Equally unconscious of the approaching, almost miraculous change in the aspect of affairs on the south-western coast of North America, Wilkes completed his survey, and returned home to report the harbor of Yerba Buena to be one of the finest, if not the very best in the world; and, a little later, the Government sent out an expedition, under Lieutenant John C. Fremont, to explore the southern half of the Rocky Mountain Range, with a view to the discovery of a good route to California.
JOHN C. FREMONT.
Fremont left the mouth of the Kansas, at the head of a party of about twenty, about the 2d of May, and followed its course across the state of the same name, till he reached the barren banks of the Platte, or Nebraska. Here he decided to follow the southern fork of that important tributary of the Mississippi, and a march of a few miles brought the party into the districts occupied by the Arapaho and Cheyenne Indians, the former of whom at first appeared disposed to dispute the passage of the white men.
One encounter, which threatened to be serious, took place on the 8th July. The excitement of watching a fight between some eighteen or twenty buffaloes, which the explorers had at the last moment decided in favor of the weaker party by a few well-directed shots, had but just subsided, when some dark objects appeared on the horizon among the hills. More buffaloes, of course, thought every one; but, presently, Maxwell, a trader who knew the neighborhood and its people well, happened to look behind him, and saw crowds of mounted natives furiously urging on their horses.
At first there seemed to be no more than twenty warriors, but behind them came others, and soon the hills and plains were darkened by the dusky figures. The explorers halted, drew together, and determined to sell their lives as dearly as they could, prepared to meet the onslaught with a volley of bullets. Another moment, and many of the Indians would have been rolling in the dust, when Maxwell suddenly recognized their leader as a man with whom he had often traded. “Don’t you know me?” he shouted in the Arapaho language; and, astonished at the sound of his own tongue, the chief wheeled his horse round. Then, dashing forward, he extended his hand to Fremont with the one word “Arapaho,” meaning that, as a member of that nation, he was the friend of Maxwell’s friend.
Escorted by the now courteous savages, the expedition pressed on, and, without further adventures of consequence, followed the south fork of the Platte to St. Vram’s Fort, a trading outpost, situated just under the most easterly buttresses of the Rocky Mountain Range, about seventeen miles from Long’s Peak. Pike’s Peak could also be seen about one hundred miles to the south, and but little of actual exploration remained to be done in the immediate neighborhood. Fremont resolved, therefore, to alter his course, and follow the north fork of the Platte to Fort Laramie, a second remote outpost in the wilderness, whence he hoped to make his way to the head of the Sweet Water River, an affluent of the Nebraska issuing from the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains.
Crossing the fertile, garden-like valley of the Platte, with the low line of the frowning Black Hills on the left, the expedition reached Fort Laramie in safety on the 13th July, and were there detained a few days on account of difficulties between the white settlers and the Gros-Ventre, Cheyenne, Sioux, and other tribes, who were scouring the country between the Platte and the Rocky Mountains, rendering it unsafe for travelers.
Imagining the dangers to have been overrated, however, Fremont and his colleagues resolved not to allow them to prevent the completion of their task. On the 18th, therefore, when the men had had time to recover from the fatigues of their long march, they were called together, and Fremont told them of his intention to proceed, adding that he was willing to release any one of them from his engagement who was desirous to retire from the service. Only one man availed himself of this privilege, and when he had been dismissed, amidst the ridicule of his comrades, active preparations were made for the continuation of the journey.
The tents were struck, the horses saddled, and the “stirrup-cup” was being enjoyed, when four chiefs made their way into the midst of the white men, and one of them having handed a letter to Fremont, they seated themselves in silence to watch him read it. The letter, which was in French, ran as follows:—