Chapter 25

Captain Bonneville sets out for Green River valley Journey up

the Popo Agie Buffaloes The staring white bears The smoke The

warm springs

Attempt to traverse the Wind River Mountains The Great

Slope Mountain dells and chasms Crystal lakes Ascent of a snowy

peak Sublime prospect A panorama "Les dignes de pitie," or wild

men of the mountains

HAVING FORDED WIND RIVER a little above its mouth, Captain

Bonneville and his three companions proceeded across a gravelly

plain, until they fell upon the Popo Agie, up the left bank of

which they held their course, nearly in a southerly direction.

Here they came upon numerous droves of buffalo, and halted for

the purpose of procuring a supply of beef. As the hunters were

stealing cautiously to get within shot of the game, two small

white bears suddenly presented themselves in their path, and,

rising upon their hind legs, contemplated them for some time with

a whimsically solemn gaze. The hunters remained motionless;

whereupon the bears, having apparently satisfied their curiosity,

lowered themselves upon all fours, and began to withdraw. The

hunters now advanced, upon which the bears turned, rose again

upon their haunches, and repeated their serio-comic examination.

This was repeated several times, until the hunters, piqued at

their unmannerly staring, rebuked it with a discharge of their

rifles. The bears made an awkward bound or two, as if wounded,

and then walked off with great gravity, seeming to commune

together, and every now and then turning to take another look at

the hunters. It was well for the latter that the bears were but

half grown, and had not yet acquired the ferocity of their kind.

The buffalo were somewhat startled at the report of the firearms;

but the hunters succeeded in killing a couple of fine cows, and,

having secured the best of the meat, continued forward until some

time after dark, when, encamping in a large thicket of willows,

they made a great fire, roasted buffalo beef enough for half a

score, disposed of the whole of it with keen relish and high

glee, and then "turned in" for the night and slept soundly, like

weary and well fed hunters.

At daylight they were in the saddle again, and skirted along the

river, passing through fresh grassy meadows, and a succession of

beautiful groves of willows and cotton-wood. Toward evening,

Captain Bonneville observed a smoke at a distance rising from

among hills, directly in the route he was pursuing. Apprehensive

of some hostile band, he concealed the horses in a thicket, and,

accompanied by one of his men, crawled cautiously up a height,

from which he could overlook the scene of danger. Here, with a

spy-glass, he reconnoitred the surrounding country, but not a

lodge nor fire, not a man, horse, nor dog, was to be discovered;

in short, the smoke which had caused such alarm proved to be the

vapor from several warm, or rather hot springs of considerable

magnitude, pouring forth streams in every direction over a bottom

of white clay. One of the springs was about twenty-five yards in

diameter, and so deep that the water was of a bright green color.

They were now advancing diagonally upon the chain of Wind River

Mountains, which lay between them and Green River valley. To

coast round their southern points would be a wide circuit;

whereas, could they force their way through them, they might

proceed in a straight line. The mountains were lofty, with snowy

peaks and cragged sides; it was hoped, however, that some

practicable defile might be found. They attempted, accordingly,

to penetrate the mountains by following up one of the branches of

the Popo Agie, but soon found themselves in the midst of

stupendous crags and precipices that barred all progress.

Retracing their steps, and falling back upon the river, they

consulted where to make another attempt. They were too close

beneath the mountains to scan them generally, but they now

recollected having noticed, from the plain, a beautiful slope

rising, at an angle of about thirty degrees, and apparently

without any break, until it reached the snowy region. Seeking

this gentle acclivity, they began to ascend it with alacrity,

trusting to find at the top one of those elevated plains which

prevail among the Rocky Mountains. The slope was covered with

coarse gravel, interspersed with plates of freestone. They

attained the summit with some toil, but found, instead of a

level, or rather undulating plain, that they were on the brink of

a deep and precipitous ravine, from the bottom of which rose a

second slope, similar to the one they had just ascended. Down

into this profound ravine they made their way by a rugged path,

or rather fissure of the rocks, and then labored up the second

slope. They gained the summit only to find themselves on another

ravine, and now perceived that this vast mountain, which had

presented such a sloping and even side to the distant beholder on

the plain, was shagged by frightful precipices, and seamed with

longitudinal chasms, deep and dangerous.

In one of these wild dells they passed the night, and slept

soundly and sweetly after their fatigues. Two days more of

arduous climbing and scrambling only served to admit them into

the heart of this mountainous and awful solitude; where

difficulties increased as they proceeded. Sometimes they

scrambled from rock to rock, up the bed of some mountain stream,

dashing its bright way down to the plains; sometimes they availed

themselves of the paths made by the deer and the mountain sheep,

which, however, often took them to the brinks of fearful

precipices, or led to rugged defiles, impassable for their

horses. At one place, they were obliged to slide their horses

down the face of a rock, in which attempt some of the poor

animals lost their footing, rolled to the bottom, and came near

being dashed to pieces.

In the afternoon of the second day, the travellers attained one

of the elevated valleys locked up in this singular bed of

mountains. Here were two bright and beautiful little lakes, set

like mirrors in the midst of stern and rocky heights, and

surrounded by grassy meadows, inexpressibly refreshing to the

eye. These probably were among the sources of those mighty

streams which take their rise among these mountains, and wander

hundreds of miles through the plains.

In the green pastures bordering upon these lakes, the travellers

halted to repose, and to give their weary horses time to crop the

sweet and tender herbage. They had now ascended to a great height

above the level of the plains, yet they beheld huge crags of

granite piled one upon another, and beetling like battlements far

above them. While two of the men remained in the camp with the

horses, Captain Bonneville, accompanied by the other men [man],

set out to climb a neighboring height, hoping to gain a

commanding prospect, and discern some practicable route through

this stupendous labyrinth. After much toil, he reached the summit

of a lofty cliff, but it was only to behold gigantic peaks rising

all around, and towering far into the snowy regions of the

atmosphere. Selecting one which appeared to be the highest, he

crossed a narrow intervening valley, and began to scale it. He

soon found that he had undertaken a tremendous task; but the

pride of man is never more obstinate than when climbing

mountains. The ascent was so steep and rugged that he and his

companion were frequently obliged to clamber on hands and knees,

with their guns slung upon their backs. Frequently, exhausted

with fatigue, and dripping with perspiration, they threw

themselves upon the snow, and took handfuls of it to allay their

parching thirst. At one place, they even stripped off their coats

and hung them upon the bushes, and thus lightly clad, proceeded

to scramble over these eternal snows. As they ascended still

higher, there were cool breezes that refreshed and braced them,

and springing with new ardor to their task, they at length

attained the summit.

Here a scene burst upon the view of Captain Bonneville, that for

a time astonished and overwhelmed him with its immensity. He

stood, in fact, upon that dividing ridge which Indians regard as

the crest of the world; and on each side of which, the landscape

may be said to decline to the two cardinal oceans of the globe.

Whichever way he turned his eye, it was confounded by the

vastness and variety of objects. Beneath him, the Rocky Mountains

seemed to open all their secret recesses: deep, solemn valleys;

treasured lakes; dreary passes; rugged defiles, and foaming

torrents; while beyond their savage precincts, the eye was lost

in an almost immeasurable landscape; stretching on every side

into dim and hazy distance, like the expanse of a summer's sea.

Whichever way he looked, he beheld vast plains glimmering with

reflected sunshine; mighty streams wandering on their shining

course toward either ocean, and snowy mountains, chain beyond

chain, and peak beyond peak, till they melted like clouds into

the horizon. For a time, the Indian fable seemed realized: he had

attained that height from which the Blackfoot warrior, after

death, first catches a view of the land of souls, and beholds the

happy hunting grounds spread out below him, brightening with the

abodes of the free and generous spirits. The captain stood for a

long while gazing upon this scene, lost in a crowd of vague and

indefinite ideas and sensations. A long-drawn inspiration at

length relieved him from this enthralment of the mind, and he

began to analyze the parts of this vast panorama. A simple

enumeration of a few of its features may give some idea of its

collective grandeur and magnificence.

The peak on which the captain had taken his stand commanded the

whole Wind River chain; which, in fact, may rather be considered

one immense mountain, broken into snowy peaks and lateral spurs,

and seamed with narrow valleys. Some of these valleys glittered

with silver lakes and gushing streams; the fountain heads, as it

were, of the mighty tributaries to the Atlantic and Pacific

Oceans. Beyond the snowy peaks, to the south, and far, far below

the mountain range, the gentle river, called the Sweet Water, was

seen pursuing its tranquil way through the rugged regions of the

Black Hills. In the east, the head waters of Wind River wandered

through a plain, until, mingling in one powerful current, they

forced their way through the range of Horn Mountains, and were

lost to view. To the north were caught glimpses of the upper

streams of the Yellowstone, that great tributary of the Missouri.

In another direction were to be seen some of the sources of the

Oregon, or Columbia, flowing to the northwest, past those

towering landmarks the Three Tetons, and pouring down into the

great lava plain; while, almost at the captain's feet, the Green

River, or Colorado of the West, set forth on its wandering

pilgrimage to the Gulf of California; at first a mere mountain

torrent, dashing northward over a crag and precipice, in a

succession of cascades, and tumbling into the plain where,

expanding into an ample river, it circled away to the south, and

after alternately shining out and disappearing in the mazes of

the vast landscape, was finally lost in a horizon of mountains.

The day was calm and cloudless, and the atmosphere so pure that

objects were discernible at an astonishing distance. The whole of

this immense area was inclosed by an outer range of shadowy

peaks, some of them faintly marked on the horizon, which seemed

to wall it in from the rest of the earth.

It is to be regretted that Captain Bonneville had no instruments

with him with which to ascertain the altitude of this peak. He

gives it as his opinion that it is the loftiest point of the

North American continent; but of this we have no satisfactory

proof. It is certain that the Rocky Mountains are of an altitude

vastly superior to what was formerly supposed. We rather incline

to the opinion that the highest peak is further to the northward,

and is the same measured by Mr. Thompson, surveyor to the

Northwest Company; who, by the joint means of the barometer and

trigonometric measurement, ascertained it to be twenty-five

thousand feet above the level of the sea; an elevation only

inferior to that of the Himalayas.

For a long time, Captain Bonneville remained gazing around him

with wonder and enthusiasm; at length the chill and wintry winds,

whirling about the snow-clad height, admonished him to descend.

He soon regained the spot where he and his companions [companion]

had thrown off their coats, which were now gladly resumed, and,

retracing their course down the peak, they safely rejoined their

companions on the border of the lake.

Notwithstanding the savage and almost inaccessible nature of

these mountains, they have their inhabitants. As one of the party

was out hunting, he came upon the solitary track of a man in a

lonely valley. Following it up, he reached the brow of a cliff,

whence he beheld three savages running across the valley below

him. He fired his gun to call their attention, hoping to induce

them to turn back. They only fled the faster, and disappeared

among the rocks. The hunter returned and reported what he had

seen. Captain Bonneville at once concluded that these belonged to

a kind of hermit race, scanty in number, that inhabit the highest

and most inaccessible fastnesses. They speak the Shoshonie

language, and probably are offsets from that tribe, though they

have peculiarities of their own, which distinguish them from all

other Indians. They are miserably poor; own no horses, and are

destitute of every convenience to be derived from an intercourse

with the whites. Their weapons are bows and stone-pointed arrows,

with which they hunt the deer, the elk, and the mountain sheep.

They are to be found scattered about the countries of the

Shoshonie, Flathead, Crow, and Blackfeet tribes; but their

residences are always in lonely places, and the clefts of the

rocks.

Their footsteps are often seen by the trappers in the high and

solitary valleys among the mountains, and the smokes of their

fires descried among the precipices, but they themselves are

rarely met with, and still more rarely brought to a parley, so

great is their shyness, and their dread of strangers.

As their poverty offers no temptation to the marauder, and as

they are inoffensive in their habits, they are never the objects

of warfare: should one of them, however, fall into the hands of a

war party, he is sure to be made a sacrifice, for the sake of

that savage trophy, a scalp, and that barbarous ceremony, a scalp

dance. These forlorn beings, forming a mere link between human

nature and the brute, have been looked down upon with pity and

contempt by the creole trappers, who have given them the

appellation of "les dignes de pitie," or "the objects of pity.";

They appear more worthy to be called the wild men of the

mountains.