Mr. Preuss the German, and Sergeant Zindel the Prussian artillerist, and Jacob the colored boy, and the gallant Alexander Godey of the black silky locks, were retained; and of course Kit Carson and Thomas Fitzpatrick the White Head; and, hurrah, Oliver!
In the midst of cold rain and gusty wind camp was broken, and the march was resumed: that of the one party for the South Pass, 300 miles, and Fort Laramie, and home; that of the other party for the Columbia River, 600 miles, and Vancouver, and—who knew?
Therefore down along the great and desolate Snake River travelled the party of Lieutenant Frémont. Ever the wagon-wheel tracks of the 800 emigrants led on, and on.
The Frémont company found the road growing rougher, with many steep grades up which the men must boost the carts, one by one. Nevertheless, the heavier emigrant wagons had passed; none had yet been abandoned.
Thomas Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand again was delegated to keep the rear, and bring along the baggage-train; the lieutenant and his lighter column pushed to the front.
After a week of travel Snake Indians, fishing for salmon, were passed. Fat and ruddy-faced and jolly with the oily meat were these Snakes, and to the company traded salmon fresh and dried. “Haggai, haggai (fish, fish)!” cried the Indians, glad to see more white wayfarers; for to the Indians the “Bostons,” as they called the American settlers, had brought much prosperity in shape of old trousers and battered hats and such gear, exchanged for fish.
At the first Ford of the Snake, where the Oregon Trail crossed from the left or the south bank to the right or the north bank, the Frémont men almost lost their howitzer and mules in the strong current. But the emigrants, said the Indians, had chained their wagons in a solid line, and had crossed, and had gone on. The distance from Fort Hall was 250 miles, and Agent Grant’s prediction of wreck and litter upon the trail had not come true. The wheel marks continued.
At the end of the second week of travel the Frémont party reached Fort Boisé, Hudson Bay Company trading post, companion to Fort Hall, now 350 miles eastward.
Agent Payette reported that sun-browned and gaunt and tattered, with wagons creaking and cattle limping, the Yankee emigrants’ train had passed through.
“An amazing sight,” affirmed Agent Payette. “Men, women and children, in they poured and out they went, piloted by your Doctor Whitman. They are eleven days ahead of you. They have come thus far—but worse awaits them, when they leave the Snake and strike into the hills for the Blue Mountains. That is a trail scarcely fit for pack-mules, so thick grows the sage.”