On October 24, the men worked until late in the night making equipment ready and
... retired to rest feeling all was well so far. During the night the stock stampeded and ran in close to the camp fire. A strange, threatening voice was heard in the dense forest nearby, a noise I had never heard before. A loud roaring was repeated. Applegate gathered his belt and carbine and I the big rifle, and while the others quieted the stock we moved out in the direction from which the sound came. It receded as we advanced, and shortly, with a continued crashing the animal retreated out of hearing into the timber. We soon came upon its trail and I sent back for a lantern. It was an old bull moose. It had pawed up quite a space and barked a couple of young trees with its horns thus producing the crashing sound we had first noticed. In accounts of moose hunting, read previously, I had never seen it stated that a moose gave any call whatever. These in the Park have voices, unquestionably, and use them with the utmost freedom. Toward morning we were again roused by a flock of swans circling over us with their wild and splendid notes, harmonized to a glorious symphony. In the morning I shot and wounded a large wolverine but did not stop him, and Starr, while prowling along the river bank below camp, shot a goose and found a small plank canoe in which he proceeded to paddle out into the lake.
Doane’s description of the moonlight night which followed is a classic example of his ability to portray, in words, a picture of the wilderness he loved so well.
That evening, the moon was in full and rising high above the lake and mountain, its soft light bathed the splendid landscape in floods of silver. The mighty ranges of the great divide were sharply outlined in cold, gleaming white. Below their ragged summits dark green forest masses filled the spaces to the margin of the water. At intervals, steam jets played along the shore and the deep valley of the Upper Yellowstone reached the farthest limit of vision in the foreground. On the left front appeared a group of ghastly hills of chalky lustre by the banks of Pelican Creek, and beyond there a winding valley constantly rising as it receded with glittering channels, from thermal springs threading its long, green slopes. On the right front loomed up the yellow flank of Mount Sheridan, seemingly ready to burst forth with sulphurous flames; and flooding the space between lay the glorious lake with its rippling moonlit waters, its long sand beaches and deeply indented shores, its rocky islands of splendid coloring, its cliffs and inlets, and its still lagoons. A picture indescribable, unequalled and alone. From the distant marshes on the newborn Yellowstone came the sound of fluttering cries of restless waterfowl. From the echoing forest beyond, the mountain lions screaming and moaning at intervals while we put the finishing touches on our little vessel. Starr and Applegate, both expert boatmen, paddled the little canoe far out on the sparkling waters and sang Crow Indian war songs, as the work went on. The horses and mules having stuffed themselves with luxuriant mountain grasses, came up and stood meditatively with their noses over the camp fires in thorough contentment. It was a night and a scene to be remembered—a touch of nature vibrating into infinity.
In this entry also, seated by the campfire in a wonderfully expansive mood of the utmost wellbeing, touched by the serene beauty of his surroundings, Doane takes occasion to describe the other members of his party, the “picked men selected for special qualifications.”
Of the men who composed my party, Sergeant Fred Server was a Philadelphian of good family—a wild boy—who had settled down to a splendid daring soldier, an expert horseman, a good shot, a man of perfect physique and iron constitution.
Private F. R. Applegate was a small, wiry Marylander, used to hard knocks, thoroughly at home anywhere, full of expedients and know all about managing small water craft.
Private Daniel Starr was a man of powerful voice and massive form, had served on a war vessel, could turn his hand to any work. A man of infinite jest and humor, and reckless beyond all conception. He was already a celebrity in Montana on account of his uproarious hilarity, daring, and wild adventures. He ran the first boat on the Yellowstone Lake in 1871, had piloted several parties through the Park, and was always a volunteer in anything which promised a new field and a basis of new stories of the most ludicrous and most exaggerated character.
Private William White was a quiet, solemn young fellow, useful in any service, full of romantic ideas, sober, reserved. A man of fearless disposition.
Private John B. Warren was an Englishman, very set in ideas, an older man than the others. A man of intelligence, a most indefatigable fisherman and an all round utility man.
Private C. B. Davis was a born cook. He lived for his stomach alone and knew how to prepare food for its pacification. He saw no value in anything that was not edible; talked, thought, and dreamed of good things to eat, but came out strongly over a camp fire. With a dishcloth in one hand and “something dead” in the other, he smiled beamingly into the yawning interior of an open Dutch oven, and inhaled with unspeakable delight the fragrant aroma of a steaming coffee pot. The above formed the regular detail for the expedition.
The others, Private Morgan Osborn, a carpenter, was a careful, sober man, not used to the mountains, faithful and honest and therefore useful.
Private John L. Ward was a hardy, vigorous man, good on a trail, in a boat, or on a wheel mule, a packer and a woodsman.
They were all enthusiastic on the subject of the present expedition, and were reliable, intrepid men.
The “little vessel” was launched on October 26. No champagne christening this, but she rode on an even keel and rose in fine style to the waves. Doane, Starr, Applegate, and Ward voyaged out to Stevenson’s Island and returned. The next day the boat was carefully loaded, it carried everything except the saddle outfits on the animals. A broken-down mule was left behind, and with a mule harnessed to a tow line, and one man to steer the boat off shore, she was so pulled along the beach for some 12 miles. At a rocky promontory, the tow line was taken in and two men rowed the craft around the point. Coming close to shore a wave struck the “little vessel under the lee quarter, and swamped her instantly.” The water was shallow and everything was saved, but camp was made at once, 15 miles from the point of launching.
The rest of the afternoon and half the night was spent in keeping fires going to dry out the baggage. The following morning it was discovered that waves had knocked loose some of the calking on the bottom of the boat. It was repaired with the remaining oakum and pitch. At this point, the Lieutenant was “very uneasy on account of the snow in sight on the Continental Divide in front of us”, so decided to leave Starr, Applegate, and Ward to complete repairs to the boat, while he and the others, with all the “property, should push on, cross the divide, break a trail and return with mules and horses to the lake shore to meet the party with the boat.”
Doane and his group accordingly struck through the forest for several miles on October 28, reached the lake shore again and followed it to the “lower end of the southwest arm where the foothills come on the shore. Skirted around to the east side past the great group of silicate springs (probably the West Thumb area) and camped at the foot of the Great Divide at the nearest point opposite Heart Lake.”
The following morning the land party remained near camp “in hopes that the men with the boat might come”, and spent their time examining the springs.