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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.
Content of CHAPTER 25 [Washington Irving's book: The Adventures of Captain Bonneville]
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