THE VIEW from the snowy peak of the Wind River Mountains, while it had excited
Captain Bonneville's enthusiasm, had satisfied him that it would be useless to force a
passage westward, through multiplying barriers of cliffs and precipices. Turning his
face eastward, therefore, he endeavored to regain the plains, intending to make the
circuit round the southern point of the mountain. To descend, and to extricate himself
from the heart of this rock-piled wilderness, was almost as difficult as to penetrate it.
Taking his course down the ravine of a tumbling stream, the commencement of some
future river, he descended from rock to rock, and shelf to shelf, between stupendous
cliffs and beetling crags that sprang up to the sky. Often he had to cross and recross
the rushing torrent, as it wound foaming and roaring down its broken channel, or was
walled by perpendicular precipices; and imminent was the hazard of breaking the legs
of the horses in the clefts and fissures of slippery rocks. The whole scenery of this
deep ravine was of Alpine wildness and sublimity. Sometimes the travellers passed
beneath cascades which pitched from such lofty heights that the water fell into the
stream like heavy rain. In other places, torrents came tumbling from crag to crag,
dashing into foam and spray, and making tremendous din and uproar.
On the second day of their descent, the travellers, having got beyond the steepest pitch
of the mountains, came to where the deep and rugged ravine began occasionally to
expand into small levels or valleys, and the stream to assume for short intervals a more
peaceful character. Here, not merely the river itself, but every rivulet flowing into it, was
dammed up by communities of industrious beavers, so as to inundate the
neighborhood, and make continual swamps.
During a mid-day halt in one of these beaver valleys, Captain Bonneville left his
companions, and strolled down the course of the stream to reconnoitre. He had not
proceeded far when he came to a beaver pond, and caught a glimpse of one of its
painstaking inhabitants busily at work upon the dam. The curiosity of the captain was
aroused, to behold the mode of operating of this far-famed architect; he moved forward,
therefore, with the utmost caution, parting the branches of the water willows without
making any noise, until having attained a position commanding a view of the whole
pond, he stretched himself flat on the ground, and watched the solitary workman. In a
little while, three others appeared at the head of the dam, bringing sticks and bushes.
With these they proceeded directly to the barrier, which Captain Bonneville perceived
was in need of repair. Having deposited their loads upon the broken part, they dived
into the water, and shortly reappeared at the surface. Each now brought a quantity of
mud, with which he would plaster the sticks and bushes just deposited. This kind of
masonry was continued for some time, repeated supplies of wood and mud being
brought, and treated in the same manner. This done, the industrious beavers indulged
in a little recreation, chasing each other about the pond, dodging and whisking about
on the surface, or diving to the bottom; and in their frolic, often slapping their tails on
the water with a loud clacking sound. While they were thus amusing themselves,
another of the fraternity made his appearance, and looked gravely on their sports for
some time, without offering to join in them. He then climbed the bank close to where the
captain was concealed, and, rearing himself on his hind quarters, in a sitting position,
put his forepaws against a young pine tree, and began to cut the bark with his teeth. At
times he would tear off a small piece, and holding it between his paws, and retaining
his sedentary position, would feed himself with it, after the fashion of a monkey. The
object of the beaver, however, was evidently to cut down the tree; and he was
proceeding with his work, when he was alarmed by the approach of Captain
Bonneville's men, who, feeling anxious at the protracted absence of their leader, were
coming in search of him. At the sound of their voices, all the beavers, busy as well as
idle, dived at once beneath the surface, and were no more to be seen. Captain
Bonneville regretted this interruption. He had heard much of the sagacity of the beaver
in cutting down trees, in which, it is said, they manage to make them fall into the water,
and in such a position and direction as may be most favorable for conveyance to the
desired point. In the present instance, the tree was a tall straight pine, and as it grew
perpendicularly, and there was not a breath of air stirring the beaver could have felled it
in any direction he pleased, if really capable of exercising a discretion in the matter. He
was evidently engaged in "belting" the tree, and his first incision had been on the side
nearest to the water.
Captain Bonneville, however, discredits, on the whole, the alleged sagacity of the
beaver in this particular, and thinks the animal has no other aim than to get the tree
down, without any of the subtle calculation as to its mode or direction of falling. This
attribute, he thinks, has been ascribed to them from the circumstance that most trees
growing near water-courses, either lean bodily toward the stream, or stretch their
largest limbs in that direction, to benefit by the space, the light, and the air to be found
there. The beaver, of course, attacks those trees which are nearest at hand, and on the
banks of the stream or pond. He makes incisions round them, or in technical phrase,
belts them with his teeth, and when they fall, they naturally take the direction in which
their trunks or branches preponderate.
"I have often," says Captain Bonneville, "seen trees measuring eighteen inches in
diameter, at the places where they had been cut through by the beaver, but they lay in
all directions, and often very inconveniently for the after purposes of the animal. In fact,
so little ingenuity do they at times display in this particular, that at one of our camps on
Snake River, a beaver was found with his head wedged into the cut which he had
made, the tree having fallen upon him and held him prisoner until he died."
Great choice, according to the captain, is certainly displayed by the beaver in selecting
the wood which is to furnish bark for winter provision. The whole beaver household, old
and young, set out upon this business, and will often make long journeys before they
are suited. Sometimes they cut down trees of the largest size and then cull the
branches, the bark of which is most to their taste. These they cut into lengths of about
three feet, convey them to the water, and float them to their lodges, where they are
stored away for winter. They are studious of cleanliness and comfort in their lodges,
and after their repasts, will carry out the sticks from which they have eaten the bark,
and throw them into the current beyond the barrier. They are jealous, too, of their
territories, and extremely pugnacious, never permitting a strange beaver to enter their
premises, and often fighting with such virulence as almost to tear each other to pieces.
In the spring, which is the breeding season, the male leaves the female at home, and
sets off on a tour of pleasure, rambling often to a great distance, recreating himself in
every clear and quiet expanse of water on his way, and climbing the banks occasionally
to feast upon the tender sprouts of the young willows. As summer advances, he gives
up his bachelor rambles, and bethinking himself of housekeeping duties, returns home
to his mate and his new progeny, and marshals them all for the foraging expedition in
quest of winter provisions.
After having shown the public spirit of this praiseworthy little animal as a member of a
community, and his amiable and exemplary conduct as the father of a family, we grieve
to record the perils with which he is environed, and the snares set for him and his
painstaking household.
Practice, says Captain Bonneville, has given such a quickness of eye to the
experienced trapper in all that relates to his pursuit, that he can detect the slightest
sign of beaver, however wild; and although the lodge may be concealed by close
thickets and overhanging willows, he can generally, at a single glance, make an
accurate guess at the number of its inmates. He now goes to work to set his trap;
planting it upon the shore, in some chosen place, two or three inches below the surface
of the water, and secures it by a chain to a pole set deep in the mud. A small twig is
then stripped of its bark, and one end is dipped in the "medicine," as the trappers term
the peculiar bait which they employ. This end of the stick rises about four inches above
the surface of the water, the other end is planted between the jaws of the trap. The
beaver, possessing an acute sense of smell, is soon attracted by the odor of the bait.
As he raises his nose toward it, his foot is caught in the trap. In his fright he throws a
somerset into the deep water. The trap, being fastened to the pole, resists all his efforts
to drag it to the shore; the chain by which it is fastened defies his teeth; he struggles for
a time, and at length sinks to the bottom and is drowned.
Upon rocky bottoms, where it is not possible to plant the pole, it is thrown into the
stream. The beaver, when entrapped, often gets fastened by the chain to sunken logs
or floating timber; if he gets to shore, he is entangled in the thickets of brook willows. In
such cases, however, it costs the trapper diligent search, and sometimes a bout at
swimming, before he finds his game.
Occasionally it happens that several members of a beaver family are trapped in
succession. The survivors then become extremely shy, and can scarcely be "brought to
medicine," to use the trapper's phrase for "taking the bait." In such case, the trapper
gives up the use of the bait, and conceals his traps in the usual paths and crossing
places of the household. The beaver now being completely "up to trap," approaches
them cautiously, and springs them ingeniously with a stick. At other times, he turns the
traps bottom upwards, by the same means, and occasionally even drags them to the
barrier and conceals them in the mud. The trapper now gives up the contest of
ingenuity, and shouldering his traps, marches off, admitting that he is not yet "up to
beaver."
On the day following Captain Bonneville's supervision of the industrious and frolicsome
community of beavers, of which he has given so edifying an account, he succeeded in
extricating himself from the Wind River Mountains, and regaining the plain to the
eastward, made a great bend to the south, so as to go round the bases of the
mountains, and arrived without further incident of importance, at the old place of
rendezvous in Green River valley, on the 17th of September.
He found the caches, in which he had deposited his superfluous goods and equipments, all safe, and having opened and taken from them the necessary supplies, he closed them again; taking care to obliterate all traces that might betray them to the keen eyes of Indian marauders.