CHAPTER XVII.
THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
May 17.—The country along the Rocky Mountains, for several hundred miles in length and fifty in width, is a high level plain; in all its parts extremely fertile, and in many places covered with a growth of tall, long-leaved pine. Nearly the whole of this wide tract is covered with a profusion of grass and plants, which are at this time as high as the knee. Among these are a variety of esculent plants and roots, yielding a nutritious and agreeable food. The air is pure and dry; the climate as mild as that of the same latitudes in the Atlantic States, and must be equally healthy, since all the disorders which we have witnessed may fairly be imputed to other causes than the climate. Of course, the degrees of heat and cold obey the influence of situation. Thus the rains of the low grounds are snows in the high plains; and, while the sun shines with intense heat in the confined river-bottoms, the plains enjoy a much cooler air; and, at the foot of the mountains, the snows are even now many feet in depth.
CROSSING THE MOUNTAINS.
An attempt to cross the mountains in the early part of June failed on account of the snow, which still covered the track. It was plain we should have no chance of finding either grass or underwood for our horses. To proceed, therefore, would be to hazard the loss of our horses; in which case, if we should be so fortunate as to escape with our lives, we should be obliged to abandon our papers and collections. It was accordingly decided not to venture farther; to deposit here all the baggage and provisions for which we had no immediate use, and to return to some spot where we might live by hunting till the snow should have melted, or a guide be procured to conduct us. We submitted, June 17, to the mortification of retracing our steps three days' march.
On the 24th June, having been so fortunate as to engage three Indians to go with us to the falls of the Missouri for the compensation of two guns, we set out on our second attempt to cross the mountains. On reaching the place where we had left our baggage, we found our deposit perfectly safe. It required two hours to arrange our baggage, and prepare a hasty meal; after which the guides urged us to set off, as we had a long ride to make before we could reach a spot where there was grass for our horses. We mounted, and followed their steps; sometimes crossed abruptly steep hills, and then wound along their sides, near tremendous precipices, where, had our horses slipped, we should have been irrecoverably lost. Our route lay along the ridges which separate the waters of the Kooskooskee and Chopunnish, and above the heads of all the streams; so that we met no running water. Late in the evening, we reached a spot where we encamped near a good spring of water. It was on the steep side of a mountain, with no wood, and a fair southern aspect, from which the snow seemed to have disappeared for about ten days, and an abundant growth of young grass, like greensward, had sprung up. There was also a species of grass not unlike flag, with a broad succulent leaf, which is confined to the upper parts of the mountains. It is a favorite food with the horses; but it was then either covered with snow, or just making its appearance.
June 27.—We continued our route over the high and steep hills of the same great ridge. At eight miles' distance, we reached an eminence where the Indians have raised a conical mound of stone six or eight feet high. From this spot we have a commanding view of the surrounding mountains, which so completely enclose us, that, although we have once passed them, we should despair of ever escaping from them without the assistance of the Indians; but our guides traverse this trackless region with a kind of instinctive sagacity. They never hesitate; they are never embarrassed; yet so undeviating is their step, that, wherever the snow has disappeared for even a hundred paces, we find the summer road. With their aid, the snow is scarcely a disadvantage; for although we are often obliged to slide down, yet the fallen timber and the rocks, which are now covered up, were much more troublesome when we passed in the autumn.
NOTE. A later traveller through this region writes, "The mountains are indeed rocky. They are rocks heaped upon rocks, with no vegetation, excepting a few cedars growing out of the crevices near their base. Their tops are covered with perpetual snow. The main ridge of the mountains is of gneiss rock; yet, to-day, parallel ridges of a rock, nearly allied to basalt, have abounded. These ridges appear to be volcanic, forced up in dikes at different distances from each other, running from east-north-east to west-south-west. The strata are mostly vertical; but some are a little dipped to the south.
"Our encampment was near a small stream which runs through a volcanic chasm, which is more than a hundred feet deep, with perpendicular sides. Here was a passage made for the water by fire."
July 3, 1806.—It was agreed here that the expedition should be divided, to unite again at the confluence of the Missouri and the Yellowstone. The separation took place near the point where Clarke's River is crossed by the forty-seventh parallel of latitude. Capt. Lewis, with nine men, was to cross the mountains in a direction as nearly due east as possible, expecting to find some tributary of the Missouri, by following which he might reach that river, and by it retrace his way homeward. Capt. Clarke, with the remainder of the party, was to seek the head waters of the Yellowstone, and follow that stream to the proposed place of re-union.
In conformity with this arrangement, Capt. Lewis, under the guidance of friendly Indians, crossed the mountains by a route which led him, after travelling one hundred and four miles, to Medicine River, and by that river to the Missouri. He reached the falls of the Missouri on the 17th of July, and leaving there a portion of his party, under Sergt. Gass, to make preparations for transporting their baggage and canoes round the falls, set out, accompanied by Drewyer and the two brothers Fields, with six horses, to explore Maria's River, to ascertain its extent toward the north. From the 18th to the 26th, they were engaged in this exploration. On the eve of their return, an event occurred, which, being the only instance in which the expedition was engaged in any conflict with the Indians with loss of life, requires to be particularly related.
CONFLICT WITH THE INDIANS.
We were passing through a region frequented by the Minnetarees, a band of Indians noted for their thievish propensities and unfriendly dispositions. Capt. Lewis was therefore desirous to avoid meeting with them. Drewyer had been sent out for game, and Capt. Lewis ascended a hill to look over the country. Scarcely had he reached the top, when he saw, about a mile on his left, a collection of about thirty horses. By the aid of his spy-glass, he discovered that one-half of the horses were saddled, and that, on the eminence above the horses, several Indians were looking down towards the river, probably at Drewyer. This was a most unwelcome sight. Their probable numbers rendered any contest with them of doubtful issue. To attempt to escape would only invite pursuit; and our horses were so bad, that we must certainly be overtaken: besides which, Drewyer could not yet be aware that Indians were near; and, if we ran, he would most probably be sacrificed. We therefore determined to make the best of our situation, and advance towards them in a friendly manner. The flag which we had brought in case of such an emergency was therefore displayed, and we continued slowly our march towards them. Their whole attention was so engaged by Drewyer, that they did not immediately discover us. As soon as they did so, they appeared to be much alarmed, and ran about in confusion. When we came within a quarter of a mile, one of the Indians mounted, and rode towards us. When within a hundred paces of us, he halted; and Capt. Lewis, who had alighted to receive him, held out his hand, and beckoned him to approach: but he only looked at us, and then, without saying a word, returned to his companions.
The whole party now descended the hill, and rode towards us. As yet we saw only eight, but presumed that there must be more behind, as there were several more horses saddled. Capt. Lewis had with him but two men; and he told them his fears that these were Indians of the Minnetaree tribe, and that they would attempt to rob us, and advised them to be on the alert, should there appear any disposition to attack us.
When the two parties came within a hundred yards of each other, all the Indians, except one, halted. Capt. Lewis therefore ordered his two men to halt, while he advanced, and, after shaking hands with the Indian, went on and did the same with the others in the rear, while the Indian himself shook hands with our two men. They all now came up; and, after alighting, the Indians asked to smoke with us. Capt. Lewis, who was very anxious for Drewyer's safety, told them that the man who had gone down the river had the pipe, and requested, that, as they had seen him, one of them would accompany R. Fields to bring him back. To this they assented; and Fields went with a young man in search of Drewyer, who returned with them.
As it was growing late, Capt. Lewis proposed that they should encamp with us; for he was glad to see them, and had a great deal to say to them. They assented; and, being soon joined by Drewyer, the evening was spent in conversation with the Indians, in which Capt. Lewis endeavored to persuade them to cultivate peace with their neighbors. Finding them very fond of the pipe, Capt. Lewis, who was desirous of keeping a constant watch during the night, smoked with them to a late hour; and, as soon as they were all asleep, he woke R. Fields, and ordering him to rouse us all in case any Indian left the camp, as he feared they would attempt to steal our horses, he lay down by the side of Drewyer in the tent with the Indians, while the brothers Fields were stretched near the fire at the mouth of the tent.
At sunrise, the Indians got up, and crowded round the fire, near which J. Fields, who was then on watch, had carelessly left his rifle, near the head of his brother, who was asleep. One of the Indians slipped behind him, and, unperceived, took his brother's and his own rifle; while at the same time two others seized those of Drewyer and Capt. Lewis. As soon as Fields turned round, he saw the Indian running off with the rifles; and, instantly calling his brother, they pursued him for fifty or sixty yards; and just as they overtook him, in the scuffle for the rifles, R. Fields stabbed him through the heart with his knife. The Indian ran a few steps, and fell dead. They recovered their rifles, and ran back to the camp.
The moment the fellow touched his gun, Drewyer, who was awake, jumped up, and wrested it from him. The noise awoke Capt. Lewis, who instantly started from the ground, and reached to seize his gun, but found it gone, and, turning about, saw the Indian running off with it. He followed, and called to him to lay down the gun; which he did. By this time, the rest of the Indians were endeavoring to drive off our horses; and Capt. Lewis ordered his men to follow them, and fire upon the thieves if they did not release our horses. The result was, that we recovered four of our horses, and as many of theirs which they had left behind; so that we were rather gainers by the contest. Besides the Indian killed by Fields, one other was badly wounded.
We had no doubt but that we should be immediately pursued by a much larger party. Our only chance of safety was in rejoining our friends, who were many miles distant. We therefore pushed our horses as fast as we could; and, fortunately for us, the Indian horses proved very good. The plains were level, free from stones and prickly-pears, and in fine order for travelling over from the late rains. We commenced our ride in the early morning. At three o'clock, we had ridden, by estimate, sixty-three miles. We halted for an hour and a half to refresh our horses; then pursued our journey seventeen miles farther, when, as night came on, we killed a buffalo, and again stopped for two hours. The sky was now overclouded; but, as the moon gave light enough to show us the route, we continued for twenty miles farther, and then, exhausted with fatigue, halted at two in the morning. Next day, we rejoined the main body of our party in safety.
Capt. Lewis with his companions pursued their way down the Missouri, passing those points already noticed in their ascent. Our narrative, therefore, will leave them here, and attend the course of Capt. Clarke and his party down the Yellowstone.