With these prospects, and with the very inadequate outfit above described, which was the utmost our united means enabled us to furnish, we departed from Engineer Cantonment, at 11 o'clock, on the 6th of June.[73]
The path leading to the Pawnee villages runs in a direction a little south of west from the cantonment, and lies across a tract of high and barren prairie for the first ten miles. At this distance it crosses the Papillon, or Butterfly creek, a small stream discharging into the Missouri three miles above the confluence of the Platte. Lieutenant Graham and Mr. J. Dougherty accompanied us about five miles on our way; we were also met by Lieutenant Talcott from Camp Missouri, who crossed the bluffs on foot, to take leave of us. Much delay was occasioned, as we passed along, by the derangement of the packs, the obstinacy of the mules, and the want of dexterity and experience in our engagees; we however arrived early in the afternoon at the Papillon, where we encamped.
The Papillon, although it traverses a considerable extent of country, was at this time but a trifling stream. Its channel is narrow, the banks steep, and {116} like many other streams which have their whole course in these arid plains, it is nearly destitute of water, except in rainy seasons.[74]
During the night some rain fell, but as we were furnished with three tents, sufficiently large to shelter all our party, we experienced little inconvenience from the storm. Our baggage was also effectually protected, being laid in heaps, and covered with bear-skins; which were also spread over it when placed upon the pack-horses, during our march by day.
We had each two small blankets, which were carried upon our horses, one being placed under the saddle, and the other upon it. These, with the addition, in some instances, of a great coat, or a blanket-capot, and a valise or a pair of holsters, to supply the place of a pillow, were our only articles of bedding.
On morning of the 7th, a new disposition was made, in relation to the pack-horses, a man being appointed to attend particularly to each. We breakfasted, and recommenced our journey at an early hour, and moving forward at an easy pace, arrived about ten o'clock at the Elk-horn,[75] a considerable river, tributary to the Platte. On the preceding evening, we had been joined at our camp by a party of three or four Frenchmen, on their way to a hunting camp of the Omawhaws to trade. We purchased of them two small brass kettles, to complete our supply of camp furniture. One of these men had been of Pratte and Vasquez's party, at the time of the late attack, and had received, in that affair, a wound in the back from a rifle ball, which was yet unhealed. In the morning they accompanied us to the Elk-horn, where the wounded Frenchman was one of the first to strip and plunge into the river. Surprising accounts are given of the hardihood, and patience under suffering, manifested by the Indians; but we have rarely seen one of them {117} exhibit a more striking instance of insensibility to pain, than this Frenchman.
The Elk-horn, called Wa-ta-tung-ya by the Otoes, is, where we crossed it, about thirty yards wide, and during a great part of the year, too deep and rapid to admit of being forded. At this time our horses were barely able to keep their feet, in crossing the deepest part of the channel. Our heavy baggage was ferried across in a portable canoe, consisting of a single bison hide, which we carried constantly with us. Its construction is extremely simple; the margin of the hide being pierced with several small holes, admits a cord, by which it is drawn into the form of shallow basin. This is placed upon the water, and is kept sufficiently distended by the baggage which it receives; it is then towed or pushed across. A canoe of this kind will carry from four to five hundred pounds. The squaws, who are exceedingly expert in this sort of navigation, transport not only their baggage, but their children, and sometimes adults, across large rivers, in these canoes, and with the most perfect safety. They place their children on the baggage, and convey the whole across the stream, by swimming themselves, and urging their charge before them to the opposite shore. It is rare that any unpleasant accident occurs in this primitive mode of ferrying.[76] The Elk-horn enters the Platte about fifty miles above the confluence of that river and the Missouri. Its whole course is through a country nearly destitute of timber. The low plains {118} which extend along its bank have a fertile soil; but the want of timber opposes a serious obstacle to their settlement.
The soil and climate here are so entirely similar to those of the country about Grand river and the Little Platte, already described, that no change in the vegetable productions could be expected. A species of onion, with a root about as large as an ounce ball, and bearing a conspicuous umbel of purple flowers, is very abundant about the streams, and furnished a valuable addition to our bill of fare.
Soon after crossing the Elk-horn we entered the valley of the Platte, which presented the view of an unvaried plain, from three to eight miles in width, and extending more than one hundred miles along that river, being a vast expanse of prairie, or natural meadow, without a hill or other inequality of surface, and with scarce a tree or a shrub to be seen upon it. The woodlands, occupying the islands in the Platte, bound it on one side; the river-hills, low and gently sloped, terminate it on the other.
At about three o'clock, P. M., a party of ten Indians were seen crossing the plain, towards the Platte, at a great distance before us. Soon after we arrived at a small creek, where was some scattered timber: here we determined to halt for the night, being informed by our guide that we would meet with no wood for twenty miles beyond.