Christopher Carson, by his countrymen familiarly called "Kit Carson," was born in the County of Madison, State of Kentucky, on the 24th day of December, 1809. The Carson family were among the first settlers of Kentucky, and became owners of fine farms. Besides being an industrious and skillful farmer, the father of Kit Carson was a celebrated hunter. When the Indians of Kentucky became quieted down, putting an end to the calls upon his courage and skill as a woodsman, he settled into a simple, respectable farmer. This monotonous life did not suit his disposition; and, as the tide of emigration into the wilds of Missouri was then commencing, where both game and the red man still roamed, he resolved to migrate in that direction. It was only one year after the birth of his son Christopher, that Mr. Carson sold his estate in Kentucky and established himself, with his large family, in that part of the State of Missouri now known as Howard County. At this time Howard County, Missouri, was a wilderness, on the remote American frontier. At his new home, the father was in his element. His reputation of carrying an unerring rifle and always enacting the deeds of a brave man, was not long in following him into this wilderness. Mr. Carson's only assistant, on his first arrival in Howard County, was his eldest son, Moses Carson, who was afterwards settled in the State of California, where he resided twenty-five years before the great California gold discovery was made.
For two or three years after arriving at their new home, the Carson family, with a few neighbors, lived in a picketed log fort; and when they were engaged in agricultural pursuits, working their farms, and so forth, it was necessary to plough, sow and reap under guard, men being stationed at the sides and extremities of their fields to prevent the working party from being surprised and massacred by wild and hostile savages who infested the country. At this time the small pox, that disease which has proved such a terrible scourge to the Indian, had but seldom visited him.[1]
The incidents which enliven and add interest to the historic page, have proved of spontaneous and vigorous growth in the new settlements of America. Nearly every book which deals with the early planting and progress of the American colonists and pioneers, contains full, and frequently glowing, descriptions of exploits in the forest; strifes of the hunter; fights with the savages; fearful and terrible surprises of lurking warriors, as they arouse the brave settler and his family from their midnight dreams by the wild, death-announcing war-whoop; hair-breadth escapes from the larger kinds of game, boldly bearded in their lair; the manly courage which never yields, but surmounts every obstacle presented by the unbroken and boundless forest; all these are subjects and facts which have already so many counterparts in book-thought, accessible to the general reader, that their details may be safely omitted during the boyhood days of young Carson. It is better, therefore, to pass over the youthful period of his eventful life, until he began to ripen into manhood.
Kit Carson, at fifteen years of age, was no ordinary person. He had at this early age earned, and well earned, a reputation, on the basis of which the prediction was ventured in his behalf, that he would not fail to make and leave a mark upon the hearts of his countrymen. Those who knew him at the age of fifteen, hesitated not to say, "Kit Carson is the boy who will grow into a man of influence and renown."
The chief points of his character which elicited this prediction were thus early clearly marked. Some of his traits were kindness and good qualities of heart, determined perseverance, indomitable will, unflinching courage, great quickness and shrewdness of perception, and promptitude in execution. The predictions uttered by the hardy rangers of the forest concerning a boy like Carson are seldom at fault; and Kit was one who, by many a youthful feat worthy the muscle of riper years, had endeared himself to their honest love. It was among such men and for such reason, that Kit Carson thus early in life had won the influence and rewards of a general favorite.
His frame was slight, below the medium stature, closely knit together, and endowed with extraordinary elasticity. He had, even then, stood the test of much hard usage. What the body lacked in strength was more than compensated for by his indomitable will; consequently, at this early age, he was considered capable of performing a frontier man's work, both in tilling the soil and handling the rifle.
It was at this period of his eventful life that his father, acting partially under the advice of friends, determined that his son Kit should learn a trade. A few miles from Kit's forest home, there lived a Mr. David Workman, a saddler. To him he was apprenticed. With Mr. Workman young Carson remained two years, enjoying both the confidence and respect of his employer; but, mourning over the awl, the hide of new leather, the buckle and strap; for, the glorious shade of the mighty forest; the wild battle with buffalo and bear; the crack of the unerring rifle, pointed at the trembling deer. Saddlery is an honorable employment; but saddlery never made a greater mistake than when it strove to hitch to its traces the bold impulse, the wild yearning, the sinewy muscle of Kit Carson. Harness-making was so irksome to his ardent temperament and brave heart, that he resolved to take advantage of the first favorable opportunity and quit it forever. With him, to resolve has ever been followed by action. During the latter part of his stay with Mr. Workman, many stories of adventures in the Rocky Mountains reached the ear of the youthful Kentuckian in his Missouri home. The almost miraculous hyperbole which flavored the narratives were not long in awakening in his breast a strong desire to share in such stirring events. The venturesome mind at last became inspired. He determined to go; and, giving his restless spirit full sway, in 1826, joined a party bound for his boyish fancy-pictures of the Elysian Fields. The leader of this expedition required no second request from young Carson before enrolling his name on the company-list. The hardy woodsman saw stamped upon the frank and open countenance of the boy who stood before him those sterling qualities which have since made his name a household word. These formed a passport which, on the spot, awakened the respect and unlocked the hearts of those whose companionship he sought.
The work of preparation was now commenced by the different parties to the expedition. All of the arrangements having been finally completed, the bold and hardy band soon started upon their journey. Their route lay over the vast, and then unexplored territory, bounded by the Rocky Mountains on the one side, and the Missouri River on the other. Before them lay, stretched out in almost never-ending space, those great prairies, the half of which are still unknown to the white man. Crossing the plains in 1826 was an entirely different feat from what it is at this day. Where, then, were the published guides? Where were the charts indicating the eligible camping grounds with their springs of pure water? These oases of the American Sahara were not yet acquainted with the white man's foot. The herds of buffaloes, the droves of wild horses, knew not the crack of the white man's rifle. They had fled only at the approach of the native Indian warrior and the yearly fires of the prairie. It was a difficult task to find a man who had gazed on the lofty peaks of the mountain ranges which formed a serpentine division of the vast American Territories, or who had drank the waters at the camping places on the prairies. The traveller at that day was, in every force of meaning which the word extends, literally, an explorer, whose chosen object was the task of a hero. The Indians themselves could give no information of the route beyond the confined limits of their hunting ranges. The path which this pioneer party entered was existent only in the imagination of the book-making geographer, about as accurate and useful from its detail, as the route of Baron Munchausen to the icelands of the North Pole on the back of his eagle. The whole expanse of the rolling prairie, to those brave hearts, was one boundless uncertainty. This language may possibly be pronounced redundant. It may be in phrase; it is not in fact. The carpet-knight, the holiday ranger, the book-worm explorer, knows but little of the herculean work which has furnished for the world a practical knowledge of the western half of the North American continent. We shall see in the progress of this work whether the adventures of Kit Carson entitle him to a place in the heart of the American nation on the same shelf with his compeers.
In that day, the fierce red-man chief scoured the broad prairies, a petty king in his tribe, a ruler of his wild domain. Bold, haughty, cautious, wily, unrelenting, revengeful, he led his impassioned warriors in the chase and to battle. Even to-day, the lurking Indian foeman is no mean adversary to be laughed and brushed out of the way, notwithstanding disease, war, assassination and necessary chastisement have united rapidly to decimate his race, thereby gradually lessening its power. Thirty years ago the rolling plains were alive with them, and their numbers alone made them formidable. It is not strange that the untutored savages of the prairie, like those of their race who hailed with ungovernable curiosity the landing of the Pilgrims on Plymouth Rock, should have been attracted by the wonderful inventions of the white-man intruder. A very short period of time served to turn this ungovernable curiosity into troublesome thieving. Knowing no law but their wild traditionary rules, they wrested from the adventurous pioneer, his rifle, knife, axe, wagon, harness, horse, powder, ball, flint, watch, compass, cooking utensils, and so forth. The result was, sanguinary engagements ensued, which led to bitter hostility between the two races. Doubtless the opinion may be controverted, but it nevertheless shall be hazarded, that, until the weaker party shall be exterminated by the stronger, the wild war-whoop, with its keen-edged knife and death-dealing rifle accompaniments, will continue, from time to time, to palsy the nerve, and arouse the courage of the pioneer white man. The Indian, in his attack, no longer showers cloth-yard arrows upon his foe. He has learned to kill his adversary with the voice of thunder and the unseen bullet.