Determination of the Party to Proceed on Foot.- Dreary Deserts Between Snake River
and the Columbia.- Distribution of Effects Preparatory to a March- Division of the Party.-
Rugged March Along the River.-Wild and Broken Scenery.- Shoshonies.- Alarm of a
Snake Encampment- Intercourse with the Snakes.- Horse Dealing. - Value of a Tin
Kettle.- Sufferings From Thirst- A Horse Reclaimed. -Fortitude of an Indian Woman.-
Scarcity of Food.- Dog's Flesh a Dainty.-News of Mr. Crooks and His Party.-Painful
Travelling Among the Mountains.- Snow Storms.- A Dreary Mountain Prospect. -A
Bivouac During a Wintry Night.- Return to the River Bank.
THE resolution of Mr. Hunt and his companions was now taken to set out immediately
on foot. As to the other detachments that had in a manner gone forth to seek their
fortunes, there was little chance of their return; they would probably make their own
way through the wilderness. At any rate, to linger in the vague hope of relief from them
would be to run the risk of perishing with hunger. Besides, the winter was rapidly
advancing, and they had a long journey to make through an unknown country, where all
kinds of perils might await them. They were yet, in fact, a thousand miles from Astoria,
but the distance was unknown to them at the time: everything before and around them
was vague and conjectural, and wore an aspect calculated to inspire despondency.
In abandoning the river, they would have to launch forth upon vast trackless plains
destitute of all means of subsistence, where they might perish of hunger and thirst. A
dreary desert of sand and gravel extends from Snake River almost to the Columbia.
Here and there is a thin and scanty herbage, insufficient for the pasturage of horse or
buffalo. Indeed, these treeless wastes between the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific
are even more desolate and barren than the naked, upper prairies on the Atlantic side;
they present vast desert tracts that must ever defy cultivation, and interpose dreary and
thirsty wilds between the habitations of man, in traversing which the wanderer will often
be in danger of perishing.
Seeing the hopeless character of these wastes, Mr. Hunt and his companions
determined to keep along the course of the river, where they would always have water
at hand, and would be able occasionally to procure fish and beaver, and might
perchance meet with Indians, from whom they could obtain provisions.
They now made their final preparations for the march. All their remaining stock of
provisions consisted of forty pounds of Indian corn, twenty pounds of grease, about five
pounds of portable soup, and a sufficient quantity of dried meat to allow each man a
pittance of five pounds and a quarter, to be reserved for emergencies. This being
properly distributed, they deposited all their goods and superfluous articles in the
caches, taking nothing with them but what was indispensable to the journey. With all
their management, each man had to carry twenty pounds' weight besides his own
articles and equipments.
That they might have the better chance of procuring subsistence in the scanty region
they were to traverse, they divided their party into two bands. Mr. Hunt, with eighteen
men, besides Pierre Dorion and his family, was to proceed down the north side of the
river, while Mr. Crooks, with eighteen men, kept along the south side.
On the morning of the 9th of October, the two parties separated and set forth on their
several courses. Mr. Hunt and his companions followed along the right bank of the
river, which made its way far below them, brawling at the foot of perpendicular
precipices of solid rock, two and three hundred feet high. For twenty-eight miles that
they travelled this day, they found it impossible to get down to the margin of the stream.
At the end of this distance they encamped for the night at a place which admitted a
scrambling descent. It was with the greatest difficulty, however, that they succeeded in
getting up a kettle of water from the river for the use of the camp. As some rain had
fallen in the afternoon, they passed the night under the shelter of the rocks.
The next day they continued thirty-two miles to the northwest, keeping along the river,
which still ran in its deep-cut channel. Here and there a shady beach or a narrow strip
of soil, fringed with dwarf willows, would extend for a little distance along the foot of the
cliffs, and sometimes a reach of still water would intervene like a smooth mirror
between the foaming rapids.
As through the preceding day, they journeyed on without finding, except in one
instance, any place where they could get down to the river's edge, and they were fain
to allay the thirst caused by hard travelling, with the water collected in the hollow of the
In the course of their march on the following morning, they fell into a beaten horse path
leading along the river, which showed that they were in the neighborhood of some
Indian village or encampment. They had not proceeded far along it, when they met with
two Shoshonies, or Snakes. They approached with some appearance of uneasiness,
and accosting Mr. Hunt, held up a knife, which by signs they let him know they had
received from some of the white men of the advance parties. It was with some
difficulties that Mr. Hunt prevailed upon one of the savages to conduct him to the
lodges of his people. Striking into a trail or path which led up from the river, he guided
them for some distance in the prairie, until they came in sight of a number of lodges
made of straw, and shaped like hay-stacks. Their approach, as on former occasions,
caused the wildest affright among the inhabitants. The women hid such of their children
as were too large to be carried, and too small to take care of themselves, under straw,
and, clasping their infants to their breasts, fled across the prairie. The men awaited the
approach of the strangers, but evidently in great alarm.
Mr. Hunt entered the lodges, and, as he was looking about, observed where the
children were concealed; their black eyes glistening like those of snakes, from beneath
the straw. He lifted up the covering to look at them; the poor little beings were horribly
frightened, and their fathers stood trembling, as if a beast of prey were about to pounce
upon their brood.
The friendly manner of Mr. Hunt soon dispelled these apprehensions; he succeeded in
purchasing some excellent dried salmon, and a dog, an animal much esteemed as food
by the natives; and when he returned to the river one of the Indians accompanied him.
He now came to where the lodges were frequent along the banks, and, after a day's
journey of twenty-six miles to the northwest, encamped in a populous neighborhood.
Forty or fifty of the natives soon visited the camp, conducting themselves in a very
amicable manner. They were well clad, and all had buffalo robes, which they procured
from some of the hunting tribes in exchange for salmon. Their habitations were very
comfortable; each had its pile of wormwood at the door for fuel, and within was
abundance of salmon, some fresh, but the greater part cured. When the white men
visited the lodges, however, the women and children hid themselves through fear.
Among the supplies obtained here were two dogs, on which our travellers breakfasted,
and found them to be very excellent, well-flavored, and hearty food.
In the course of the three following days they made about sixty-three miles, generally in
a northwest direction. They met with many of the natives in their straw-built cabins, who
received them without alarm. About their dwellings were immense quantities of the
heads and skins of salmon, the best part of which had been cured, and hidden in the
ground. The women were badly clad; the children worse; their garments were buffalo
robes, or the skins of foxes, hares, and badgers, and sometimes the skins of ducks,
sewed together, with the plumage on. Most of the skins must have been procured by
traffic with other tribes, or in distant hunting excursions, for the naked prairies in the
neighborhood afforded few animals, excepting hares, which were abundant.
were signs of buffaloes having been there, but a long time before.
On the 15th of November they made twenty-eight miles along the river, which was
entirely free from rapids. The shores were lined with dead salmon, which tainted the
whole atmosphere. The natives whom they met spoke of Mr. Reed's party having
passed through that neighborhood. In the course of the day Mr. Hunt saw a few horses,
but the owners of them took care to hurry them out of the way. All the provisions they
were able to procure were two dogs and a salmon. On the following day they were still
worse off, having to subsist on parched corn and the remains of their dried meat. The
river this day had resumed its turbulent character, forcing its way through a narrow
channel between steep rocks and down violent rapids. They made twenty miles over a
rugged road, gradually approaching a mountain in the northwest, covered with snow,
which had been in sight for three days past.
On the 17th they met with several Indians, one of whom had a horse. Mr. Hunt was
extremely desirous of obtaining it as a pack-horse; for the men, worn down by fatigue
and hunger, found the loads of twenty pounds' weight which they had to carry, daily
growing heavier and more galling. The Indians, however, along this river, were never
willing to part with their horses, having none to spare. The owner of the steed in
question seemed proof against all temptation; article after article of great value in
Indian eyes was offered and refused. The charms of an old tin-kettle, however, were
irresistible, and a bargain was concluded.
A great part of the following morning was consumed in lightening the packages of the
men and arranging the load for the horse. At this encampment there was no wood for
fuel, even the wormwood on which they had frequently depended having disappeared.
For the two last days they had made thirty miles to the northwest.
On the 19th of November, Mr. Hunt was lucky enough to purchase another horse for his
own use, giving in exchange a tomahawk, a knife, a fire steel, and some beads and
gartering. In an evil hour, however, he took the advice of the Indians to abandon the
river, and follow a road or trail leading into the prairies. He soon had cause to regret
the change. The road led across a dreary waste, without verdure; and where there was
neither fountain, nor pool, nor running stream. The men now began to experience the
torments of thirst, aggravated by their diet of dried fish. The thirst of the Canadian
voyageurs became so insupportable as to drive them to the most revolting means of
allaying it. For twenty-five miles did they toll on across this dismal desert, and laid
themselves down at night, parched and disconsolate, beside their wormwood fires;
looking forward to still greater sufferings on the following day. Fortunately it began to
rain in the night, to their infinite relief; the water soon collected in puddles and afforded
them delicious draughts.
Refreshed in this manner, they resumed their wayfaring as soon as the first streaks of
dawn gave light enough for them to see their path. The rain continued all day, so that
they no longer suffered from thirst, but hunger took its place, for after travelling thirty-three miles they had nothing to sup on but a little parched corn.
The next day brought them to the banks of a beautiful little stream, running to the west,
and fringed with groves of cottonwood and willow. On its borders was an Indian camp,
with a great many horses grazing around it. The inhabitants, too, appeared to be better
clad than usual. The scene was altogether a cheering one to the poor half-famished
wanderers. They hastened to their lodges, but on arriving at them met with a check that
at first dampened their cheerfulness. An Indian immediately laid claim to the horse of
Mr. Hunt, saying that it had been stolen from him. There was no disproving a fact
supported by numerous bystanders, and which the horse stealing habits of the Indians
rendered but too probable; so Mr. Hunt relinquished his steed to the claimant; not being
able to retain him by a second purchase.
At this place they encamped for the night, and made a sumptuous repast upon fish and
a couple of dogs, procured from their Indian neighbors. The next day they kept along
the river, but came to a halt after ten miles' march, on account of the rain. Here they
again got a supply of fish and dogs from the natives; and two of the men were fortunate
enough each to get a horse in exchange for a buffalo robe. One of these men was
Pierre Dorion, the half-breed interpreter, to whose suffering family the horse was a
timely acquisition. And here we cannot but notice the wonderful patience,
perseverance, and hardihood of the Indian women, as exemplified in the conduct of the
poor squaw of the interpreter. She was now far advanced in her pregnancy, and had
two children to take care of; one four, and the other two years of age. The latter of
course she had frequently to carry on her back, in addition to the burden usually
imposed upon the squaw, yet she had borne all her hardships without a murmur, and
throughout this weary and painful journey had kept pace with the best of the
pedestrians. Indeed on various occasions in the course of this enterprise, she
displayed a force of character that won the respect and applause of the white men.
Mr. Hunt endeavored to gather some information from these Indians concerning the
country and the course of the rivers. His communications with them had to be by signs,
and a few words which he had learnt, and of course were extremely vague. All that he
could learn from them was that the great river, the Columbia, was still far distant, but he
could ascertain nothing as to the route he ought to take to arrive at it. For the two
following days they continued westward upwards of forty miles along the little stream,
until they crossed it just before its junction with Snake River, which they found still
running to the north. Before them was a wintry-looking mountain covered with snow on
In three days more they made about seventy miles; fording two small rivers, the waters
of which were very cold. Provisions were extremely scarce; their chief sustenance was
portable soup; a meagre diet for weary pedestrians.
On the 27th of November the river led them into the mountains through a rocky defile
where there was scarcely room to pass. They were frequently obliged to unload the
horses to get them by the narrow places; and sometimes to wade through the water in
getting round rocks and butting cliffs. All their food this day was a beaver which they
had caught the night before; by evening, the cravings of hunger were so sharp, and the
prospect of any supply among the mountains so faint, that they had to kill one of the
horses. "The men," says Mr. Hunt in his journal, "find the meat very good, and, indeed,
so should I, were it not for the attachment I have to the animal."
Early the following day, after proceeding ten miles to the north, they came to two lodges
of Shoshonies, who seemed in nearly as great extremity as themselves, having just
killed two horses for food. They had no other provisions excepting the seed of a weed
which they gather in great quantities, and pound fine. It resembles hemp-seed. Mr.
Hunt purchased a bag of it, and also some small pieces of horse flesh, which he began
to relish, pronouncing them "fat and tender."
From these Indians he received information that several white men had gone down the
river, some one side, and a good many on the other; these last he concluded to be Mr.
Crooks and his party. He was thus released from much anxiety about their safety,
especially as the Indians spoke about Mr. Crooks having one of his dogs yet, which
showed that he and his men had not been reduced to extremity of hunger.
As Mr. Hunt feared that he might be several days in passing through this mountain
defile, and run the risk of famine, he encamped in the neighborhood of the Indians, for
the purpose of bartering with them for a horse. The evening was expended in
ineffectual trials. He offered a gun, a buffalo robe, and various other articles. The poor
fellows had, probably, like himself, the fear of starvation before their eyes. At length the
women, learning the object of his pressing solicitations and tempting offers, set up such
a terrible hue and cry that he was fairly howled and scolded from the ground.
The next morning early, the Indians seemed very desirous to get rid of their visitors,
fearing, probably, for the safety of their horses. In reply to Mr. Hunt's inquiries about the
mountains, they told him that he would have to sleep but three nights more among
them; and that six days' travelling would take him to the falls of the Columbia;
information in which he put no faith, believing it was only given to induce him to set
forward. These, he was told, were the last Snakes he would meet with, and that he
would soon come to a nation called Sciatogas.
Forward then did he proceed on his tedious journey, which, at every step, grew more
painful. The road continued for two days through narrow defiles, where they were
repeatedly obliged to unload the horses. Sometimes the river passed through such
rocky chasms and under such steep precipices that they had to leave it, and make their
way, with excessive labor, over immense hills, almost impassable for horses. On some
of these hills were a few pine trees, and their summits were covered with snow. On the
second day of this scramble one of the hunters killed a black-tailed deer, which
afforded the half-starved travellers a sumptuous repast. Their progress these two days
was twenty-eight miles, a little to the northward of east.
The month of December set in drearily, with rain in the valleys and snow upon the hills.
They had to climb a mountain with snow to the midleg, which increased their painful
toil. A small beaver supplied them with a scanty meal, which they eked out with frozen
blackberries, haws, and choke-cherries, which they found in the course of their
scramble. Their journey this day, though excessively fatiguing, was but thirteen miles;
and all the next day they had to remain encamped, not being able to see half a mile
ahead, on account of a snow-storm. Having nothing else to eat, they were compelled to
kill another of their horses. The next day they resumed their march in snow and rain,
but with all their efforts could only get forward nine miles, having for a part of the
distance to unload the horses and carry the packs themselves. On the succeeding
morning they were obliged to leave the river and scramble up the hills. From the
summit of these, they got a wide view of the surrounding country, and it was a prospect
almost sufficient to make them despair. In every direction they beheld snowy
mountains, partially sprinkled with pines and other evergreens, and spreading a desert
and toilsome world around them. The wind howled over the bleak and wintry
landscape, and seemed to penetrate to the marrow of their bones. They waded on
through the snow, which at every step was more than knee deep.
After tolling in this way all day, they had the mortification to find that they were but four
miles distant from the encampment of the preceding night, such was the meandering of
the river among these dismal hills. Pinched with famine, exhausted with fatigue, with
evening approaching, and a wintry wild still lengthening as they advanced, they began
to look forward with sad forebodings to the night's exposure upon this frightful waste.
Fortunately they succeeded in reaching a cluster of pines about sunset. Their axes
were immediately at work; they cut down trees, piled them in great heaps, and soon
had huge fires "to cheer their cold and hungry hearts."
About three o'clock in the morning it again began to snow, and at daybreak they found
themselves, as it were, in a cloud, scarcely being able to distinguish objects at the
distance of a hundred yards. Guarding themselves by the sound of running water, they
set out for the river, and by slipping and sliding contrived to get down to its bank. One
of the horses, missing his footing, rolled down several hundred yards with his load, but
sustained no injury. The weather in the valley was less rigorous than on the hills. The
snow lay but ankle deep, and there was a quiet rain now falling. After creeping along
for six miles, they encamped on the border of the river. Being utterly destitute of
provisions, they were again compelled to kill one of their horses to appease their