The Life and Adventures of Kit Carson, the Nestor of the Rocky Mountains, from Facts Narrated by Himself

by De Witt C. Peters

On finishing his purchases, at this post, whose occupants had done their utmost to supply his wants and make his stay agreeable, the explorer once more set his command in motion en route for the Columbia River. He traveled up the Sacramento and passed near the Shasta Buttes,[¹⁹] and thence on to the Tlamath Lake. While encamped on the head of this collection of water, news came to the party that war had been declared between the United States and Mexico. This intelligence had been sent to Fremont through Lieutenant Gillespie, of the United States marines, who had with him six men as an escort. After traveling three hundred miles over bad trails at a rapid pace, his animals began to succumb to fatigue. The lieutenant saw he would fail to accomplish his ends with the whole party together, therefore he selected two of his most reliable men, mounted them on his fleetest horses, and sent them on ahead to bear the dispatches, while he himself would jog on slowly. The expressmen overhauled the exploring party after several days of hard travel and handed to Fremont the communications. As soon as he had read his letters, Fremont made inquiries in regard to Gillespie, and found that he was in rather a precarious position; for, should the Tlamath Indians take the notion, they would murder him and his men just by the way of pastime. Fremont at once determined to return with all haste and succor Gillespie from the imminent peril that surrounded him. With this purpose in view, he selected ten picked men, leaving orders for the rest of the party to follow on his trail, and set out. He had traveled about sixty miles when he met the officer he was in search of coming on. The meeting was very gratifying to both, but especially so to Fremont, who was fully alive to the dangers through which Gillespie had passed; for, the lieutenant was not sufficiently aware how black-hearted in their villainy and treachery this tribe, through whose country he was passing, were, as he had heretofore never dealt with them. A camp was selected near by, and all hands were not long in being snugly seated in it around a good fire, listening to the important news fresh from the civilized world.

Fremont sat up until about one o'clock reading his letters from the United States. Kit Carson and Owens, wrapped in their saddle blankets, had picked out their beds near the fire, as the night was cold. On concluding the reading of his correspondence, Fremont turned in and was soon sound asleep. All was quiet for awhile, when Kit Carson heard a noise that awaked him; the sound was like the stroke of an axe. Rising to his feet, he discovered Indians in the camp. While in the act of reaching for his rifle, he gave the alarm, to his slumbering companions; but, two of them were already sleeping their last sleep, for the fatal tomahawk had been buried in their brains. One of these victims was the brave Lajeunesse, while the other was a full-blooded Delaware Indian. As Kit Carson left the fire, where he was too conspicuous an object, he saw several warriors approaching towards it. There lay near to it four other Delawares, who, on hearing the alarm, sprang to their feet. One of them by the name of Crane, seized hold of a rifle which, unfortunately, was not his own, and was not loaded. The poor fellow was not aware of this important fact. He kept trying to fire it while he stood erect, and manfully received five arrows, all of which penetrated his left breast, and either one of which was sufficient to cause his death. At last, he fell. On grasping his gun, Kit Carson remembered that the evening before, he had discharged it for the purpose of cleaning it, and while doing so had accidentally broken its cap tube, and consequently he had not reloaded it. As this flashed across his mind, he threw the rifle down and drew from his belt a single-barrelled pistol, with which he made at the warrior who was so safely throwing his arrows into his companion. When sufficiently near, Kit Carson fired, but as the fellow kept dodging about, he only succeeded in cutting the string that held the tomahawk to its red owner's arm. Maxwell now shot at this same brave and hit him in the fleshy part of one leg; and, as he was turning to run, which was the case with most of the Indians by this time, a bullet from the rifle of a mountaineer passed through his heart and arrested his progress. The whites were now fully awakened to their danger, and about ready to commence the fight; but the enemy had scattered. If all the savages had shown the same quickness and coolness as did their foremost warrior, the probability is that the most, if not the whole of the party would have been massacred. As it was, the attack was well planned, but poorly carried out.

The result of the affair was, that Fremont lost three brave men, and had one other wounded slightly. It now became evident that the party had fallen into a snare which was intended for Lieutenant Gillespie and his small force, but the coming up of Fremont had caused the assassins to find they had caught a Tartar.

Fremont and his party apprehended no danger that night; consequently, they did not post a guard, and as the men were very tired they slept very soundly. Before lying down, several of them had fired off their rifles, and, after cleaning them, they had neglected to reload them. This was the first and last time they were guilty of such a mistake while in an Indian country.

Of the three men killed, the one by the name of Lajeunesse was the most regretted, for he had been with Fremont on his previous expeditions, and had won the admiration and confidence of his commander and companions. In a small company of men, such as these expeditions were composed of, where every member becomes intimately known and admired by his companions, the loss of one would be greatly felt; but, when three such were thus suddenly taken, it caused a gloom to be cast over the remainder, not easily to be dispelled. The only consolation left to the living was, that they had been instrumental in saving Lieutenant Gillespie and his four companions; therefore, in sacrificing their comrades, they had saved more lives than had been lost.

There were no more thoughts of sleep in this camp for that eventful night; but instead, the men selected positions behind neighboring trees and fallen logs, and were ready to receive the enemy should they see fit to visit them again.

The Indians, however, as Kit Carson predicted, had come to the wise conclusion not to attempt so unsatisfactory a business as another attack, for the grey light of the following day came without their reappearance. Before the sun had fairly risen, Fremont had broken up this camp, which had become odious to the men from its unpleasant associations. With their packs, and with the bodies of their dead companions, the party started to find their rear guard. They had proceeded about ten miles on their journey, when, by unanimous consent, they resolved to halt and inter the remains, which they had wished to carry until they united their forces, so that all could participate in the funeral rites; but, the woods through which they were traveling were very thick, and already the bodies had become greatly disfigured, on account of their frequently striking against the trees, as they were fastened on the backs of three animals.

Slowly and sadly, in that dense forest, hundreds of miles from their nearest countrymen, was this funeral procession formed. A spot was selected on one side of the main trail, at a distance of about one half mile, where a rude grave was dug, and, wrapped in their blankets, in the same common house, were deposited all that remained of these three brave men. An observer of these obsequies, would have seen the lips of daring men, now and then, giving spasmodic twitchings; eyes swimming in tears, and a silence and solemnity that bespoke the truest kind of grief. Among that party, such a one would have been sure to have marked out the countenance of Kit Carson; for, engraven on it were the throes which were troubling his kind heart on being thus obliged to separate from old friends. Not a man left that grave, but who resolved, secretly and silently, to make these dastardly Indians suffer for the lives they had thus wantonly taken. In fact, they felt it an imperative duty they yet owed to their departed comrades; who, if they but stood in their places, would have sworn to be avenged; hence, the reader must not judge them harshly if they nourished these feelings.

That very day the two parties met and went into camp together. Plans were concocted to chastise the red men soundly. The next day, on quitting this last resting-place, a squad of fifteen men was left concealed in the neighborhood, in order to watch and act against any Indians who, by chance, might be following them from one camp to another, in hopes of finding something. The main command then moved on slowly, and had advanced but a few miles when they were overtaken by their friends, who came up with two scalps. These were the sum total of their morning's work. The two warriors to whom they had belonged were caught following the trail as scouts of their main body. The unerring rifles of the party in ambush had performed their fearful duty.