Lower Falls of the Yellowstone.
From Wonderland, 1901, Northern Pacific Railway.
The Blackfeet were the greatest scourge to the region, occupying toward the country around the headwaters of the Missouri something the same relation that the Iroquois did to the Ohio valley, and the Apaches to the New Mexican territory. Sometimes they were met in the most unexpected way, as in the case of a trapper named Clyburn, who with one companion was on his way to the rendezvous of his company with the furs of a whole season. As they turned through some timber to cross a stream they rode squarely into a Blackfoot camp. Escape was impossible. Clyburn did not waver for a second, but rode calmly to the head chief's tipi, where he proclaimed himself a friend who wished to pass the night under his protection. The chief received them coldly, ordered his women to unpack the horses, and demanded from the men an account of themselves, also how they dare intrude on his hunting-ground. These questions were evaded and the men tried to swallow some of the food placed before them, though they felt little like eating. Clyburn overheard the chief say they must be killed. He told his mate and instructed him to watch closely and follow every move he made. When it grew nearly dark and the warriors were somewhat off their guard, Clyburn suddenly broke for the river, a hundred yards off, with his companion beside him. There were wild yells, shots, confusion. Clyburn swam the stream, hid beneath a shelving bank, and when the search was abandoned looked about for the other man. He was nowhere to be found and was never heard of again. Clyburn succeeded in reaching the rendezvous, where he refitted and once more went to the beaver grounds. He had engaged for five years, and when his time was up he started for the East. Going to hunt where the river made a large bend, he missed the boat, and as they never waited for any one he was alone on the plains and struck out on foot for Council Bluffs, a thousand miles away, where he finally arrived with barely strength enough to creep on all fours. These men never gave up. Never did their nerve give way, never did they admit defeat; it might crush them, but as long as a heart throb remained they fought against it. Death alone could check their efforts to retrieve a desperate situation. Two fine examples of the highest type of the Wilderness breaker were a father and son by the name of Pattie. Sylvester, the father, was about forty-four, who had moved to Missouri from that State famous for great hunters,—Kentucky. He was familiar with frontier warfare, having served as lieutenant in the army against Amerind foes. Courageous and intelligent beyond the average, he was held in high esteem. The death of his wife induced a species of melancholia, and on the advice of friends he sold his property and fitted out, in 1824, a trapping expedition to divert his mind. Distributing his children among relatives, he yielded to the pleadings of his son, James O., then about twenty, and added him to his party. His goal was the upper Missouri, the region then most talked about, but on arriving at Council Bluffs with his men and ten horses loaded with materials for a trapping and trading campaign, the commanding officer of the post refused him permission to proceed as he had no license, not having known that one would be required.
He was not to be easily thwarted. The Santa Fé trade was growing and he decided to turn his course in that direction. Selling his extra arms he bought more goods for this trade, and then joined one Pratte, whom they had met on the way to Council Bluffs, and who was preparing for the Santa Fé journey. Sylvester Pattie was elected to command the combined parties, many of the men having served as rangers under him. There were 116 all told, with several hundred horses and mules. Pattie conducted the affairs of the caravan methodically and skilfully and they went up the Platte without any drawbacks. The Pawnees welcomed them cordially, even affectionately, and their intercourse would have been altogether agreeable had not a war party come in at a village of Pawnee Loups having with it a child captive, whose mother had been killed and scalped. This harrowing spectacle of the unfortunate little redskin probably brought Pattie's own children more vividly before him, and he offered to buy the boy, but the Pawnees prepared to burn him as a part of their victory celebration. The chief was unreasonably greedy in negotiating to spare the child, so the Pattie outfit decided to take the little prisoner away by force. The thongs binding him, over which the flesh had swelled till they were not visible, were removed, and he was sent to their camp. With arms in readiness, Pattie told the chief they meant to keep the boy. He asked if they thought they could do it, to which Pattie replied that they would or every man would die in the attempt. "Save your powder and lead to kill buffaloes and your enemies," the chief said, and accepted the offer of goods. The incident is worth relating as it shows the temper of the Patties, and many other trappers, who would lightly risk their lives and all their possessions to save an unfortunate little Amerind child.
One day farther on they met with some other natives. The little boy was playing about the camp as usual when the attention of the white men was suddenly attracted by loud screams and cries.
"Looking up we saw our little boy in the arms of an Indian whose neck he was closely clasping, as the Indian pressed him to his bosom, kissing him and crying at the same time. As we moved towards the spot, the Indian approached us still holding the child in his arms; and falling on his knees made us a long speech which we understood only through his signs."
This was the father of the boy.
White bears were met and one of their men was "literally torn to pieces" by one and died five days after. Pattie counted in one day 220 of these grizzlies. A few days farther on they witnessed a great battle between Comanches and Iotans. "The discharge of their firearms and the clashing of their different weapons, together with their war yell and the shrieks of the wounded and dying, were fit accompaniments to the savage actors and scene. The contest lasted about fifteen minutes,"—the Comanches being vanquished.
At last they arrived at San Fernandez de Taos and then at Santa Fé, which had a population of about five thousand.