He had now reached the field where his chief labors were to commence. Without loss of time he set earnestly about his work, making and recording such observations as he deemed to be essential and examining and exploring the country. Having finished this part of his labors, the ascent of the highest peak of the mountains was commenced. The length of the journey had jaded the animals. It was very difficult to procure game. The men had undergone such severe hardships that their spirits had become almost worn out. The daily fare now was dried buffalo meat. This was about the consistency of a pine stick; and, in taste, resembled a piece of dried bark. Besides these rather uncomfortable prospects, the expedition stood in constant fear of an attack by the Indians. It was now in the country of the Blackfeet; and, only a short distance from the encampment, at the foot of the mountain, there was one of their forts. In the face of all these obstacles, sufficiently formidable to have deterred most commanders, the mountain party was detailed, being fourteen in number including Fremont. A man named Bernier was left in command of the camp which had been made by felling forest trees in a space about forty feet in diameter, using the trunks to form a breastwork. The camp was thus concealed by the trees and their foliage. It was well calculated for defence, and a few determined men could have maintained it against almost any Indian force.
On the 12th day of August the mountain party left the camp. It was fifteen in number. On the 14th of August some of the party reached an elevation at which the barometer stood 19.401. On the 15th some of the party were sent back. Kit Carson had command of this party. The remainder consisted of Colonel Fremont, Mr. Preuss, Basil Lajeunesse, Clement Lambert, Janesse, and Descoteaux. The day previous Kit Carson had alone climbed one of the highest peaks of the main ridge from which he had a full view of the highest peak, which rose about eight or ten hundred feet above him. The arduous labors of the 14th August had determined the commander to ascend no higher. Instead of carrying out this intention, after Kit Carson with his party had set out, Fremont made one more effort to climb the highest peak and succeeded. His own words in describing this ascent are as follows:
"'At intervals, we reached places where a number of springs gushed from the rocks, and about 1,800 feet above the lakes came to the snow line. From this point our progress was uninterrupted climbing. Hitherto, I had worn a pair of thick moccasins, with soles of parflêche; but here I put on a light thin pair, which I had brought for the purpose, as now the use of our toes became necessary to a further advance. I availed myself of a sort of comb of the mountain, which stood against the wall like a buttress, and which the wind and the solar radiation, joined to the steepness of the smooth rock, had kept almost entirely free from snow. Up this I made my way rapidly. Our cautious method of advancing in the outset had spared my strength; and, with the exception of a slight disposition to headache, I felt no remains of yesterday's illness. In a few minutes we reached a point where the buttress was overhanging, and there was no other way of surmounting the difficulty than by passing around one side of it, which was the face of a vertical precipice of several hundred feet.'
"Parflêche is the name given to buffalo hide. The Indian women prepare it by scraping and drying. It is exceedingly tough and hard, and receives its name from the circumstance that it cannot be pierced by arrows or spears. The entire dress of Fremont and his party, on their ascent to the 'top of America,' consisted of a blue flannel shirt, free and open at the neck, the collar turning down over a black silk handkerchief tied loosely, blue cloth pantaloons, a slouched broad-brimmed hat, and moccasins as above described. It was well adapted to climbing—quite light, and at the same time warm, and every way comfortable.
"'Putting hands and feet in the crevices between the blocks, I succeeded in getting over it, and, when I reached the top, found my companions in a small valley below. Descending to them, we continued climbing, and in a short time reached the crest. I sprang upon the summit, and another step would have precipitated me into an immense snow-field five hundred feet below. To the edge of this field was a sheer icy precipice; and then, with a gradual fall, the field sloped off for about a mile, until it struck the foot of another lower ridge. I stood on a narrow crest, about three feet in width, with an inclination of about 20° N. 51° E. As soon as I had gratified the first feelings of curiosity, I descended, and each man ascended in his turn, for I would only allow one at a time to mount the unstable and precarious slab, which it seemed a breath would hurl into the abyss below. We mounted the barometer in the snow of the summit, and, fixing a ramrod in a crevice, unfurled the national flag, to wave in the breeze where never flag waved before. During our morning's ascent, we met no sign of animal life, except a small bird having the appearance of a sparrow. A stillness the most profound and a terrible solitude forced themselves constantly on the mind as the great features of the place. Here, on the summit, where the stillness was absolute, unbroken by any sound, and the solitude complete, we thought ourselves beyond the region of animated life; but while we were sitting on the rock, a solitary bee (bombus terrestris, the humble bee) came winging his flight from the eastern valley, and lit on the knee of one of the men.
"'Around us, the whole scene had one main striking feature, which was that of terrible convulsion. Parallel to its length, the ridge was split into chasms and fissures, between which rose the thin, lofty walls, terminated with slender minarets and columns, which are correctly represented in the view from the camp on Island Lake. According to the barometer, the little crest of the wall on which we stood was three thousand five hundred and seventy feet above that place, and two thousand seven hundred and eighty above the little lakes at the bottom, immediately at our feet. Our camp at the Two Hills (an astronomical station) bore south 3° east, which, with a bearing afterward obtained from a fixed position, enabled us to locate the peak. The bearing of the Trois Tetons was north 50° west, and the direction of the central ridge of the Wind River Mountains south 39° east. The summit rock was gneiss, succeeded by sienitic gneiss. Sienite and feldspar succeeded in our descent to the snow line, where we found a feldspathic granite. I had remarked that the noise produced by the explosion of our pistols had the usual degree of loudness, but was not in the least prolonged, expiring almost instantaneously. Having now made what observations our means afforded, we proceeded to descend. We had accomplished an object of laudable ambition, and beyond the strict order of our instructions. We had climbed the loftiest peak of the Rocky Mountains, and looked down upon the snow a thousand feet below, and, standing where never human foot had stood before, felt the exultation of first explorers. It was about two o'clock when we left the summit; and when we reached the bottom, the sun had already sunk behind the wall, and the day was drawing to a close. It would have been pleasant to have lingered here and on the summit longer; but we hurried away as rapidly as the ground would permit, for it was an object to regain our party as soon as possible, not knowing what accident the next hour might bring forth.'"
This peak was found, by barometrical observation, to be thirteen thousand five hundred and seventy feet above the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. It bears the name of the Great Explorer, being called Fremont's Peak.
The return trip was now commenced, all of the objects of the expedition having been successfully accomplished. The party again reached Fort Laramie in the month of September, 1842. Kit Carson had served in the double capacity as a hunter and guide. It is sufficient to say of the manner in which he performed his duties that he won the friendship of John C. Fremont, and has ever occupied since then a prominent and permanent place in his esteem. At Laramie, Kit Carson's labors were done. There he bid his commander good bye and set out for New Mexico. Fremont returned to the United States in safety. Thus terminated the first of his great explorations.
Kit Carson's Indian wife had long since been dead. In the month of February, 1843, he married a Mexican lady by the name of Señora Josepha Jarimilla. Of this lady it is sufficient to say that for her many virtues and personal beauty she is justly esteemed by a large circle of acquaintance. By this wife Kit Carson has three children, to whom he is devotedly attached.