James Bird Delaware Jim
Colonel Alfred Cumming
William Craig Alexander Culbertson
COMMISSIONER CUMMING AND INTERPRETERS
With this parting shot the governor bade a heartfelt farewell to the pretentious incapable, who had so nearly wrecked the council, and added so much to his labors and perplexities. Cumming started down the river on one of the boats on the 23d.
CHAPTER XXXIV
CROSSING THE MOUNTAINS IN MIDWINTER.—SURPRISE OF THE CŒUR D’ALENES AND SPOKANES
Having made a good riddance of his troublesome colleague, and seen the Indians depart their several ways with much hand-shaking and many expressions of goodwill and satisfaction, the governor and his little party packed up and started on the 24th, and reached Fort Benton the following day. Two days were spent here preparing for the long return journey across the mountains; for the animals were well worn by the hard express service of the summer, and it was necessary to lighten loads as much as possible. On October 28 the homeward start was made; the party moved over to and up the Teton, continued up that stream the 29th, and went into camp thirty-five miles from the fort.
Supper was just over, and the men were gathering around the camp-fires, for the evening was frosty, when a lone horseman was discerned in the twilight slowly making his way over the plains towards the camp, and soon Pearson rode in, or rather staggered in, for his horse was utterly exhausted, and tottered as it walked. The eager men crowded around, and helped the wiry expressman from the saddle and supported him to a seat, for he was unable to stand, and his emaciated, wild, and haggard appearance bore witness to the hardships he had undergone. He delivered his dispatches, and, after being revived with food and warmth, was able to make his report, and surely one more fraught with astonishment and consternation for that little party on the lonely plains, a thousand miles from home, could not be imagined.
The great tribes of the upper Columbia country, the Cuyuses, Yakimas, Walla Wallas, Umatillas, Palouses, and all the Oregon bands down to the Dalles, the very ones who had signed the treaties at the Walla Walla council and professed such friendship, had all broken out in open war. They had swept the upper country clean of whites, killing all the settlers and miners found there, and murdered agent Bolon under circumstances of peculiar atrocity. Major Haller, sent into the Yakima country with a hundred regulars and a howitzer, had been defeated and forced to retreat by Kam-i-ah-kan’s warriors, with the loss of a third of his force and his cannon. The Indians west of the Cascades had also risen simultaneously, and laid waste the settlements on Puget Sound and in Oregon, showing that a widespread conspiracy prevailed. The Spokanes and Cœur d’Alenes were hostile, or soon would become hostile under the spur and taunts of the young Cuyuse and Yakima warriors sent among them to stir them up, and even some of the Nez Perces were disaffected. A thousand well-armed and brave hostile warriors under Kam-i-ah-kan, Pu-pu-mox-mox, Young Chief, and Five Crows were gathered in the Walla Walla valley, waiting to “wipe out” the party on its return; squads of young braves were visiting the Nez Perces, Spokanes, and Cœur d’Alenes, vaunting their victories, displaying fresh gory scalps, and using every effort to cajole or force them into hostility to the whites.
The daring expressman’s story of how he ran the gauntlet of the hostile tribes with the dispatches and information upon which depended the lives of the party heightened the impression made by his wretched appearance and doleful tidings. He left the Dalles on his return trip, fresh and well mounted, and, riding all day and night, reached Billy McKay’s ranch on the Umatilla River at daylight, and stopped to get breakfast. The place was deserted. After eating he lassoed a fine powerful horse among a large band grazing near by, and after a hard struggle managed to saddle, bridle, and mount it. The steed was wild, and started off jumping stiff-legged. As Pearson rode from under the trees surrounding the house into the road, he saw a party of Indians racing down the hill into the valley, evidently on his trail, and heard their yells as they caught sight of him,—“Whup si-ah si-ah-poo! Whup si-ah!” “Kill the white man! Kill the white!”—and redoubled their speed in pursuit. His new mount proved of speed and bottom, and under whip and spur gave over his jumping for swift running. As he climbed the hill leading out of the valley on to the high plains and looked back, he again saw the red devils and heard their yells; and for mile after mile, from the top of every ridge and roll of the plains crossed by the trail, he would look back and see his pursuers, or the dust rising under the hoofs of their horses. But they could not lessen the distance between them; gradually they fell behind farther and farther, and at length were lost to sight. Pearson pushed his horse on all day as rapidly as it could stand without breaking down, and, when night fell, turned off the trail at right angles for several miles, then struck a course parallel to it, traveled all night, crossed the Walla Walla River and valley above the usual ford and crossings, and, having found a secluded depression in the plains beyond, stopped to rest and let his horse feed a couple of hours. Pushing on without further adventure, and exchanging his worn-out steed for a fresh one at Red Wolf’s ground, he reached Lapwai the next day. Here he obtained a day’s rest.
Thus refreshed, and securing fresh horses and a young Nez Perce brave as guide, he started across the Bitter Root Mountains by the direct Nez Perce trail, the shortest but also the most rugged and elevated route, and at dark made camp high up in the mountains. That night a furious snowstorm set in. A tree fell and crushed his Indian companion. Pearson dragged his insensible body from beneath the tree, and said to himself, “Now the Nez Perces, too, will break out. They never will believe this buck’s death was accidental. They will deem me his murderer, and always hunt my scalp after this.” But to his great joy the young Indian came to his senses, and proved not to be seriously hurt. The storm raged three days; several feet of snow fell, too deep for horses to travel. When it ceased, Pearson sent the Indian back with the horses, and, packing his dispatches, blankets, and some dried meat on his back, continued across on snowshoes, which he had made during the storm, cutting the bows with his knife, and unraveling his lariat for the webs. The trail was hidden under the snow, but he guided his course largely by the marks of packs against the trees made by Indians who had crossed in winter. Struggling on in this manner for four days, he emerged upon the Bitter Root valley near Fort Owen, almost dead with fatigue and privation. Stopping only a few hours for rest, and procuring a good horse and equipments from the ever friendly Flatheads, he again took the saddle, and on the third day staggered into the governor’s camp on the Teton.