“All the party rather out of sorts,” writes Mr. Coke on the 26th June. “Our two best men, Louis and Jim, are very unwell. Nelson, a most willing and hard-working fellow, is unused to the sort of life, and wants to turn back. As to Jacob, his utter uselessness is a constant source of provocation to me; and the parson’s indifference, and Fred’s fidgetty disposition, make the chapter of our miseries complete. The mules are not much better off than we are; five of them are suffering from severe back-sores, and all of them object strongly to carrying the packs; they frequently cast themselves in the night, and get their legs badly cut with the picket ropes. It seems after all doubtful how far we shall get. Some of us talk of going on alone.”
Trials of temper are inseparable from expeditions of this kind, and here was a trio manifestly ill-assorted; one of its members rather fanciful and capricious, another too phlegmatic and easy-going, the third—Mr. Coke, could not be expected to set forth his own failings, but we suspect him of being a little irritable and hot-tempered, although evidently a good fellow, with plenty of pluck and perseverance. As yet, however, there was no break-up. The party kept together, often in straggling order, but usually reuniting at evening, to feed on rancid ham, mouldy biscuit, and such flesh or fowl as their rifles had procured them during the day. Nor were fish and reptiles despised when obtainable. Occasional attempts at angling were not very fortunate, the American fish being apparently unused to English flies; but sometimes a fine salmon or two were got by barter, from the Indians who had speared them. And a roast snake is by no means a despicable thing. Both Mr. Coke and the Parson—for whom we entertain an intense respect, as a man of few words but energetic action, a little tardy to move, perhaps, (a slight dash of Athelstane the Unready in his character,) but most effective and vigorous when movement was decided upon—went a snaking now and then. He of Norfolk seems to have been a fair shot at starting, and a first-rate one before he had half got over his journey, and he stalked the buffalo very successfully, shot snakes through the head, and contributed a large quota to the contents of the camp-kettle. The chaplain also was considerable of a sportsman, and ready with his rifle. Fat cow, tender loin, and juicy hump at times were plentiful in camp. Failing those delicate viands, all was made game of that offered itself to the wanderers’ muzzles.
“12th July.—Shot two prairie dogs. Jim killed a hare and rattle-snake. They were all capital eating, not excepting the snake, which the parson cooked and thought as good as eel.”
Following a band of buffaloes, Mr. Coke was charged by a bull, and awaited his onset, but waited a little too long. “My horse never stirred; I had no time for any thing but to take aim, and having fired between the neck and shoulder, I was the next minute, sprawling on my back, with the mare rolling over four or five yards beyond me. Recovering from the shock, I could not help admiring the picturesque group we presented; I rubbing my bruised limbs, and the buffalo looking on, half stupefied and astonished at the result of his charge.” The contents of the rifle’s second barrel roused the bull from his stupefaction, and he moved off. Up came the unfeeling parson and followed the wounded brute, perfectly heedless of his friend’s mishaps. Quite a man of business was this parson. Mr. Coke gives a description of his appearance in the prairies, on the occasion of his purchase of an Indian pony fourteen hands high. “He weighs fifteen stone, rides on a heavy saddle with a heavy pair of holster pistols, carries a very heavy rifle and telescope, a heavy blanket and great-coat, a pouch full of ammunition, a girdle stuck with small arms and bowie-knives, and always has his pockets crammed with et ceteras.”
Not altogether the right costume for a stall in a cathedral, although highly appropriate upon the trail to California.
Incompatibility of taste and temper at last produced a split in the caravan. Fred went on ahead, expecting to march thirty or thirty-five miles a day. Mr. Coke and the parson kept together, proposing to limit their daily progress to twenty-five miles. It was much oftener sixteen or eighteen, sometimes only seven or ten. The men hired for the journey had become so mutinous and discontented, and, upon the whole, were of so little use, that to two of them a share of the provisions were given, and they were allowed to go alone. Two others marched with Fred, the fifth and last went alone, but occasionally joined company with Mr. Coke and the parson, who were otherwise without attendants, and who had eleven animals to drive and look after—“an awful number for two men,” especially when they were unused to horse-driving and to the management of the abominably vicious, obstinate, perverse brutes of mules, which were constantly kicking off their loads, biting their masters, and straying from camp. The first day’s march after the separation was the most unpleasant they had yet had. The rain fell in chilling torrents; a little black mule, the vixen of the party, kicked Mr. Coke to the ground; and a gray one, her rival in mischief, who bit like a dog, made a furious attack upon his calves. The distance accomplished was but six miles. There were worse times coming, however, even than these. The trouble occasioned by the mules and horses was soon diminished by the loss of three or four of them, strayed, stolen, or foundered. The country was barren and inhospitable, and destitute of game, and often grass and water were for long distances unobtainable.
“Our provisions are barely sufficient to last, with the greatest economy, to Fort Hall, even at the rate we are traveling now. Should the horses give up, it will be impossible for us to carry enough food to reach that station on foot. . . The only way to get out of the scrape was to lighten the burden of the pack-mules, by throwing away every ounce of superfluous weight. Turning out the contents of our bags on the ground, we selected such things only as were absolutely necessary to existence. What with lead, bullets, powder, geological specimens, and old clothes, we diminished our load so as to make one pack out of two, and left the ground strewed with warnings for future emigrants.”
Sand, sage-bushes, and weeds uneatable by the horses, were now the chief productions of the country. Wood for fires was often lacking; raw ham is heating and unsatisfactory food; the sun was blazing hot, and its rays were fiercely reflected from the sand. Mr. Coke lost his appetite, and suffered much from weakness. At last matters mended a little. They came to a succession of small streams; caught some trout, and obtained other fresh provisions; fell in with trappers, and with an express dispatch from Oregon to the States, escorted by twelve soldiers. These had come by the same road the Englishmen were about to travel, and the Boss, or head man of the party, furnished information concerning grass, water, and halting-places. From Fort Hall, he told them, they were still two hundred miles, and from Oregon nine hundred! A trifling distance in railroad-furrowed Europe, but oh! what a weary way in yonder arid wastes, with those fractious mules, and amidst incessant toils and hardships. “No one,” says Mr. Coke, “can form any idea of the real length of one mile till he has traveled a thousand with pack-mules.” By this time, for various reasons, the travelers had given up the idea of going straight to California, and had fixed upon Oregon as their destination.
“October 1st.—This month, please God, will see us through. The animals, I am sure, will not survive another. As for ourselves, we have but few provisions. The season, too, is getting late; and if we are out much longer, I fear we shall suffer greatly from cold. Already a blanket and a buffalo-robe are little enough covering for the nights. My buffalo-robe, which I spread over the blanket, is always frozen quite stiff. . . . Yesterday I met with a disaster, which distresses me exceedingly; I broke my pipe, and am able neither to repair nor to replace it. Julius has one, the fumes of which we are compelled to share. If this should go, (and it is already in four pieces, and bound up like a mummy,) I tremble to think of the consequences. In all our troubles the pipe is the one and only consolation. 4th.—Oh, how cold it was this morning, and how cold it was in the night! I could not sleep for the cold, and yet I dreaded the approach of daylight, and the tugging at the frozen ropes which it entailed. . . . Our poor beasts actually cringed when the saddle touched the great raws on their backs; the frost had made them so painful. . . . It seems as if this sort of life was to last forever. Day follows day, without the slightest change.”
Things got worse and worse. One after the other, the animals perished. By-and-by Mr. Coke found himself a-foot. They had nothing to eat but salt meat and salmon, and little enough of that. “Yesterday I tightened my belt to the last hole; we are becoming more and more attenuated; and the waist of my gigantic companion is almost as delicate as that of a woman.” At last, on the 12th October, in rags, and with two mules alone remaining out of their once numerous team, but still of good courage and in reviving spirits, Mr. Coke and Julius reached the Dalles, a military post in Oregon, where they found Fred, who had arrived two days before them, and received a kind welcome and good treatment from the officers of the garrison.