost irresistible desire to continue our exploration; but the lengthening snow on the mountains was a plain indication of the advancing season, and our frail linen boat appeared so insecure that I was unwilling to trust our lives to the uncertainties of the lake. I therefore unwillingly resolved to terminate our survey here, and remain satisfied for the present with what we had been able to add to the unknown geography of the region. We felt pleasure also in remembering that we were the first who, in the traditionary annals of the country, had visited the islands, and broken, with the cheerful sound of human voices, the long solitude of the place.

"I accidentally left on the summit the brass cover to the object end of my spyglass and as it will probably remain there undisturbed by Indians, it will furnish matter of speculation to some future traveller. In our excursions about the island, we did not meet with any kind of animal: a magpie, and another larger bird, probably attracted by the smoke of our fire, paid us a visit from the shore, and were the only living things seen during our stay. The rock constituting the cliffs along the shore where we were encamped, is a talcous rock, or steatite, with brown spar.

"At sunset, the temperature was 70 degrees. We had arrived just in time to obtain a meridian altitude of the sun, and other observations were obtained this evening, which placed our camp in latitude 41 degrees 10' 42" and longitude 112 degrees 21' 05" from Greenwich. From a discussion of the barometrical observations made during our stay on the shores of the lake, we have adopted 4,200 feet for its elevation above the Gulf of Mexico. In the first disappointment we felt from the dissipation of our dream of the fertile islands, I called this Disappointment Island.

"Out of the driftwood, we made ourselves pleasant little lodges, open to the water, and, after having kindled large fires to excite the wonder of any straggling savage on the lake shores, lay down, for the first time in a long journey, in perfect security; no one thinking about his arms. The evening was extremely bright and pleasant; but the wind rose during the night, and the waves began to break heavily on the shore, making our island tremble. I had not expected in our inland journey to hear the roar of an ocean surf; and the strangeness of our situation, and the excitement we felt in the associated interests of the place, made this one of the most interesting nights I remember during our long expedition.

"In the morning, the surf was breaking heavily on the shore, and we were up early. The lake was dark and agitated, and we hurried through our scanty breakfast, and embarked—having first filled one of the buckets with water from which it was intended to make salt. The sun had risen by the time we were ready to start; and it was blowing a strong gale of wind, almost directly off the shore, and raising a considerable sea, in which our boat strained very much. It roughened as we got away from the island, and it required all the efforts of the men to make any head against the wind and sea; the gale rising with the sun; and there was danger of being blown into one of the open reaches beyond the island. At the distance of half a mile from the beach, the depth of water was sixteen feet, with a clay bottom; but, as the working of the boat was very severe labor, and during the operation of sounding, it was necessary to cease paddling, during which the boat lost considerable way, I was unwilling to discourage the men, and reluctantly gave up my intention of ascertaining the depth and character of the bed. There was a general shout in the boat when we found ourselves in one fathom, and we soon after landed on a low point of mud, where we unloaded the boat, and carried the baggage to firmer ground."



CHAPTER XXIII.

The Return—Suffering for Food—A Royal Feast—On the Lewis Fork—Fort Hall—Division of the Party—Arrival at Dalles—The Sierra Nevada—Preparations for the Passage Through the Mountains—Fremont's Account.

The explorers remained in camp the next day and boiled down some of the water from the lake, thereby obtaining considerable salt. The following morning was clear and beautiful and they returned by the same route, ascending the valley of Bear River toward the north.

The expected Fitzpatrick and the provisions did not show themselves and the party began to suffer for food. When their situation became serious, Fremont permitted a horse to be killed and then all enjoyed one of their old fashioned feasts.

But this supply could not last long, and still they failed to meet their expected friends. After a time they encountered an Indian who had killed an antelope, which they quickly purchased and another feast made every heart glad. By way of dessert, a messenger galloped into camp with the news that Fitzpatrick was close at hand with an abundant supply of provisions.

The next morning the two parties united and continued the journey together. After leaving the Bear River Valley they crossed over to Lewis's Fork of the Columbia. At night the camp fires of the Indian twinkled like so many stars along the mountain side; but they were all friendly and the tired explorers slept peacefully.

Pushing onward they reached the upper waters of Lewis's Fork, where snow began to fall. However, they were quite near Fort Hall and they therefore went into camp, while Fremont rode to the fort and procured several horses and oxen.

The weather continued severe, but Fremont determined to push on, despite the hardships which he knew awaited them all. As a matter of prudence, however, he sent back eleven of his men, leaving about twenty with which he pursued his journey down the river valley in the direction of the Columbia. The Dalles was reached in safety where Kit Carson was left in command of the party, while Fremont with a few companions pushed on to Vancouver Island, where he procured some provisions. On his return, the whole party united and made their way to Klamath Lake, in what was then Oregon Territory. When their observations were completed, they took up their march in the direction of California.

After a long and wearisome journey, attended by much suffering for the lack of food, they came in sight of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, which were seen to be covered with snow. The men were in a sorry plight. The provisions were nearly gone; they could not turn back, and there seemed but two alternatives before them: to push on through the mountains or remain where they were and starve to death. Such men were not the ones to fold their hands and lie down in helpless despair. Accordingly, they made their preparations for the terrible venture.

The snow was so deep that it was impossible to get forward without the aid of snowshoes. Devoting themselves to the manufacture of these indispensable articles, a few were sent ahead to learn how far it was necessary to break a path for the animals. After a laborious passage, it was found that nine miles would have to be prepared in that fashion. Carson was with this advance and when they halted, he saw in the distance the green Sacramento Valley. Although nearly twenty years had passed since he visited that section, he recognized it at once. Away beyond towered the white peaks of the Coast Range. Carson was the only man in the party who really knew where they were.

This passage of Fremont and his men through the Sierra Nevada Mountains is one of the most extraordinary achievements in American history. Carson himself took such a prominent part in it, that it seems only just that Fremont's thrilling account should be quoted.

"The people were unusually silent; for every man knew that our enterprise was hazardous, and the issue doubtful.

"The snow deepened rapidly, and it soon became necessary to break a road. For this service, a party of ten was formed, mounted on the strongest horses; each man in succession opening the road on foot, or on horseback, until himself and his horse became fatigued, when he stepped aside; and, the remaining number passing ahead, he took his station in the rear.

"The camp had been all the day occupied in endeavoring to ascend the hill, but only the best horses had succeeded; the animals, generally, not having sufficient strength to bring themselves up without the packs; and all the line of road between this and the springs was strewed with camp stores and equipage, and horses floundering in snow. I therefore immediately encamped on the ground with my own mess, which was in advance, and directed Mr. Fitzpatrick to encamp at the springs, and send all the animals, in charge of Tabeau, with a strong guard, back to the place where they had been pastured the night before. Here was a small spot of level ground, protected on one side by the mountain, and on the other sheltered by a little ridge of rock. It was an open grove of pines, which assimilated in size to the grandeur of the mountain, being frequently six feet in diameter.

"Tonight we had no shelter, but we made a large fire around the trunk of one of the huge pines; and covering the snow with small boughs, on which we spread our blankets, soon made ourselves comfortable. The night was very bright and clear, though the thermometer was only at 10 degrees. A strong wind which sprang up at sundown, made it intensely cold; and this was one of the bitterest nights during the journey.

"Two Indians joined our party here; and one of them, an old man, immediately began to harangue us, saying that ourselves and animals would perish in the snow; and that, if we would go back, he would show us another and a better way across the mountain. He spoke in a very loud voice, and there was a singular repetition of phrases and arrangement of words, which rendered his speech striking, and not unmusical.

"We had now begun to understand some words, and, with the aid of signs, easily comprehended the old man's simple ideas. 'Rock upon rock—rock upon rock—snow upon snow—snow upon snow,' said he; 'even if you get over the snow, you will not be able to get down from the mountains.' He made us the sign of precipices, and showed us how the feet of the horses would slip, and throw them off from the narrow trails led along their sides. Our Chinook, who comprehended even more readily than ourselves, and believed our situation hopeless, covered his head with his blanket, and began to weep and lament. 'I wanted to see the whites,' said he; 'I came away from my own people to see the whites, and I wouldn't care to die among them; but here'—and he looked around into the cold night and gloomy forest, and, drawing his blanket over his head, began again to lament.

"Seated around the tree, the fire illuminating the rocks and the tall boils of the pines round about, and the old Indian haranguing, we presented a group of very serious faces.

"February 5.—The night had been too cold to sleep, and we were up very early. Our guide was standing by the fire with all his finery on; and seeing him shiver in the cold, I threw on his shoulders one of my blankets. We missed him a few minutes afterwards, and never saw him again. He had deserted. His bad faith and treachery were in perfect keeping with the estimate of Indian character, which a long intercourse with this people had gradually forced upon my mind.

"While a portion of the camp were occupied in bringing up the baggage to this point, the remainder were busied in making sledges and snowshoes. I had determined to explore the mountain ahead, and the sledges were to be used in transporting the baggage.

"Crossing the open basin, in a march of about ten miles we reached the top of one of the peaks, to the left of the pass indicated by our guide. Far below us, dimmed by the distance, was a large, snowless valley, bounded on the western side, at the distance of about a hundred miles, by a low range of mountains, which Carson recognized with delight as the mountains bordering the coast. 'There,' said he, 'is the little mountain—it is fifteen years ago since I saw it; but I am just as sure as if I had seen it yesterday.' Between us, then, and this low coast range, was the valley of the Sacramento; and no one who had not accompanied us through the incidents of our life for the last few months, could realize the delight with which at last we looked down upon it. At the distance of apparently thirty miles beyond us were distinguished spots of prairie; and a dark line, which could be traced with the glass, was imagined to be the course of the river; but we were evidently at a great height above the valley, and between us and the plains extended miles of snowy fields and broken ridges of pine covered mountains.

"It was late in the day when we turned towards the camp; and it grew rapidly cold as it drew towards night. One of the men became fatigued and his feet began to freeze, and building a fire in the trunk of a dry old cedar, Mr. Fitzpatrick remained with him until his clothes could be dried, and he was in a condition to come on. After a day's march of twenty miles, we straggled into camp, one after another, at nightfall; the greater number excessively fatigued, only two of the party having ever travelled on snowshoes before.

"All our energies were now directed to getting our animals across the snow; and it was supposed that, after all the baggage had been drawn with the sleighs over the trail we had made, it would be sufficiently hard to bear our animals.

"At several places, between this point and the ridge, we had discovered some grassy spots, where the wind and sun had dispersed the snow from the sides of the hills, and these were to form resting place to support the animals for a night in their passage across. On our way across, we had set on fire several broken stumps and dried trees, to melt holes in the snow for the camp. Its general depth was five feet; but we passed over places where it was twenty feet deep, as shown by the trees.

"With one party drawing sleighs loaded with baggage, I advanced today about four miles along the trail, and encamped at the first grassy spot, where we expected to bring our horses. Mr. Fitzpatrick, with another party, remained behind, to form an intermediate station between us and the animals.

"Putting on our snowshoes, we spent the afternoon in exploring a road ahead. The glare of the snow, combined with great fatigue, had rendered many of the people nearly blind; but we were fortunate in having some black silk handkerchiefs, which, worn as veils, very much relieved the eye.

"In the evening I received a message from Mr. Fitzpatrick, acquainting me with the utter failure of his attempt to get our mules and horses over the snow—the half hidden trail had proved entirely too slight to support them, and they had broken through, and were plunging about or lying half buried in snow. He was occupied in endeavoring to get them back to his camp; and in the mean time sent to me for further instructions. I wrote to him to send the animals immediately back to their old pastures; and, after having made mauls and shovels, turn in all the strength of his party to open and beat a road through the snow, strengthening it with branches and boughs of the pines.

"February 12.—We made mauls, and worked hard at our end of the road all the day. The wind was high, but the sun bright, and the snow thawing. We worked down the face of the hill, to meet the people at the other end. Towards sundown it began to grow cold, and we shouldered our mauls, and trudged back to camp.

"February 13.—We continued to labor on the road; and in the course of the day had the satisfaction to see the people working down the face of the opposite hill, about three miles distant. During the morning we had the pleasure of a visit from Mr. Fitzpatrick, with the information that all was going on well. A party of Indians had passed on snowshoes, who said they were going to the western side of the mountain after fish. This was an indication that the salmon were coming up the streams; and we could hardly restrain our impatience as we thought of them, and worked with increased vigor.

"I was now perfectly satisfied that we had struck the stream on which Mr. Sutter lived, and turning about, made a hard push, and reached the camp at dark. Here we had the pleasure to find all the remaining animals, fifty-seven in number, safely arrived at the grassy hill near the camp; and here, also, we were agreeably surprised with the sight of an abundance of salt. Some of the horse guard had gone to a neighboring hut for pine nuts, and discovered unexpectedly a large cake of very white fine grained salt, which the Indians told them they had brought from the other side of the mountain; they used it to eat with their pine nuts, and readily sold it for goods.

"On the 19th, the people were occupied in making a road and bringing up the baggage; and, on the afternoon of the next day, February 20, 1844, we encamped with all the materiel of the camp, on the summit of the pass in the dividing ridge, 1,000 miles by our travelled road from the Dalles of the Columbia.

"February 21.—We now considered ourselves victorious over the mountain; having only the descent before us, and the valley under our eyes, we felt strong hope that we should force our way down. But this was a case in which the descent was not facile. Still, deep fields of snow lay between, and there was a large intervening space of rough looking mountains, through which we had yet to wind our way. Carson roused me this morning with an early fire, and we were all up long before day, in order to pass the snow fields before the sun should render the crust soft. We enjoyed this morning a scene at sunrise, which, even here, was unusually glorious and beautiful. Immediately above the eastern mountains was repeated a cloud formed mass of purple ranges, bordered with bright yellow gold; the peaks shot up into a narrow line of crimson cloud, above which the air was filled with a greenish orange; and over all was the singular beauty of the blue sky. Passing along a ridge which commanded the lake on our right, of which we began to discover an outlet through a chasm on the west, we passed over alternating open ground and hard crusted snow fields which supported the animals, and encamped on the ridge after a journey of six miles. The grass was better than we had yet seen, and we were encamped in a clump of trees, twenty or thirty feet high, resembling white pine."



CHAPTER XXIV.

Continuation of Fremont's Account of the Passage Through the Mountains.

"We had hard and doubtful labor yet before us, as the snow appeared to be heavier where the timber began further down, with few open spots. Ascending a height, we traced out the best line we could discover for the next day's march, and had at least the consolation to see that the mountain descended rapidly. The day had been one of April; gusty, with a few occasional flakes of snow; which, in the afternoon enveloped the upper mountains in clouds. We watched them anxiously, as now we dreaded a snow storm. Shortly afterwards we heard the roll of thunder, and looking toward the valley, found it all enveloped in a thunderstorm. For us, as connected with the idea of summer, it had a singular charm; and we watched its progress with excited feelings until nearly sunset, when the sky cleared off brightly, and we saw a shining line of water directing its course towards another, a broader and larger sheet. We knew that these could be no other than the Sacramento and the bay of San Francisco; but, after our long wandering in rugged mountains, where so frequently we had met with disappointments, and where the crossing of every ridge displayed some unknown lake or river, we were yet almost afraid to believe that we were at last to escape into the genial country of which we have heard so many glowing descriptions, and dreaded again to find some vast interior lake, whose bitter waters would bring us disappointment. On the southern shore of what appeared to be the bay, could be traced the gleaming line where entered another large stream; and again the Buenaventura rose up in our mind.

"Carson had entered the valley along the southern side of the bay, but the country then was so entirely covered with water from snow and rain, that he had been able to form no correct impression of watercourses.

"We had the satisfaction to know that at least there were people below. Fires were lit up in the valley just at night, appearing to be in answer to ours; and these signs of life renewed, in some measure, the gayety of the camp. They appeared so near, that we judged them to be among the timber of some of the neighboring ridges; but, having them constantly in view day after day, and night after night, we afterwards found them to be fires that had been kindled by the Indians among the tulares, on the shore of the bay, eighty miles distant.

"Axes and mauls were necessary today to make a road through the snow. Going ahead with Carson to reconnoitre the road, we reached in the afternoon the river which made the outlet of the lake. Carson sprang over, clear across a place where the stream was compressed among rocks, but the parfleche sole of my moccasin glanced from the icy rock, and precipitated me into the river. It was some few seconds before I could recover myself in the current, and Carson, thinking me hurt, jumped in after me, and we both had an icy bath. We tried to search a while for my gun, which had been lost in the fall, but the cold drove us out; and making a large fire on the bank, after we had partially dried ourselves we went back to meet the camp. We afterwards found that the gun had been slung under the ice which lined the banks of the creek.

"The sky was clear and pure, with a sharp wind from the northeast, and the thermometer 20 below the freezing point.

"We continued down the south face of the mountain; our road leading over dry ground, we were able to avoid the snow almost entirely. In the course of the morning we struck a foot path, which we were generally able to keep; and the ground was soft to our animals feet, being sandy or covered with mould. Green grass began to make its appearance, and occasionally we passed a hill scatteringly covered with it. The character of the forest continued the same; and, among the trees, the pine with sharp leaves and very large cones was abundant, some of them being noble trees. We measured one that had ten feet diameter, though the height was not more than one hundred and thirty feet. All along, the river was a roaring torrent, its fall very great; and, descending with a rapidity to which we had long been strangers, to our great pleasure oak trees appeared on the ridge, and soon became very frequent; on these I remarked unusually great quantities of mistletoe.

"The opposite mountain side was very steep and continuous—unbroken by ravines, and covered with pines and snow; while on the side we were travelling, innumerable rivulets poured down from the ridge. Continuing on, we halted a moment at one of these rivulets, to admire some beautiful evergreen trees, resembling live oak, which shaded the little stream. They were forty to fifty feet high, and two in diameter, with a uniform tufted top; and the summer green of their beautiful foliage, with the singing birds, and the sweet summer wind which was whirling about the dry oak leaves, nearly intoxicated us with delight; and we hurried on, filled with excitement, to escape entirely from the horrid region of inhospitable snow, to the perpetual spring of the Sacramento.

"February 25.—Believing that the difficulties of the road were passed, and leaving Mr. Fitzpatrick to follow slowly, as the condition of the animals required, I started ahead this morning with a party of eight, consisting (with myself) of Mr. Preuss, and Mr. Talbot, Carson, Derosier, Towns, Proue, and Jacob. We took with us some of the best animals, and my intention was to proceed as rapidly as possible to the house of Mr. Sutter, and return to meet the party with a supply of provisions and fresh animals.

"Near night fall we descended into the steep ravine of a handsome creek thirty feet wide, and I was engaged in getting the horses up the opposite hill, when I heard a shout from Carson, who had gone ahead a few hundred yards. 'Life yet,' said he, as he came up, 'life yet; I have found a hillside sprinkled with grass enough for the night.' We drove along our horses, and encamped at the place about dark, and there was just room enough to make a place for shelter on the edge of the stream. Three horses were lost today—Proveau; a fine young horse from the Columbia, belonging to Charles Towns; and another Indian horse which carried our cooking utensils; the two former gave out, and the latter strayed off into the woods as we reached the camp: and Derosier knowing my attachment to Proveau, volunteered to go and bring him in.

"Carson and I climbed one of the nearest mountains; the forest land still extended ahead, and the valley appeared as far as ever. The pack horse was found near the camp, but Derosier did not get in.

"We began to be uneasy at Derosier's absence, fearing he might have been bewildered in the woods. Charles Towns, who had not yet recovered his mind, went to swim in the river, as if it was summer, and the stream placid, when it was a cold mountain torrent foaming among the rocks. We were happy to see Derosier appear in the evening. He came in, and sitting down by the fire, began to tell us where he had been. He imagined he had been gone several days, and thought we were still at the camp where he had left us; and we were pained to see that his mind was deranged. It appeared that he had been lost in the mountain, and hunger and fatigue, joined to weakness of body, and fear of perishing in the mountains had crazed him. The times were severe when stout men lost their minds from extremity of suffering—when horses died—and when mules and horses, ready to die of starvation, were killed for food. Yet there was no murmuring or hesitation. In the meantime Mr. Preuss continued on down the river, and unaware that we had encamped so early in the day, was lost. When night arrived and he did not come in, we began to understand what had happened to him; but it was too late to make any search.

"March 3.—We followed Mr. Preuss's trail for a considerable distance along the river, until we reached a place where he had descended to the stream below and encamped. Here we shouted and fired guns, but received no answer; and we concluded that he had pushed on down the stream. I determined to keep out from the river, along which it was nearly impracticable to travel with animals, until it should form a valley. At every step the country improved in beauty; the pines were rapidly disappearing, and oaks became the principal trees of the forest. Among these, the prevailing tree was the evergreen oak (which, by way of distinction, we shall call the live oak); and with these, occurred frequently a new species of oak, bearing a long, slender acorn, from an inch to an inch and a half in length, which we now began to see formed the principal vegetable food of the inhabitants of this region. In a short distance we crossed a little rivulet, where were two old huts and near by were heaps of acorn hulls. The ground round about was very rich, covered with an exuberant sward of grass; and we sat down for a while in the shade of the oaks to let the animals feed. We repeated our shouts for Mr. Preuss; and this time we were gratified with an answer. The voice grew rapidly nearer, ascending from the river, but when we expected to see him emerge, it ceased entirely. We had called up some straggling Indian—the first we had met, although for two days back we had seen tracks—who, mistaking us for his fellows, had been only undeceived by getting close up. It would have been pleasant to witness his astonishment; he would not have been more frightened had some of the old mountain spirits they are so much afraid of suddenly appeared in his path. Ignorant of the character of these people, we had now additional cause of uneasiness in regard to Mr. Preuss; he had no arms with him, and we began to think his chance doubtful. Occasionally we met deer, but had not the necessary time for hunting. At one of these orchard grounds, we encamped about noon to make an effort for Mr. Preuss. One man took his way along a spur leading into the river, in hope to cross his trail, and another took our own back. Both were volunteers; and to the successful man was promised a pair of pistols—not as a reward, but as a token of gratitude for a service which would free us all from much anxiety."

At the end of four days, Mr. Preuss surprised and delighted his friends by walking into camp. He had lived on roots and acorns and was in the last stages of exhaustion.

Shortly the advance party reached Sutter's Fort where they received the most hospitable treatment. All their wants were abundantly supplied, and provisions were sent back to Fitzpatrick and his party.



CHAPTER XXV.

The Start Homeward—The Visitors in Camp and Their Story—Carson and Godey Start to the Rescue—Trailing the Enemy by Night—In Camp—The Attack—An Amazing Success—The Return.

Fremont and his command remained at Sutter's Fort about a month, when their preparations were completed for their return to the States. They journeyed leisurely up the valley of the San Joaquin, crossing over the Sierra Nevada and Coast Range by means of an easily travelled pass. The latter chain was followed until they came upon the Spanish trail, along which they passed to the Mohave River. Where the Trail diverges from that stream, Carson became involved in a characteristic adventure.

While in camp two Mexicans, a man and a boy, rode up and told a sad story. They belonged to a party of Mexican traders from New Mexico. Six of them, including two women who acted as cooks, were left in charge of a band of horses while the rest were away, engaged in barter. When endeavoring to find better grazing for their animals and while the man and boy were on guard, they were attacked by a band of thirty Indians. The warriors were after the horses and their first demonstration was a flight of arrows. The only chance of escape was to make off with the animals and the two started them on a dead run straight toward the Indians. The charge was so impetuous, that they forced their way through, and continued their flight, while the warriors remained behind to massacre the others.

When the couple had gone a long distance, they left the horses and turned back to look for their friends. While they were doing so, they came upon Fremont's camp. When it is added that among those who were left behind by the Mexicans, were the wife of the man and the father and mother of the boy, their pitiful situation must touch the hearts of all. They were overcome with grief, and Carson was so stirred that he volunteered to go back with the couple and help rescue their friends if alive, or punish the Indians, if it should prove that they had been massacred.

Richard Godey, a mountaineer almost the equal with Carson, willingly agreed to accompany him. The two were perfectly familiar with the country, which was an immense advantage. When the Mexicans described the spring, a long ways distant, where they had abandoned the horses to hunt for their friends, Carson recalled its exact location. It was about thirty miles away and he said that that was the point toward which they must push with all speed.

Accordingly they turned the heads of their horses thither and struck into a sweeping gallop, resting only when compelled to do so, and reaching the spring at daylight the next morning. Not a horse was visible, but an examination of the ground showed that the Indians had followed the fleeing Mexicans and stock to the spring, where, finding the animals, they had captured and driven them off in another direction.

It seems like a piece of madness for three men to pursue ten times as many Indian warriors; but the blood of Carson was up and he told Godey it was too soon for them to turn back. The eyes of both flashed, when they reflected upon the shameful outrage, and they meant that the marauders should not get off scot free.

As the boy was only an incumbrance, he was left behind, and, taking the trail of the warriors, the three put their horses to their best, confident the chase would be a long one. On such occasions, the red men are accustomed to travel a long distance before making a halt. With so much booty in their hands, they were liable to be set upon by others as savage as themselves, and they had every cause, therefore, to get out of the country with the least possible delay.

The three were riding in this furious fashion, when most unexpectedly the steed of the Mexican gave out. A minute's examination showed he was as thoroughly used up and useless as the horse of the Ute Indian, years before, who started out with Kit to pursue the thief that was running off with the animals. There was no course but to leave the Mexican behind, for time was too precious to ride back to camp after another horse. He, therefore was told to go back to Fremont's camp and await their return.

The exploit of Carson and Godey, when calmly told, seems incredible. There was no one in Fremont's command who would go with them, and though they knew there were a score and a half of savage wild men to encounter, they did not hesitate, but pressed their steeds to the utmost, eager to join in the fierce hand to hand conflict.

When night shut in upon them, the Indians were not in sight and the signs indicated they were a good many miles ahead. There was no moon or stars and they could see only a few feet in advance of their horses' ears, but it would not do to linger. If they should go into camp, they would lose so much ground that pursuit was likely to be hopeless.

Accordingly, they dismounted and leading their steeds, continued the pursuit on foot. Where it was impossible to see the ground, they depended on the sense of feeling. Quite certain of the general direction taken by the red men, they occasionally stooped down and passed their hands over the earth. The trail was so distinct that it could be readily detected in this manner, provided they had not gone astray. Several times they wandered to the right or left, but found their way back without difficulty, and the chase was continued for several hours in this singular fashion.

After a time, the trail became so fresh that it could be readily detected and no doubt was left in their minds that they were close upon the marauders. Inasmuch as Carson and Godey had pushed their horses to the utmost, and they were showing signs of weariness, they concluded, in view of these facts, to halt and wait until daylight.

The night was unusually cold, but they dared not start a fire, lest it should apprise their enemies of their presence. So they suffered in silence, miserable, wretched and as uncomfortable as it was possible to be, while watching for the growing light in the east.

When at last, morning appeared, they were so chilled that they could hardly walk; but making their way to the bottom of a ravine, they kindled a fire, and with the help of some violent exercise, managed to start their blood in circulation.

In a very brief time, their horses were resaddled and they were galloping along the trail again. Within an hour, they caught sight of the Indians and the stolen animals. The warriors were in camp and were enjoying a breakfast of horse meat, several of the stock having been killed to furnish the food.

Before the Indians could detect their pursuers, the latter dismounted and hid their steeds where they were not likely to attract notice. They then started to crawl in among the stolen animals, which were grazing a short distance from camp. This was an exceedingly delicate task, for the horses were likely to give the alarm, even if the warriors did not detect their presence; but patience and skill succeeded, and, after a time, they were among the drove.

But the very thing they dreaded took place. They had scarcely reached the animals, when one of them became frightened by the appearance of the strangers, and began rearing and snorting. This caused such confusion among the others that the Indians became alarmed and sprang to their feet. Carson and Godey emitted a series of yells that must have made the red men envious, and dashed at full speed toward the thirty Indians. The moment they were within range, both fired. Carson killed his man, but Godey missed. The latter reloaded with great quickness and fired again, bringing down his man.

Meanwhile, the warriors were thrown into a sort of panic by the amazing audacity of their assailants. They could not have suspected the truth—that is that no others were near. They must have believed that a strong reserve was close at hand and that if they tarried in camp they would be overwhelmed by a party of avengers. Accordingly they broke and ran, leaving the daring mountaineers masters of the field.

In accordance with the savage spirit of the border, Godey scalped the two Indians who had been shot, after which the horses were gathered together and driven to where the steeds of the mountaineers had been left.

But when this point was reached, Carson expressed himself as not satisfied: they had not ascertained the fate of the captives and they now proceeded to do so.

In the camp of the Mexicans were found the mangled bodies of the two men. These were buried by Carson and Godey who made search for the women. Though nothing of them was discovered, it was afterwards learned that they, too, had been killed. Having done all that was possible, Carson and Godey made their way back to Fremont's camp, where the stolen property was turned over to the Mexicans, the daring mountaineers refusing to accept the slightest payment for their extraordinary services.



CHAPTER XXVI.

Arrival at Bent's Fort—Carson goes to Taos and Decides to Become a Farmer—Arrival of a Messenger from Fremont—Carson and Owens Repair Again to Bent's Fort—Carson Engages as Guide for Fremont's Third Exploring Expedition—On the Great Divide—Division of the Parties—The Journey Across the Desert—A Singular Meeting—Aboriginal Horse Thieves.

After a tedious journey of many miles, the exploring party reached Bent's Fort July 2, 1844. The labors were considered finished, and bidding his old commander goodbye, Carson made his way to Taos, where he had a most happy reunion with his family. He was cordially welcomed by hundreds of old friends who had learned years before the rare courage and worth of the man, and who were proud to possess such a neighbor.

Carson had led a wild and adventurous career, and, after talking much with those in whom he had confidence, he decided to adopt the life of a farmer. In this conclusion he was joined by Richard Owens, an old mountaineer and an intimate associate for many years.

It did not take them long to fix upon a desirable site, and, in the spring of 1845, stock and animals were bought, building commenced and everything was fairly under way. At the moment when the scarred mountaineers were counting with pleasure on the complete arrangements made, an express messenger galloped up and handed Carson a letter.

The contents were of an important character. Captain Fremont had written to notify Kit that he had started on his third exploring expedition, and, inasmuch as the mountaineer had given his promise months before, that in the event of doing so, he (Carson) would serve again as guide, Fremont reminded him that he should hold him to his pledge and would expect to meet him at Bent's Fort on his arrival there.

It was a considerable pecuniary sacrifice for Carson to keep his promise, but he never failed to do so, when it was not absolutely impossible. Besides, it is fair to presume that the old life could never lose its charm for one of his disposition, and, contrasted with the humdrum existence of a farmer, he could not have been much grieved over the reception of the message. But it must be stated that both Owens and Carson sold out at much loss, and, putting their affairs in the best shape possible, bade families and friends goodbye, mounted their horses and set out for Bent's Fort which was safely reached some days later.

There they were warmly welcomed by Fremont, who had entered upon his third exploring expedition, the last under the authority of the United States government, though two others were afterwards undertaken on his own responsibility. As was to be supposed, Fremont taking lessons from his previous experiences, was much better equipped for his third than for either of the other preceding expeditions. He had about fifty men, among them in addition to Carson and Owens, being Maxwell, the famous mountaineer, Walker who was a member of Captain Bonneville's expedition to the Columbia, besides other hunters and scouts less known but not less skilful and daring than they.

We have already given tolerably full accounts of the two exploring expeditions of Fremont, and it is not our purpose to narrate the particulars of the one which followed. There is a sameness in many of the occurrences but the third time the Pathfinder penetrated into the recesses of the far west, he became involved in a series of experiences totally different from the preceding and deeply interesting of themselves.

Several months were spent on what may be called the Great Divide—that is the region where the waters flow east or west to either ocean, and in the autumn of the year they encamped on the southwestern shore of the Great Salt Lake.

Before them stretched a vast arid plain to which the trappers referred with a shudder of terror. They had heard of it many a time and the common legend was that no man white or Indian who had ever attempted to cross it, succeeded. These stories, however, added to the eagerness of Captain Fremont to explore its secrets, and, when he proposed it to his men, they expressed as strong a desire as he to do so. They felt a mutual trust and confidence impossible under other circumstances.

Some seventy miles away, a mountain peak held out the promise of wood and water. Four men under the guidance of an Indian, were sent forward to explore the place, and, in the event of finding water, they were instructed to apprise the watchful commander by means of the smoke from a camp fire.

When the second day closed without sight of the signal, Fremont became so uneasy that he moved forward with the rest of the party and travelled all night. At daylight, one of the smaller party approached them. He said that running water and grass existed at the mountains, but their Indian guide was wholly ignorant of the country. This was good news and the next day the party reached the stream.

Shortly after, the expedition was divided into two parties, Walker (of whom mention has been made), taking charge of the larger while Fremont led the smaller. It was the purpose of Walker to pass around to the foot of the Sierra Nevada, by a route with which he was familiar, while Fremont with Carson and less than a dozen men, among whom were several Delaware Indians, headed straight across the desert.

While advancing over this arid tract, they detected a volume of smoke rising from a ravine. Cautiously approaching, they discovered an Indian warrior perfectly nude, standing by a fire and watching an earthen pot in which something was simmering. He was greatly frightened and offered them his food. They smiled, treated him kindly and gave him several trifling presents which he received with childish delight.

One of the singular incidents of the journey took place while the exploring party were making their way along the foot of the Sierras. Passing around a point on the lake shore, they unexpectedly met a dozen Indian warriors. They were walking directly behind each other in what is known as Indian file, their heads bent forward and their eyes fixed on the ground. The whites turned aside to allow them to pass and naturally watched them with much interest. The Indians neither halted, deviated from the path, spoke nor looked up, but walked straight forward with their silent, measured tread until they disappeared. The explorers did not interfere with them or speak to them. Thus the representatives of the different races encountered.

The division under charge of Walker joined Fremont at the appointed rendezvous, but winter was upon them, the mountains were sure to be choked with snow and no one was familiar with the route. As a matter of prudence, therefore, Walker was directed to continue southward with the principal party, while Fremont and a few picked men pushed on directly through the Sierras to Sutter's Fort, with a view of obtaining the necessary animals and supplies.

The smaller division was advancing as best it could, when a number of plainly marked trails were observed showing they were in the vicinity of some of the most notorious horse thieves in the world. They were daring and skilful, went long distances, plundered ranches and hastened to the mountains with their booty. The exasperated Californians often organized and went in pursuit, but it was rare they overtook the dusky thieves, and when they succeeded in doing so, were invariably defeated.

This sort of people were undesirable neighbors, and Fremont sent forward two Delawares and two mountaineers to make an investigation. They had not gone far, when the company following them found the signs so threatening that they were alarmed for the scouts. A short distance further they came upon such an excellent camping site that they decided to halt for the night.



CHAPTER XXVII.

Alarming Sounds—Danger of the Scouts—Fremont Goes to Their Rescue—Arrival at Sutter's Fort—Ordered out of California by the Mexican Governor—Fremont's Refusal—Withdrawal to Sacramento River—Arrival of Despatches from Washington—War with Mexico—Meeting with Lieutenant Gillespie—Night Attack by Klamath Indians.

While preparing to go into camp, the explorers were mystified by hearing a number of peculiar sounds like the barking of dogs. Attentive listening, however, satisfied them that it came from an Indian village close by, whose women and children were calling out and lamenting. This constituted positive proof that the friends in advance were in trouble with the red men and there was not a minute to lose in going to their rescue.

A half mile further, the explorers galloped over a slight ridge, when they suddenly came in sight of several hundred Indians, who were making their way up two sides of a knoll, on the crest of which the four scouts had entrenched themselves among the rocks and trees and were coolly awaiting the attack of their enemies.

The little party had run so suddenly into danger that they were compelled to make a flying leap from their horses, in order to secure a suitable shelter. The assailants had almost captured the abandoned horses, when relief came. The two Delawares made a dash to recover their animals, their companions shooting the foremost of the thieves. The property was saved and then all fell back to their own camp.

As the aboriginal horse thieves were so numerous, Fremont kept up an unremitting watch all through the night. Singular noises were continually heard and there could be no doubt that the women and children were retreating further into the mountains.

One of the Delawares on guard was sure he saw an Indian leap over a log, and firing quickly, brought him to the ground; but it proved to be a prowling wolf. None of their enemies appeared, and when morning came, Fremont withdrew from his perilous position.

Sutter's Fort at last was safely reached, and the other party having become lost, Carson was sent to find them. He succeeded with little difficulty and the companies reunited.

Their course was now directed toward Monterey on the sea coast, where they were confident of securing all they needed, but before reaching the place, a messenger arrived from General Castro, the Mexican commander of the territory, ordering the Americans to leave at once or they would be driven out.

Fremont immediately intrenched himself and waited for the Mexicans to carry out their threat. He waited three days, and then, as no attempt was made, withdrew to the Sacramento, which stream was followed to Lawson's Trading Post, where the commander hoped to purchase the outfit for the journey homeward.

Moving northward toward the Columbia, they encountered an enormous force of marauding Indians with whom a fierce battle was fought. The savages were defeated and lost a large number of warriors.

While encamped near Klamath Lake, two horsemen galloped up with despatches to Fremont from Washington, forwarded by Lieutenant Gillespie, of the United States Marines. This officer was making his way through the Indian country with six men as an escort, when his animals began to succumb. Fearing he would not be able to intercept the Captain, the Lieutenant selected two of his best men and sent them ahead with the despatches. He begged Fremont to forward him assistance, as he doubted his ability to reach him without such help.

But the most startling news brought to camp was that war had been declared between the United States and Mexico. When Fremont had read his despatches from his Government, he appreciated the imminent danger in which the Lieutenant was placed, and, without any tarrying, perfected measures for his rescue.

He immediately selected ten of his men, Carson, as a matter of course being among them, and pushed on with all haste, leaving directions for the rest to follow as rapidly as they could.

Fremont and his little company had journeyed something over fifty miles when they met the officer and his companions. The meeting was of the happiest nature, for the Lieutenant, in fact, was in greater danger than he suspected, the Indians around him being among the most treacherous of their race.

Those who have been placed in a situation resembling in a slight degree that of Fremont, can appreciate the interest with which he perused the letters and papers from his distant home. After the parties had gone into camp, the Captain sat up till after midnight reading by the light of the camp fire. Tired out at last, he stretched out with his blanket about him and sank soon into heavy slumber.

The night was cold, and Carson and Owens, with their saddle blankets wrapped around them, lay down close to the fire. All at once Carson heard a peculiar noise, as though some one had struck a quick blow with an axe. Wondering what it could mean, he called to one of the mountaineers.

"What's the matter over there?"

There was no answer, for the head of the poor fellow had been cleft by an axe in the hands of one of the Klamath Indians who had crept into camp. A Delaware had already been killed by the treacherous redskins, that night being the second among all those spent in the west, when the explorers had no sentinel on duty.

Carson and Owens called out "Indians!" and springing to their feet, hurried away from the fire whose strong light was sure to tempt the aim of their enemies.

One of the other Delawares who leaped to his feet snatched up the nearest rifle which unfortunately was not his own, and was unloaded. Unaware of the fact, he tried to fire it over again and again, without suspecting the cause, while a Klamath launched arrow after arrow into his body. The first penetrated his left breast and was fatal; but he bravely kept his feet trying to discharge the useless gun, until four other missiles were also buried within a few inches of the first.

Kit Carson had been quick to detect the danger of the brave Delaware, and, in the hope of saving his life, he brought his unerring rifle to his shoulder. Just as his finger pressed the trigger, he recollected that that, too, was unloaded.

By one of those singular fatalities which sometimes occur, Carson had broken the tube the night before, and left the weapon unloaded. Without trifling with it, he threw it down, drew his single barrelled pistol and ran toward the Klamath, who was coolly launching his arrows into the breast of the poor Delaware.

The Indian leaped from side to side, so as to distract the aim of his enemies, and, instead of hitting him, Carson only cut the string which held a tomahawk to the warrior's arm. The mountaineer had no other shot at command, and Maxwell tried his hand, but in the uncertain light, inflicted only a slight wound. The Indian at that moment wheeled to run, when one of the whites shot him dead. By this time the alarm was general and the assailants fled.

There was good reason to believe that the Klamath Indians had set the snare for Lieutenant Gillespie and his escort. As it was, the wonder was that Fremont's command did not suffer to a greater extent; for having no sentinels on duty, the warriors might have perfected their schemes in security and killed a large number.

The Indian who drove five arrows into the left breast of the Delaware, three of which pierced his heart, was the leader of the attacking party. He had an English half axe slung to his wrist by a cord, and forty arrows were left in his quiver. Carson pronounced them the most beautiful and warlike missiles he had ever seen.

As may be supposed the explorers "slept on their arms" for the rest of the night, but the assailants had fled.

They had killed three of the explorers, besides wounding another of the Delawares, who took characteristic revenge by scalping the leader that had been left where he fell. The dead were given the best burial possible. As illustrating the ingratitude and perfidy of these red men, it may be stated that it was only a few days before that they had visited Fremont's camp, and, though provisions were very scarce, they had been given considerable food, besides tobacco and a number of presents.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

Retaliatory Measures—Fremont's Return to California—Capture of Sonoma—Sutter's Fort Placed Under Military Rule—Monterey Taken by Commodore Sloat—Capture of Los Angeles by Fremont and Commodore Stockton—Carson Sent East as a Bearer of Despatches—The Meeting with Apaches—General Kearney—Bravery of the California Mexicans.

The indignation over the action of the Indians was so great that retaliatory measures were determined upon. Fremont moved around Lake Klamath until nearly opposite where his command had been attacked. The following morning, Carson and ten men were sent forward to search for the Indian village that was believed to be somewhere in the neighborhood. If the discovery could be made without detection on the part of the Indians, Carson was instructed to signal to Fremont who would hasten forward with reinforcements.

The mountaineer had not gone far, when he struck a broad, clear trail, which speedily carried him in sight of a village of some fifty lodges. As it was evident that the Indians had detected their danger, Carson and his companions made an impetuous attack before which the red men fled in wildest panic. A number were shot, when, finding pursuit useless, Carson returned to the village where all the lodges were destroyed.

Because of the war with Mexico, Fremont decided to return to California. On his way thither, the Tlamath Indians continually dogged them and a number of collisions followed, though none was of particular moment. After suffering many hardships, Lawson's Fort was reached and several days were spent in hunting, while Fremont awaited instructions as to the course he was to take in the war then going on between the United States and Mexico.

As the days went by without bringing him any despatches, he wearied of inactivity and decided to assume the aggressive. Accordingly he sent a force to a Mexican military post known as Sonoma, which with little trouble was taken.

Fremont sent out a couple of messengers to inform the American settlers of what had taken place, but the messengers fell into the hands of General Castro who put both to death.

General Castro sent one of his captains, with quite a force to destroy the Americans, but the officer changed his mind when he found himself in the neighborhood of the detested invaders. Fremont pursued him for nearly a week, and captured much of his stock and property, but the Mexican was so skilful in retreating that he could not be brought to bay and Fremont returned to Sonoma.

The little force under Fremont now became the rallying point for the American settlers, and before long the Captain had several hundred under his command. Leaving a garrison at Sonoma, he marched to Sutter's Fort, which was placed under military rule, and then made his way toward Monterey with the purpose of capturing that town. On his arrival, however, he found the place had already been taken by Commodore Sloat and the American squadron. The Commodore leaving shortly after, Commodore Stockton succeeded him.

While at Sonoma, Fremont and his comrades had declared the independence of California and adopted the Bear Flag, which was proffered to Commodore Sloat and the Star Spangled Banner hoisted over the camp.

As the Mexican General, Castro, was known to be at Los Angeles, Fremont asked for and obtained a ship on which his force was taken to San Diego. Then with a much inferior force, he set out to give battle to the Mexican leader; but the latter no sooner learned of his coming, than he fled with all his men. Finding it impossible to force him to give battle, Fremont encamped near the town, where he waited until joined by Commodore Stockton and a company of marines.

The junction effected, they marched upon Los Angeles which immediately fell into their hands. Long before this, Fremont had become impressed with the necessity of having some communication with Washington. In one sense it may be said he was all at sea, for he was without positive instructions, at a critical period, when it was most important that his line of policy should be clearly defined by his government.

But the matter of communicating with headquarters, thousands of miles away, was infinitely more difficult and serious than it is today. A vast, wild, perilous and almost unknown tract stretched between the Pacific and Atlantic, across which it required weeks and sometimes months for an express rider to make his way. To send despatches around Cape Horn took a much longer time; but the necessity was so urgent that Fremont sent Carson with fifteen picked men across the plains, instructing him to complete the journey if possible in sixty days.

Carson started in the middle of September, 1846, and by the exercise of his consummate skill he passed rapidly through a most dangerous section without running into any special danger until the third day. Then, when in the neighborhood of the copper mines of New Mexico, he suddenly came upon an encampment of Apaches, one of the most hostile tribes and the most daring of fighters in the whole southwest.

This was another of those critical occasions where Carson's wonderful quickness of mind enabled him to make the right decision without a second's delay. He understood the language, customs and peculiarities of the people, and he knew them to be splendid riders and tiger-like warriors. The least evidence of timidity would invite an overwhelming attack: a bold front and what may be called indomitable "cheek" were all that was likely to take them through.

Telling his men to halt, Carson galloped forward until within a few rods of the warriors, when he reined up and called out that he wished to hold a parley with them. Thereupon, a number advanced to hear what he had to say. The mountaineer stated that he and his friends were simply travellers through the Apache country; while they were prepared for war, they desired peace, and as their animals were tired out they wished to exchange them for fresh ones. The Apaches expressed themselves satisfied with the proposal, and Carson carefully chose a camping site, where they could best protect themselves against treachery. Then the exchange was made, both parties being so well satisfied that they parted with many expressions of good will.

It was impossible to carry any extended stock of provisions, the party depending upon their rifles to supply their needs in that direction; but game proved to be very scarce and they suffered much until they reached the first Mexican settlement. Although those people were at war with the United States, their friendship for Carson led them to supply abundantly all the wants of himself and friends.

With unremitting diligence and skill, the party pushed on day after day until the sixth of October, when, as they were riding across a treeless prairie, several moving specks were observed in the far horizon. As they came closer, they resolved themselves into horsemen, and, with a delight which may be imagined, Carson speedily observed that they were a detachment of United States troops under the command of General S. W. Kearney, who was highly pleased to meet Carson.

The detachment was a strong one and was on its way to operate in California. After that officer had obtained all the important news Carson had to give, he decided to send the despatches to Washington by another, while he employed the mountaineer to guide him back.

This delicate duty was executed with such admirable skill that General Kearney commended Carson in the highest terms. So rapidly did they move that California was entered early in December, and they were approaching San Diego, when the scouts brought news that a large party of Mexicans were intrenched a short distance ahead with the intention of disputing their advance. Fifteen men under Carson were sent forward to drive in the outposts and capture such loose animals as could be found.

A fierce fight followed, the Mexicans showing far more daring and skill than was expected. General Kearney was compelled to send two companies of dragoons and twenty-five California volunteers to charge the enemy. Carson was in the front column, and was riding at high speed, when his horse stumbled, throwing him so violently as to shatter the stock of his gun. He lay partly stunned but speedily recovering, he caught up the rifle of a dead dragoon and rushed into the fight. Though the Mexicans were finally driven out, they inflicted frightful loss on the Americans. Nearly every man who was in the front column, where Carson was riding when his horse threw him, was killed by the deadly bullets of the enemy.

The Mexicans soon rallied and attacked the Americans with such fierceness that the advance guard was driven back and forced to act on the defensive. No soldiers could have fought with greater gallantry than did the assailants. Before the two mountain howitzers could be unlimbered, almost every man around them was shot down. Then the Mexicans charged forward, lassoed the horses, captured one of the guns and turned it on the Americans. From some cause or other it could not be discharged. Finally, the Americans took refuge among the rocks, where they were surrounded by three or four times their number, seemingly with the choice of two courses before them—to surrender or starve to death.



CHAPTER XXIX.

Daring Exploit of Kit Carson and Lieutenant Beale—General Kearney Saved.

The situation of General Kearney and his men could not have been more desperate. The only subsistence they had were their mules, and the water was insufficient to meet their wants. They were completely surrounded by the brave California Mexicans. They might exist for a time on the bodies of their animals, but they must perish without water.

General Kearney called his friends together during the afternoon to consult as to whether any possible means of escape was before them. He could see none. He had sent three scouts to Commodore Stockton at San Diego, asking for immediate help, but the three were captured by the Mexicans on their return. Kearney had succeeded in exchanging a Mexican lieutenant, whom he held prisoner, for one of the scouts, but nothing was gained thereby. The messenger reported that they had been unable to reach San Diego, and Commodore Stockton, therefore, was in ignorance of the peril of his countrymen not far distant.

When every one expressed himself as unable to see the first ray of hope, Carson in his deliberate, modest way said that it was clear only a single possibility remained—that was by procuring relief from Commodore Stockton at San Diego. Though the other scouts had failed to reach him, Carson expressed his belief that he could succeed. At any rate, he desired to make the attempt to pass the Mexican lines.

Lieutenant Beale, since Minister to Austria, and favorably known throughout the country, immediately seconded the proposition, volunteering to accompany Carson. General Kearney gladly and gratefully accepted the offer, and the arrangements were instantly made. These arrangements were of the simplest nature. The beleaguered Americans were surrounded by three cordons of sentinels, and it was necessary for Carson and Beale to make their way past them in order to reach San Diego.

When night was fully descended, the two left the rocks and approaching the first line, sank upon their hands and knees, and crawled forward with the silence and stealth of Indian scouts. Despite the utmost care, their shoes made a slight noise now and then, and to avoid it, they took them off and shoved them in their belts.

The exploit of Lieutenant Beale and Kit Carson was a most remarkable one in every respect. Frequently through the gloom they would catch the faint outlines of a sentinel, pacing back and forth. Instantly the two would lie flat on their faces until the man moved away, when the painful progress would be resumed.

The slightest forgetfulness was certain to prove fatal, for the Mexicans, knowing the desperate straits of the Americans, must have been expecting some such attempt and were therefore more than usually watchful.

Once a mounted Mexican rode close to the prostrate figures, sprang off his horse and lit his cigarette. He was so close that the tiny flame showed his nose and features, as it was held in front of his face, while lighting the twist of tobacco. During that most trying moment, as Kit Carson afterwards declared, he distinctly heard the beating of Lieutenant Beale's heart.

There seemed no escape but finally the horseman drove away and the painful progress was continued for fully two miles, during which both men were constantly peering through the darkness for signs of danger. Again and again they were compelled to halt, and lying flat on their faces, wait till their fate was determined.

"We are through," whispered Carson at last, when considerable distance beyond the last row of sentinels.

"Thank heaven!" exclaimed Lieutenant Beale in the same guarded voice.

"Now we'll put on our shoes and travel as fast as we know how to San Diego—"

The mountaineer paused in dismay, for, while creeping over the plain, he had lost both his shoes that were thrust in his belt. The Lieutenant had been equally unfortunate, and, as it was utterly out of their power to recover them, they could only push on barefooted, over a soil that abounded with thorns and prickly pears. As these could not be seen in the darkness, their feet were soon wounded to a distressing degree. It was necessary to avoid the well beaten trails, so that the route was not only made longer, but much more difficult on account of the obstacles named.

Yet they were working for a great stake. The lives of General Kearney and his brave men were in the balance. If Carson and Beale failed to bring help right speedily, they were doomed.

All night long, through the succeeding day and far into the following night, the couple, worn, wearied and with bleeding feet, pushed ahead. When exhausted, they would halt for a brief while, but the thought of their imperilled comrades, and the fear that some of the Mexicans were pursuing them, speedily started them off again and they kept to their work with a grim resolution which heeded not fatigue, suffering and wounds.

The only compass Carson had was his eye, but he was so familiar with the country that he never lost himself. The weary men were still trudging forward, when through the darkness ahead suddenly flashed out a star-like point of light. Several others appeared and a minute after they dotted the background of gloom like a constellation.

"That's San Diego!" exclaimed Carson, who could not be mistaken. The couple could scarcely restrain their joy. New life and activity thrilled their bodies, and they hurried on with the same elastic eagerness they felt at the beginning.

In a short while they were challenged by sentinels, and making known their mission, were taken before Commodore Stockton. That officer, with his usual promptness, sent a force of nearly two hundred men to the relief of General Kearney. They took with them a piece of ordnance which for want of horses the men themselves were forced to draw.

They advanced by forced marches to the endangered Americans, scarcely pausing night or day, until in sight of the Mexicans, who considering discretion the better part of valor, withdrew without exchanging a shot with the naval brigade.

As may be supposed, the feet of Carson and Beale were in a frightful condition, when they reached San Diego. The mountaineer, on that account, did not return with the reinforcements, but he described the course and location so minutely that no difficulty was experienced by the relieving force.

Lieutenant Beale was a man of sturdy frame, accustomed to roughing it on the frontier, but the sufferings he underwent on that eventful night were such that he felt the effects for years afterward.



CHAPTER XXX.

Capture of Los Angeles—Court Martial of Fremont—Carson Appointed a Bearer of Dispatches to Washington—His Journey to St. Louis—Visits Washington—Appointed Lieutenant by President Polk—Ordered Back Across the Continent—His Journey—Assigned to Duty at Tajon Pass—Again Ordered to Washington—His Appointment not Confirmed by the United States Senate—Visit to Washington—Return to New Mexico.

The chief force of the Mexicans was at Los Angeles over a hundred miles to the north of San Diego. They numbered six or seven hundred and were strongly intrenched. General Kearney and Commodore Stockton joined their commands and marched to attack them. Arriving in front of the town, they scattered the Mexicans intrenched on the outside, and then marched into the place. But the enemy had fled and gone northward to meet Fremont who was on his way from Monterey with four hundred men to attack Los Angeles.

The Mexicans had not long to search when they found Fremont, but, instead of giving him battle, their commander surrendered, possibly preferring to give him the honor, instead of selecting the other commanders. Fremont continued his march to Los Angeles, where they went into winter quarters, and Carson, who had been devoting his valuable services to General Kearney, now rejoined his old friend, Fremont.

It may be stated in this place that the jealousy between Commodore Stockton and General Kearney assumed such a shape at that time that Fremont was compelled to acknowledge either one or the other as his superior officer. He selected Commodore Stockton as the one to whom he owed superior allegiance. The result of the petty quarrel was the trial of Fremont by court martial, the particulars of which are too well known to require further reference at our hands.

In the following March, Kit Carson was selected to carry despatches to Washington. Lieutenant Beale, who was still suffering from the exposure and hardships he had undergone, accompanied him, together with a guard of a dozen veteran mountaineers. Lieutenant Beale was so weak that Carson for many days was obliged to lift him on and off his horse; but the clear air, the healthful exercise and the cheery companionship of the hardy scout were the best tonics in the world, and probably did the invalid more good than any other treatment that could have been devised.

Carson took an extremely southern route, and his superior skill and knowledge of the country and its inhabitants enabled him to avoid all danger until he reached a tributary of the lower Colorado. While in camp at midnight, they were assailed with a shower of arrows from a party of Indians; but, as Carson expected the attack, he had made such preparations that not one of his men were injured.

Without any other incident worth the mention, Carson and his escort reached St. Louis. There the renowned mountaineer became the hero of the hour. He was taken at once to the home of Hon. Thomas H. Benton, the distinguished statesman and the father in law of Colonel Fremont, who introduced him to the leading Citizens.

The first person to greet Carson when he stepped from the cars in Washington was Mrs. Fremont, who recognized him from the description given by her husband in his letters. She compelled him to accompany her to the house of her father, where he remained an honored guest during his stay in Washington, which was for a considerable time.

Among the compliments paid Carson while in the capital was that of his appointment by President Polk, as lieutenant in the rifle corps of the United States army, and he was ordered to return across the continent with despatches. At Fort Leavenworth, Carson was furnished with an escort of fifty men who were volunteers in the war against Mexico.

The journey westward was marked by no stirring incident until he reached the eastern declivity of the Rocky Mountains, where a company of United States Volunteers were overtaken. They had in charge an enormous train of wagons on the way to New Mexico. On the morning after the encampment of Carson near them, the Indians made an attack upon the volunteers, capturing all their cattle and more than twenty horses. The mountaineer and his men dashed to the rescue, recaptured all the cattle, but were unable to retake the horses.

Shortly after, Carson and his company reached Santa Fe. There he parted from the volunteers and hired sixteen others with which he continued the journey, thereby obeying the instructions received at Fort Leavenworth.

Pursuing the even tenor of his way, he arrived at a tributary of the Virgin River, when he abruptly came upon an encampment of several hundred Comanches, who, as Carson happened to know, had massacred a number of settlers only a short time before. Understanding as thoroughly as he did the treacherous nature of these people, he made a bold front, and, when they attempted to visit his camp, peremptorily ordered them to keep away.

He added that he knew all about them, and the first one who moved closer would be shot. Furthermore, if they did not depart, within a specified time, he notified them that they would be fired upon. These were such audacious words that the Comanches doubted their sincerity. To test it, some of them overstayed their time. Not wishing to break his pledge, Carson ordered his men to fire, One of the warriors fell, while several others, who were badly wounded, came to the conclusion that when the great mountaineer made a statement there was likely to be considerable truth in it.

Food soon became so scarce that mule meat formed the only diet until they reached Los Angeles. Carson pushed on to Monterey where he delivered the despatches to the proper officer, and then returning to Los Angeles he was assigned to duty in Captain Smith's Company of United States dragoons. He was given command of twenty-five dragoons and directed to proceed to Tajon Pass, through which marauding Indians were accustomed to pass when returning from their raids in California. It was an important point, and the winter of 1847-48 was spent in the performance of the duties thus placed upon him. In the spring, he was once more ordered to carry despatches to Washington, an escort being furnished him as in the previous instance.

In crossing Grand River, one of the rafts became unmanageable, upset, losing considerable valuable property and endangering the lives of a number of the company. A large force of Utah and Apache Indians were encountered, but Carson managed them with the same skill he had shown them so many times before.

On arriving at Taos, he spent several days with his family and friends, after which he proceeded to Santa Fe. There he learned that the United States Senate had refused to confirm his nomination as lieutenant in the army. Many of his friends were so angered over this slight that they urged him to refuse to carry the despatches further; but his reply, as given by Dr. Peters, is so admirable that we quote it:

"I was entrusted with these despatches, having been chosen in California, from whence I come, as the most competent person to take them through safely. I would try to fulfill this duty even if I knew it would cost me my life. It matters not to me, while I am performing this service for my country, whether I hold the rank of lieutenant in the United States Army or am known merely as an experienced mountaineer. I have gained some little honor and credit for the manner in which I have always conducted myself when detailed on any special and important business, and I would on no account now wish to forfeit the good opinion formed of me by a majority of my countrymen because the United States Senate did not deem it proper to confer on me an appointment which I never solicited, and one which, had it been confirmed, I would have resigned at the termination of the war."

Having determined to perform his duty, he made careful inquiries as to the state of feeling among the Indians through whose country the trail led. The reports were of the most alarming character: the Comanches were on the war path with a vengeance. They were swarming all along the old Santa Fe Trail, on the watch for parties whom they could overwhelm and destroy.

Such being the case, Carson resorted to the bold artifice of making a trail of his own. He reduced his escort to ten experienced mountaineers and then struck out upon his new route. He rode northward from Taos until within a region rarely visited by hostiles, when he changed his course by the compass several times. By this means, he reached Fort Kearney on the Platte and finally arrived at Fort Leavenworth. Not only had he avoided all trouble with Indians, but by following the new route, had found abundance of game so that the entire trip was but little more than a pleasure excursion.

All danger was over at Fort Leavenworth, where he parted from his escort and went alone to Washington. Previous to this, the war with Mexico had ended, the treaty of peace having been signed February 2, 1848, and proclaimed on the 4th of July following.

Carson tarried in Washington only long enough to deliver his despatches to the proper authorities, when he turned about and made his way to Taos, New Mexico, where he joined once more his family and friends.



CHAPTER XXXI.

Hostility of the Apaches—Colonel Beale Sends an Expedition Against Them—Nothing Accomplished—Colonel Beale Leads an Expedition with Carson as Guide—Capture and Release of Two Chiefs—March to the Arkansas—Another Failure—Carson and Maxwell Build a Ranche—Fremont's Fourth Expedition—The Murderous Apaches—A Fruitless Pursuit.

Kit Carson was one of those whose destiny seems to be that of stirring incident and adventure. No man possessed such an intimate knowledge of the manners, customs and peculiarities of the tribes in the southwest, and with his exceptional woodcraft, skill and high courage his services were always indispensable.

While he was at Taos, the Indians around him were restless until the whole country was seething and on the verge of a general revolt. Colonel Beale, commanding officer of the district, had established his headquarters at Taos. The Apaches committed so many outrages that he believed the only course open was to administer a thorough chastisement; but it was tenfold easier to reach such a conclusion than it was to carry it out. A strong force having been despatched to bring them to account, pursued them to the mountains from which they were compelled to return without accomplishing anything at all. The subsequent history of these Apaches and of General Crook's campaign against them are familiar enough to all to justify the declaration that they have proven themselves the bravest and most formidable tribe that has defied the United States government during the past half century.

Disappointed that the officer whom he sent failed to do anything, Colonel Beale took command himself and employed Kit Carson as guide. Instead of stopping in the mountains because they were blocked with snow, as the former expedition had done, Colonel Beale forced his way with great difficulty through them. The search for the Indians was long but fruitless. The cunning red skins were at home in their fastnesses and not a solitary warrior was bagged.

As the supply of provisions was running low, Colonel Beale was forced to return and retrace his steps. On their return, they came upon a village of Apaches into which the soldiers charged; but the nimble warriors easily got away, with the exception of a couple of chiefs who fell into the hands of the Americans. Hoping to rouse the chivalry and gratitude of their nature, Colonel Beale lectured them kindly and after their promise to behave themselves, allowed them to depart. As soon as they were beyond rifle shot, they must have grinned with exultation, for it was not their nature to repay kindness with anything but cruelty.

As Colonel Beale could not accomplish anything during the winter months, he returned to Taos, where he remained until February, when, learning that a large force of Indians were congregated on the Arkansas, with a number of Mexican captives, he went thither intending to retake them by force, if they could not be secured by peaceable means. He had two companies of dragoons, and as before, engaged Carson as guide.

When he reached the Arkansas, he found himself confronted by two thousand Indians who had gathered to meet their agent and probably to consult as to their future movements. The agent was present and was a man of practical sense and experience. He told Colonel Beale that it would never do to demand the prisoners, for the Indians were in ugly temper and if aroused, would massacre the whole command. Colonel Beale himself was resentful, and very much disposed to give the red men battle, but he suffered himself to be dissuaded from carrying out his original purpose.

When Carson returned once more to Taos, he reflected that he was approaching middle life, and as he now had quite a family, he was anxious to provide something for them. Though he had rendered services beyond value to the United States government, and to different individuals, he had not received enough compensation to place them above want should he become disabled. About this time, his old friend, Maxwell, proposed that they should build a ranch in a beautiful valley some distance north of Taos. The site was a most charming one, though it was so much exposed to the attack of Indians that until then no one had dared to settle there.

Handsome, roomy and substantial structures were erected, and many of the most enjoyable days of their lives were spent on this famous ranche. It would be a pleasant farewell to leave them there to end their days in comfort and peace, but it was to be far otherwise with both and especially with Carson.

In 1848-49, Colonel Fremont made a fourth exploring expedition across the continent, he bearing all the expense, as he did in the case of his fifth expedition made in 1853. The fourth was an appalling failure, marked by an extremity of suffering that is incredible. The guide employed was wholly ignorant and the command became entangled among the snows of the mountains, where some of them lived not only on mules but on each other. The strongest lay down and died, and the horrible features of Fremont's fourth expedition were only approached by that of Lieutenant Strain on the Isthmus of Darien. When the few ghastly survivors staggered out of the mountains they tottered to Carson's ranche, where they received the kindest treatment from him who had served Fremont so faithfully on his former expeditions.

Carson had been on his ranche but a short time, when news reached him of a most atrocious murder by the Apaches. A wealthy merchant was returning in his private carriage with his wife and child from the United States to Santa Fe. He was accompanied by a small escort and the wagon train carrying his goods. When he believed all danger past, he hurried forward with his family, who were becoming tired of the journey.

At a point where there was no suspicion of danger, the Apaches fired upon the carriage, killing every one who accompanied it, including the merchant himself. The wife and child were made prisoners and carried away. Shortly after the little one was tomahawked and thrown into the river.

When news of the outrage reached New Mexico, a party was hastily organized and started out in the hope of saving the woman and punishing the wretches who had committed the murders. When Carson learned of what was contemplated, he offered his services. They were accepted, but much to the surprise of his friends, he was given an inferior position. It was characteristic of the splendid scout that he did not show by word or look that he felt the slightest resentment on account of the slight.

With a less skilful leader than himself, Carson galloped with the company to the scene of the murder. The sight was frightfully suggestive: pieces of harness, band boxes, trunks, strips of blood stained clothing, and fragments of the carriage attested the untamable ferocity of the Apaches who had swooped down on the doomed party like a cyclone.

From that point the trail was taken and the infuriated mountaineers urged their steeds to the utmost, knowing the value of every hour and that in the case of a fight with the Indians a surprise is half the battle.

Day after day the pursuit was maintained until nearly two weeks had gone by, before the first glimpse of a warrior was obtained. The trail was one of the worst imaginable, and, had the pursuers been less skilful, they would have been baffled almost from the first. At certain points, the Apaches would break up into parties of two or three that would take different routes, reuniting at some place many miles beyond where water was known to be. This was done repeatedly, with a view of disconcerting any avengers who might take their trail, and it is a tribute to the ability of the mountaineers that the cunning artifice failed, so far as they were concerned, of its purpose.