I should think this place must be the ‘head centre’ of the entire beaver population of Oregon; in some of the patches of open water, there certainly was not room to jam in even a tiny beaver cottage of the humblest pretensions, although the open space occupied by the town was many acres in extent. The trees, although a good half-mile from the water, were felled in all directions, as if busy emigrants had been making a clearing. The branches, lopped from the fallen trees, had been dragged by these busy animals along the well-beaten roads, that led in all directions, from the timber to the rushes, through which roads were also cut, to gain an easy access to the water.
The branches, many of them large and heavy, are dragged by the beavers—backing along the roads, two or three often assisting in tugging a single branch—until the water is reached; then they seize it with their chisel-like teeth, and using their powerful tails, both as rudders and screw-propellers, float it out, to be employed in building their dome-shaped residences. But of this more at length, when referring to the habits of the beaver.
Wildfowl too are here, in great variety and abundance. For the first time I see the breeding-ground of the Rough-billed Pelican (Pelecanus erythrorynchus). Their nests were on the ground, amidst the rushes, but unluckily I did not succeed in finding an egg. The nest is simply a confused heap of rushes, with a lot of down and feathers in the centre. On the water these huge birds swim as easily, buoyantly, and gracefully as swans; and in fishing, do not swoop down from a height, as does the brown pelican, but thrust their heads under water, and regularly spoon up small fish with their immense pouched beaks.
Where could one find a more enjoyable sight, whether viewed with the eye of a naturalist or lover of the picturesque? Before me is the reedy swamp, with its open patches of water, glittering like mirrors in the bright sunlight, rippled in all directions by busy beavers: some making a hasty retreat to their castles, others swimming craftily along, crawl on to the domes and peep at the intruder. Dozing on the sandbanks round the margin of the pools, or paddling with ‘oary feet’ on the smooth water, are numbers of snowy pelicans: the bright orange encircling the eyes, and colouring the pouch, legs, and feet, looks like flame, contrasted with the white feathers, so intensified is the color by the brilliancy of the sun-rays. Pintails, shovellers, stockducks, the exquisitely coloured cinnamon teal, the noisy bald-pate, and a host of others, are either floating on the water or circling round in pairs, quacking angry remonstrances at such an unjustifiable prying into their nuptial haunts. Overhead, vying with the swallows in rapidity and grace of flight, countless Terns (Sterna Fosteri) whirl in mazy circles: their black heads, grey and white liveries, and orange-yellow beaks, show to great advantage against the sombre green of the swallows, amid which they wing their way. Behind me, and far to the right, the Sis-ky-oue Mountains, in many a rugged peak, bound the sky-line, their slopes descending in an unbroken surface of pine-trees to the grassy flats at their base. To my left, the river that feeds this rushy lake winds through the green expanse, like a line of twisted silver, far as the eye can scan its course; along its bank my string of mules, in dingy file, pace slowly on: the tinkle of the bell-horse, but faintly audible, bids me hasten after them, and leave a scene the like of which I shall never perhaps gaze on again. I did not see any nests of the Tern, although I have but little doubt they breed about these lakes.
Follow the stream and pass a second kind of rushy lake, not nearly so large as the one behind, and reach the southern end of the great Klamath lake, out of which pours a rapid stream, two hundred yards in width, and very deep; camp on its edge, and set to work to discover some means of crossing.
The smoke of my camp-fire has barely reached above the trees, when Indians are seen coming from all directions, some on horseback, others on foot; and canoes in fleets dot the lake, that stretches away until lost in the distance, like a fresh-water ocean. I feel very uneasy. The two Sis-ky-oues have gone, vanished mysteriously. Hastily collect dry wood and light a circle of fires, within which I enclose my mules. I am mobbed by ugly half-naked demons, who are evidently doubtful whether to be friends or foes. By aid of my guide, I manage to bargain for two canoes.
May 20th.—Never laid down all night. Kept the packers guarding my mules, stationing a man between each of the fires. Indians in full force at sun-up. In two hours cross all my stores in the canoes; swim the mules, and without any accident we are safely over the river.
This tribe, the Klamath Indians—the chief of whom, Le-lake, is a man of considerable influence—number about 2,000, and own large herds of horses and cattle. They are nearly always at war, and are the terror of emigrants. The men are well-grown and muscular; they wear little more than the breech-cloth, and most of them still use the bow and arrow. The squaws are short in comparison with the men, and for Indians have tolerably regular features. The men use no saddles, and a strange sight it is to see a number of these demons nearly naked, painted from their heads to their waists, all colours and patterns, skying and whirling round upon their half-tamed beasts, yelling and shouting, with no apparent object that I could discover but that of exhibiting themselves and trying to frighten me.
The morning is dark and cloudy, with a sharp keen wind. Keep close to the shore of the lake, which for the first fifteen miles is shut in by high mountains. The trail winds along the side of this mountain, in some places over bare rock, at others loose rolling stones render it very dangerous and difficult to get over. Emerging on an open sandy plain, about seven miles in width, we cross it, still close to the lake. Then hill again, but not so steep. Reaching an open prairie covered with grass, camp on a small stream, with decent wood on its banks. During the whole day I was beset and worried by Indians riding in among my mules, galloping forward, then back again, from one end of the train to the other, in a most excited state.
Immediately on camping I am again thronged, so ride on to see the chief at his lodge, about four miles from camp; having first enclosed my mules in a ring of fires, and desired my men, in case I do not return in two hours, to abandon the mules and escape as best they can. I find the chief’s lodge, in the centre of a very extensive Indian village, situated on the bank of a swift stream. All the lodges are dome-shaped; like beaver-houses, an arched roof covers a deep pit sunk in the ground, the entrance to which is a round hole; through it I descend into the sable dignitary’s presence, his lodge differing from the others only in being rather larger, and having more dogs and children round it.