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While we know our northern friends may not feel it, in the South, Spring is
here. So we thought we'd share a few of our gardening sites appropriate
for this time of the year. Along with gardening, there's grilling, and getting
ready to diet so that you can fit back into that bathing suit this summer!
The next day was extremely
hot, and we rode from morning till night
without seeing a tree or a bush or a drop of
water. Our horses and mules suffered much
more than we, but as sunset approached they
pricked up their ears and mended their pace.
Water was not far off. When we came to the
descent of the broad shallowy valley where
it lay, an unlooked-for sight awaited us.
The stream glistened at the bottom, and
along its banks were pitched a multitude of
tents, while hundreds of cattle were feeding
over the meadows. Bodies of troops, both
horse and foot, and long trains of wagons
with men, women, and children, were moving
over the opposite ridge and descending the
broad declivity in front. These were the
Mormon battalion in the service of
government, together with a considerable
number of Missouri volunteers. The Mormons
were to be paid off in California, and they
were allowed to bring with them their
families and property. There was something
very striking in the half-military,
half-patriarchal appearance of these armed
fanatics, thus on their way with their wives
and children, to found, if might be, a
Mormon empire in California. We were much
more astonished than pleased at the sight
before us. In order to find an unoccupied
camping ground, we were obliged to pass a
quarter of a mile up the stream, and here we
were soon beset by a swarm of Mormons and
Missourians. The United States officer in
command of the whole came also to visit us,
and remained some time at our camp.
In the morning the country was covered with
mist. We were always early risers, but
before we were ready the voices of men
driving in the cattle sounded all around us.
As we passed above their camp, we saw
through the obscurity that the tents were
falling and the ranks rapidly forming; and
mingled with the cries of women and
children, the rolling of the Mormon drums
and the clear blast of their trumpets
sounded through the mist.
From that time to the journey's end, we met
almost every day long trains of government
wagons, laden with stores for the troops and
crawling at a snail's pace toward Santa Fe.
Tete Rouge had a mortal antipathy to danger,
but on a foraging expedition one evening, he
achieved an adventure more perilous than had
yet befallen any man in the party. The night
after we left the Ridge-path we encamped
close to the river. At sunset we saw a train
of wagons encamping on the trail about three
miles off; and though we saw them
distinctly, our little cart, as it afterward
proved, entirely escaped their view. For
some days Tete Rouge had been longing
eagerly after a dram of whisky. So,
resolving to improve the present
opportunity, he mounted his horse James,
slung his canteen over his shoulder, and set
forth in search of his favorite liquor. Some
hours passed without his returning. We
thought that he was lost, or perhaps that
some stray Indian had snapped him up. While
the rest fell asleep I remained on guard.
Late at night a tremulous voice saluted me
from the darkness, and Tete Rouge and James
soon became visible, advancing toward the
camp. Tete Rouge was in much agitation and
big with some important tidings. Sitting
down on the shaft of the cart, he told the
following story:
When he left the camp he had no idea, he
said, how late it was. By the time he
approached the wagoners it was perfectly
dark; and as he saw them all sitting around
their fires within the circle of wagons,
their guns laid by their sides, he thought
he might as well give warning of his
approach, in order to prevent a disagreeable
mistake. Raising his voice to the highest
pitch, he screamed out in prolonged accents,
"Camp, ahoy!" This eccentric salutation
produced anything but the desired result.
Hearing such hideous sounds proceeding from
the outer darkness, the wagoners thought
that the whole Pawnee nation were about to
break in and take their scalps. Up they
sprang staring with terror. Each man
snatched his gun; some stood behind the
wagons; some threw themselves flat on the
ground, and in an instant twenty cocked
muskets were leveled full at the horrified
Tete Rouge, who just then began to be
visible through the darkness.
"Thar they come," cried the master wagoner,
"fire, fire! shoot that feller."
"No, no!" screamed Tete Rouge, in an ecstasy
of fright; "don't fire, don't! I'm a friend,
I'm an American citizen!"
"You're a friend, be you?" cried a gruff
voice from the wagons; "then what are you
yelling out thar for, like a wild Injun.
Come along up here if you're a man."
"Keep your guns p'inted at him," added the
master wagoner, "maybe he's a decoy, like."
Tete Rouge in utter bewilderment made his
approach, with the gaping muzzles of the
muskets still before his eyes. He succeeded
at last in explaining his character and
situation, and the Missourians admitted him
into camp. He got no whisky; but as he
represented himself as a great invalid, and
suffering much from coarse fare, they made
up a contribution for him of rice, biscuit,
and sugar from their own rations.
In the morning at breakfast, Tete Rouge once
more related this story. We hardly knew how
much of it to believe, though after some
cross-questioning we failed to discover any
flaw in the narrative. Passing by the
wagoner's camp, they confirmed Tete Rouge's
account in every particular.
"I wouldn't have been in that feller's
place," said one of them, "for the biggest
heap of money in Missouri."
To Tete Rouge's great wrath they expressed a
firm conviction that he was crazy. We left
them after giving them the advice not to
trouble themselves about war-whoops in
future, since they would be apt to feel an
Indian's arrow before they heard his voice.
A day or two after, we had an adventure of
another sort with a party of wagoners. Henry
and I rode forward to hunt. After that day
there was no probability that we should meet
with buffalo, and we were anxious to kill
one for the sake of fresh meat. They were so
wild that we hunted all the morning in vain,
but at noon as we approached Cow Creek we
saw a large band feeding near its margin.
Cow Creek is densely lined with trees which
intercept the view beyond, and it runs, as
we afterward found, at the bottom of a deep
trench. We approached by riding along the
bottom of a ravine. When we were near
enough, I held the horses while Henry crept
toward the buffalo. I saw him take his seat
within shooting distance, prepare his rifle,
and look about to select his victim. The
death of a fat cow was certain, when
suddenly a great smoke arose from the bed of
the Creek with a rattling volley of
musketry. A score of long-legged Missourians
leaped out from among the trees and ran
after the buffalo, who one and all took to
their heels and vanished. These fellows had
crawled up the bed of the Creek to within a
hundred yards of the buffalo. Never was
there a fairer chance for a shot. They were
good marksmen; all cracked away at once, and
yet not a buffalo fell. In fact, the animal
is so tenacious of life that it requires no
little knowledge of anatomy to kill it, and
it is very seldom that a novice succeeds in
his first attempt at approaching. The balked
Missourians were excessively mortified,
especially when Henry told them if they had
kept quiet he would have killed meat enough
in ten minutes to feed their whole party.
Our friends, who were at no great distance,
hearing such a formidable fusillade, thought
the Indians had fired the volley for our
benefit. Shaw came galloping on to
reconnoiter and learn if we were yet in the
land of the living.
At Cow Creek we found the very welcome
novelty of ripe grapes and plums, which grew
there in abundance. At the Little Arkansas,
not much farther on, we saw the last
buffalo, a miserable old bull, roaming over
the prairie alone and melancholy.
From this time forward the character of the
country was changing every day. We had left
behind us the great arid deserts, meagerly
covered by the tufted buffalo grass, with
its pale green hue, and its short shriveled
blades. The plains before us were carpeted
with rich and verdant herbage sprinkled with
flowers. In place of buffalo we found plenty
of prairie hens, and we bagged them by
dozens without leaving the trail. In three
or four days we saw before us the broad
woods and the emerald meadows of Council
Grove, a scene of striking luxuriance and
beauty. It seemed like a new sensation as we
rode beneath the resounding archs of these
noble woods. The trees were ash, oak, elm,
maple, and hickory, their mighty limbs
deeply overshadowing the path, while
enormous grape vines were entwined among
them, purple with fruit. The shouts of our
scattered party, and now and then a report
of a rifle, rang amid the breathing
stillness of the forest. We rode forth again
with regret into the broad light of the open
prairie. Little more than a hundred miles
now separated us from the frontier
settlements. The whole intervening country
was a succession of verdant prairies, rising
in broad swells and relieved by trees
clustering like an oasis around some spring,
or following the course of a stream along
some fertile hollow. These are the prairies
of the poet and the novelist. We had left
danger behind us. Nothing was to be feared
from the Indians of this region, the Sacs
and Foxes, the Kansas and the Osages. We had
met with signal good fortune. Although for
five months we had been traveling with an
insufficient force through a country where
we were at any moment liable to depredation,
not a single animal had been stolen from us,
and our only loss had been one old mule
bitten to death by a rattlesnake. Three
weeks after we reached the frontier the
Pawnees and the Comanches began a regular
series of hostilities on the Arkansas trail,
killing men and driving off horses. They
attacked, without exception, every party,
large or small, that passed during the next
six months.
Diamond Spring, Rock Creek, Elder Grove, and
other camping places besides, were passed
all in quick succession. At Rock Creek we
found a train of government provision
wagons, under the charge of an emaciated old
man in his seventy-first year. Some restless
American devil had driven him into the
wilderness at a time when he should have
been seated at his fireside with his
grandchildren on his knees. I am convinced
that he never returned; he was complaining
that night of a disease, the wasting effects
of which upon a younger and stronger man, I
myself had proved from severe experience.
Long ere this no doubt the wolves have
howled their moonlight carnival over the old
man's attenuated remains.
Not long after we came to a small trail
leading to Fort Leavenworth, distant but one
day's journey. Tete Rouge here took leave of
us. He was anxious to go to the fort in
order to receive payment for his valuable
military services. So he and his horse
James, after bidding an affectionate
farewell, set out together, taking with them
as much provision as they could conveniently
carry, including a large quantity of brown
sugar. On a cheerless rainy evening we came
to our last encamping ground. Some pigs
belonging to a Shawnee farmer were grunting
and rooting at the edge of the grove.
"I wonder how fresh pork tastes," murmured
one of the party, and more than one voice
murmured in response. The fiat went forth,
"That pig must die," and a rifle was leveled
forthwith at the countenance of the plumpest
porker. Just then a wagon train, with some
twenty Missourians, came out from among the
trees. The marksman suspended his aim,
deeming it inexpedient under the
circumstances to consummate the deed of
blood.
In the morning we made our toilet as well as
circumstances would permit, and that is
saying but very little. In spite of the
dreary rain of yesterday, there never was a
brighter and gayer autumnal morning than
that on which we returned to the
settlements. We were passing through the
country of the half-civilized Shawanoes. It
was a beautiful alternation of fertile
plains and groves, whose foliage was just
tinged with the hues of autumn, while close
beneath them rested the neat log-houses of
the Indian farmers. Every field and meadow
bespoke the exuberant fertility of the soil.
The maize stood rustling in the wind,
matured and dry, its shining yellow ears
thrust out between the gaping husks.
Squashes and enormous yellow pumpkins lay
basking in the sun in the midst of their
brown and shriveled leaves. Robins and
blackbirds flew about the fences; and
everything in short betokened our near
approach to home and civilization. The
forests that border on the Missouri soon
rose before us, and we entered the wide
tract of shrubbery which forms their
outskirts. We had passed the same road on
our outward journey in the spring, but its
aspect was totally changed. The young wild
apple trees, then flushed with their
fragrant blossoms, were now hung thickly
with ruddy fruit. Tall grass flourished by
the roadside in place of the tender shoots
just peeping from the warm and oozy soil.
The vines were laden with dark purple
grapes, and the slender twigs of the maple,
then tasseled with their clusters of small
red flowers, now hung out a gorgeous display
of leaves stained by the frost with burning
crimson. On every side we saw the tokens of
maturity and decay where all had before been
fresh and beautiful. We entered the forest,
and ourselves and our horses were checkered,
as we passed along, by the bright spots of
sunlight that fell between the opening
boughs. On either side the dark rich masses
of foliage almost excluded the sun, though
here and there its rays could find their way
down, striking through the broad leaves and
lighting them with a pure transparent green.
Squirrels barked at us from the trees;
coveys of young partridges ran rustling over
the leaves below, and the golden oriole, the
blue jay, and the flaming red-bird darted
among the shadowy branches. We hailed these
sights and sounds of beauty by no means with
an unmingled pleasure. Many and powerful as
were the attractions which drew us toward
the settlements, we looked back even at that
moment with an eager longing toward the
wilderness of prairies and mountains behind
us. For myself I had suffered more that
summer from illness than ever before in my
life, and yet to this hour I cannot recall
those savage scenes and savage men without a
strong desire again to visit them.
At length, for the first time during about
half a year, we saw the roof of a white
man's dwelling between the opening trees. A
few moments after we were riding over the
miserable log bridge that leads into the
center of Westport. Westport had beheld
strange scenes, but a rougher looking troop
than ours, with our worn equipments and
broken-down horses, was never seen even
there. We passed the well-remembered tavern,
Boone's grocery and old Vogel's dram shop,
and encamped on a meadow beyond. Here we
were soon visited by a number of people who
came to purchase our horses and equipage.
This matter disposed of, we hired a wagon
and drove on to Kansas Landing. Here we were
again received under the hospitable roof of
our old friend Colonel Chick, and seated on
his porch we looked down once more on the
eddies of the Missouri.
Delorier made his appearance in the morning,
strangely transformed by the assistance of a
hat, a coat, and a razor. His little
log-house was among the woods not far off.
It seemed he had meditated giving a ball on
the occasion of his return, and had
consulted Henry Chatillon as to whether it
would do to invite his bourgeois. Henry
expressed his entire conviction that we
would not take it amiss, and the invitation
was now proffered, accordingly, Delorier
adding as a special inducement that Antoine
Lejeunesse was to play the fiddle. We told
him we would certainly come, but before the
evening arrived a steamboat, which came down
from Fort Leavenworth, prevented our being
present at the expected festivities.
Delorier was on the rock at the landing
place, waiting to take leave of us.
"Adieu! mes bourgeois; adieu! adieu!" he
cried out as the boat pulled off; "when you
go another time to de Rocky Montagnes I will
go with you; yes, I will go!"
He accompanied this patronizing assurance by
jumping about swinging his hat, and grinning
from ear to ear. As the boat rounded a
distant point, the last object that met our
eyes was Delorier still lifting his hat and
skipping about the rock. We had taken leave
of Munroe and Jim Gurney at Westport, and
Henry Chatillon went down in the boat with
us.
The passage to St. Louis occupied eight
days, during about a third of which we were
fast aground on sand-bars. We passed the
steamer Amelia crowded with a roaring crew
of disbanded volunteers, swearing, drinking,
gambling, and fighting. At length one
evening we reached the crowded levee of St.
Louis. Repairing to the Planters' House, we
caused diligent search to be made for our
trunks, which after some time were
discovered stowed away in the farthest
corner of the storeroom. In the morning we
hardly recognized each other; a frock of
broadcloth had supplanted the frock of
buckskin; well-fitted pantaloons took the
place of the Indian leggings, and polished
boots were substituted for the gaudy
moccasins.
After we had been several days at St. Louis
we heard news of Tete Rouge. He had
contrived to reach Fort Leavenworth, where
he had found the paymaster and received his
money. As a boat was just ready to start for
St. Louis, he went on board and engaged his
passage. This done, he immediately got drunk
on shore, and the boat went off without him.
It was some days before another opportunity
occurred, and meanwhile the sutler's stores
furnished him with abundant means of keeping
up his spirits. Another steamboat came at
last, the clerk of which happened to be a
friend of his, and by the advice of some
charitable person on shore he persuaded Tete
Rouge to remain on board, intending to
detain him there until the boat should leave
the fort. At first Tete Rouge was well
contented with this arrangement, but on
applying for a dram, the barkeeper, at the
clerk's instigation, refused to let him have
it. Finding them both inflexible in spite of
his entreaties, he became desperate and made
his escape from the boat. The clerk found
him after a long search in one of the
barracks; a circle of dragoons stood
contemplating him as he lay on the floor,
maudlin drunk and crying dismally. With the
help of one of them the clerk pushed him on
board, and our informant, who came down in
the same boat, declares that he remained in
great despondency during the whole passage.
As we left St. Louis soon after his arrival,
we did not see the worthless, good-natured
little vagabond again.
On the evening before our departure Henry
Chatillon came to our rooms at the Planters'
House to take leave of us. No one who met
him in the streets of St. Louis would have
taken him for a hunter fresh from the Rocky
Mountains. He was very neatly and simply
dressed in a suit of dark cloth; for
although, since his sixteenth year, he had
scarcely been for a month together among the
abodes of men, he had a native good taste
and a sense of propriety which always led
him to pay great attention to his personal
appearance. His tall athletic figure, with
its easy flexible motions, appeared to
advantage in his present dress; and his fine
face, though roughened by a thousand storms,
was not at all out of keeping with it. We
took leave of him with much regret; and
unless his changing features, as he shook us
by the hand, belied him, the feeling on his
part was no less than on ours. Shaw had
given him a horse at Westport. My rifle,
which he had always been fond of using, as
it was an excellent piece, much better than
his own, is now in his hands, and perhaps at
this moment its sharp voice is startling the
echoes of the Rocky Mountains. On the next
morning we left town, and after a fortnight
of railroads and steamboat we saw once more
the familiar features of home.
