The Oregon Trail, Chapter IV, "Jumping Off"
The reader need not be told that John Bull never leaves home without
encumbering himself with the greatest possible load of luggage. Our companions
were no exception to the rule. They had a wagon drawn by six mules and crammed
with provisions for six months, besides ammunition enough for a regiment; spare
rifles and fowling-pieces, ropes and harness; personal baggage, and a
miscellaneous assortment of articles, which produced infinite embarrassment on
the journey. They had also decorated their persons with telescopes and portable
compasses, and carried English double-barreled rifles of sixteen to the pound
caliber, slung to their saddles in dragoon fashion.
By sunrise on the 23d of May we had breakfasted; the tents were leveled, the
animals saddled and harnessed, and all was prepared. "Avance donc! get up!"
cried Delorier from his seat in front of the cart. Wright, our friend's
muleteer, after some swearing and lashing, got his insubordinate train in
motion, and then the whole party filed from the ground. Thus we bade a long
adieu to bed and board, and the principles of Blackstone's Commentaries. The day
was a most auspicious one; and yet Shaw and I felt certain misgivings, which in
the sequel proved but too well founded. We had just learned that though R. had
taken it upon him to adopt this course without consulting us, not a single man
in the party was acquainted with it; and the absurdity of our friend's
high-handed measure very soon became manifest. His plan was to strike the trail
of several companies of dragoons, who last summer had made an expedition under
Colonel Kearny to Fort Laramie, and by this means to reach the grand trail of
the Oregon emigrants up the Platte.
We rode for an hour or two when a familiar cluster of buildings appeared on a
little hill. "Hallo!" shouted the Kickapoo trader from over his fence. "Where
are you going?" A few rather emphatic exclamations might have been heard among
us, when we found that we had gone miles out of our way, and were not advanced
an inch toward the Rocky Mountains. So we turned in the direction the trader
indicated, and with the sun for a guide, began to trace a "bee line" across the
prairies. We struggled through copses and lines of wood; we waded brooks and
pools of water; we traversed prairies as green as an emerald, expanding before
us for mile after mile; wider and more wild than the wastes Mazeppa rode over:
"Man nor brute, Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot, Lay in the wild
luxuriant soil; No sign of travel; none of toil; The very air was mute."
Riding in advance, we passed over one of these great plains; we looked back
and saw the line of scattered horsemen stretching for a mile or more; and far in
the rear against the horizon, the white wagons creeping slowly along. "Here we
are at last!" shouted the captain. And in truth we had struck upon the traces of
a large body of horse. We turned joyfully and followed this new course, with
tempers somewhat improved; and toward sunset encamped on a high swell of the
prairie, at the foot of which a lazy stream soaked along through clumps of rank
grass. It was getting dark. We turned the horses loose to feed. "Drive down the
tent-pickets hard," said Henry Chatillon, "it is going to blow." We did so, and
secured the tent as well as we could; for the sky had changed totally, and a
fresh damp smell in the wind warned us that a stormy night was likely to succeed
the hot clear day. The prairie also wore a new aspect, and its vast swells had
grown black and somber under the shadow of the clouds. The thunder soon began to
growl at a distance. Picketing and hobbling the horses among the rich grass at
the foot of the slope, where we encamped, we gained a shelter just as the rain
began to fall; and sat at the opening of the tent, watching the proceedings of
the captain. In defiance of the rain he was stalking among the horses, wrapped
in an old Scotch plaid. An extreme solicitude tormented him, lest some of his
favorites should escape, or some accident should befall them; and he cast an
anxious eye toward three wolves who were sneaking along over the dreary surface
of the plain, as if he dreaded some hostile demonstration on their part.
On the next morning we had gone but a mile or two, when we came to an
extensive belt of woods, through the midst of which ran a stream, wide, deep,
and of an appearance particularly muddy and treacherous. Delorier was in advance
with his cart; he jerked his pipe from his mouth, lashed his mules, and poured
forth a volley of Canadian ejaculations. In plunged the cart, but midway it
stuck fast. Delorier leaped out knee-deep in water, and by dint of sacres and a
vigorous application of the whip, he urged the mules out of the slough. Then
approached the long team and heavy wagon of our friends; but it paused on the
brink.
"Now my advice is--" began the captain, who had been anxiously contemplating
the muddy gulf.
"Drive on!" cried R.
But Wright, the muleteer, apparently had not as yet decided the point in his
own mind; and he sat still in his seat on one of the shaft- mules, whistling in
a low contemplative strain to himself.
"My advice is," resumed the captain, "that we unload; for I'll bet any man
five pounds that if we try to go through, we shall stick fast."
"By the powers, we shall stick fast!" echoed Jack, the captain's brother,
shaking his large head with an air of firm conviction.
"Drive on! drive on!" cried R. petulantly.
"Well," observed the captain, turning to us as we sat looking on, much
edified by this by-play among our confederates, "I can only give my advice and
if people won't be reasonable, why, they won't; that's all!"
Meanwhile Wright had apparently made up his mind; for he suddenly began to
shout forth a volley of oaths and curses, that, compared with the French
imprecations of Delorier, sounded like the roaring of heavy cannon after the
popping and sputtering of a bunch of Chinese crackers. At the same time he
discharged a shower of blows upon his mules, who hastily dived into the mud and
drew the wagon lumbering after them. For a moment the issue was dubious. Wright
writhed about in his saddle, and swore and lashed like a madman; but who can
count on a team of half-broken mules? At the most critical point, when all
should have been harmony and combined effort, the perverse brutes fell into
lamentable disorder, and huddled together in confusion on the farther bank.
There was the wagon up to the hub in mud, and visibly settling every instant.
There was nothing for it but to unload; then to dig away the mud from before the
wheels with a spade, and lay a causeway of bushes and branches. This agreeable
labor accomplished, the wagon at last emerged; but if I mention that some
interruption of this sort occurred at least four or five times a day for a
fortnight, the reader will understand that our progress toward the Platte was
not without its obstacles.
We traveled six or seven miles farther, and "nooned" near a brook. On the
point of resuming our journey, when the horses were all driven down to water, my
homesick charger, Pontiac, made a sudden leap across, and set off at a round
trot for the settlements. I mounted my remaining horse, and started in pursuit.
Making a circuit, I headed the runaway, hoping to drive him back to camp; but he
instantly broke into a gallop, made a wide tour on the prairie, and got past me
again. I tried this plan repeatedly, with the same result; Pontiac was evidently
disgusted with the prairie; so I abandoned it, and tried another, trotting along
gently behind him, in hopes that I might quietly get near enough to seize the
trail-rope which was fastened to his neck, and dragged about a dozen feet behind
him. The chase grew interesting. For mile after mile I followed the rascal, with
the utmost care not to alarm him, and gradually got nearer, until at length old
Hendrick's nose was fairly brushed by the whisking tail of the unsuspecting
Pontiac. Without drawing rein, I slid softly to the ground; but my long heavy
rifle encumbered me, and the low sound it made in striking the horn of the
saddle startled him; he pricked up his ears, and sprang off at a run. "My
friend," thought I, remounting, "do that again, and I will shoot you!"
Fort Leavenworth was about forty miles distant, and thither I determined to
follow him. I made up my mind to spend a solitary and supperless night, and then
set out again in the morning. One hope, however, remained. The creek where the
wagon had stuck was just before us; Pontiac might be thirsty with his run, and
stop there to drink. I kept as near to him as possible, taking every precaution
not to alarm him again; and the result proved as I had hoped: for he walked
deliberately among the trees, and stooped down to the water. I alighted, dragged
old Hendrick through the mud, and with a feeling of infinite satisfaction picked
up the slimy trail-rope and twisted it three times round my hand. "Now let me
see you get away again!" I thought, as I remounted. But Pontiac was exceedingly
reluctant to turn back; Hendrick, too, who had evidently flattered himself with
vain hopes, showed the utmost repugnance, and grumbled in a manner peculiar to
himself at being compelled to face about. A smart cut of the whip restored his
cheerfulness; and dragging the recovered truant behind, I set out in search of
the camp. An hour or two elapsed, when, near sunset, I saw the tents, standing
on a rich swell of the prairie, beyond a line of woods, while the bands of
horses were feeding in a low meadow close at hand. There sat Jack C., cross-
legged, in the sun, splicing a trail-rope, and the rest were lying on the grass,
smoking and telling stories. That night we enjoyed a serenade from the wolves,
more lively than any with which they had yet favored us; and in the morning one
of the musicians appeared, not many rods from the tents, quietly seated among
the horses, looking at us with a pair of large gray eyes; but perceiving a rifle
leveled at him, he leaped up and made off in hot haste.
I pass by the following day or two of our journey, for nothing occurred
worthy of record. Should any one of my readers ever be impelled to visit the
prairies, and should he choose the route of the Platte (the best, perhaps, that
can be adopted), I can assure him that he need not think to enter at once upon
the paradise of his imagination. A dreary preliminary, protracted crossing of
the threshold awaits him before he finds himself fairly upon the verge of the
"great American desert," those barren wastes, the haunts of the buffalo and the
Indian, where the very shadow of civilization lies a hundred leagues behind him.
The intervening country, the wide and fertile belt that extends for several
hundred miles beyond the extreme frontier, will probably answer tolerably well
to his preconceived ideas of the prairie; for this it is from which picturesque
tourists, painters, poets, and novelists, who have seldom penetrated farther,
have derived their conceptions of the whole region. If he has a painter's eye,
he may find his period of probation not wholly void of interest. The scenery,
though tame, is graceful and pleasing. Here are level plains, too wide for the
eye to measure green undulations, like motionless swells of the ocean; abundance
of streams, followed through all their windings by lines of woods and scattered
groves. But let him be as enthusiastic as he may, he will find enough to damp
his ardor. His wagons will stick in the mud; his horses will break loose;
harness will give way, and axle-trees prove unsound. His bed will be a soft one,
consisting often of black mud, of the richest consistency. As for food, he must
content himself with biscuit and salt provisions; for strange as it may seem,
this tract of country produces very little game. As he advances, indeed, he will
see, moldering in the grass by his path, the vast antlers of the elk, and
farther on, the whitened skulls of the buffalo, once swarming over this now
deserted region. Perhaps, like us, he may journey for a fortnight, and see not
so much as the hoof-print of a deer; in the spring, not even a prairie hen is to
be had.
Yet, to compensate him for this unlooked-for deficiency of game, he will find
himself beset with "varmints" innumerable. The wolves will entertain him with a
concerto at night, and skulk around him by day, just beyond rifle shot; his
horse will step into badger-holes; from every marsh and mud puddle will arise
the bellowing, croaking, and trilling of legions of frogs, infinitely various in
color, shape and dimensions. A profusion of snakes will glide away from under
his horse's feet, or quietly visit him in his tent at night; while the
pertinacious humming of unnumbered mosquitoes will banish sleep from his
eyelids. When thirsty with a long ride in the scorching sun over some boundless
reach of prairie, he comes at length to a pool of water, and alights to drink,
he discovers a troop of young tadpoles sporting in the bottom of his cup. Add to
this, that all the morning the hot sun beats upon him with sultry, penetrating
heat, and that, with provoking regularity, at about four o'clock in the
afternoon, a thunderstorm rises and drenches him to the skin. Such being the
charms of this favored region, the reader will easily conceive the extent of our
gratification at learning that for a week we had been journeying on the wrong
track! How this agreeable discovery was made I will presently explain.
One day, after a protracted morning's ride, we stopped to rest at noon upon
the open prairie. No trees were in sight; but close at hand, a little dribbling
brook was twisting from side to side through a hollow; now forming holes of
stagnant water, and now gliding over the mud in a scarcely perceptible current,
among a growth of sickly bushes, and great clumps of tall rank grass. The day
was excessively hot and oppressive. The horses and mules were rolling on the
prairie to refresh themselves, or feeding among the bushes in the hollow. We had
dined; and Delorier, puffing at his pipe, knelt on the grass, scrubbing our
service of tin plate. Shaw lay in the shade, under the cart, to rest for a
while, before the word should be given to "catch up." Henry Chatillon, before
lying down, was looking about for signs of snakes, the only living things that
he feared, and uttering various ejaculations of disgust, at finding several
suspicious- looking holes close to the cart. I sat leaning against the wheel in
a scanty strip of shade, making a pair of hobbles to replace those which my
contumacious steed Pontiac had broken the night before. The camp of our friends,
a rod or two distant, presented the same scene of lazy tranquillity.
"Hallo!" cried Henry, looking up from his inspection of the snake- holes,
"here comes the old captain!"
The captain approached, and stood for a moment contemplating us in silence.
"I say, Parkman," he began, "look at Shaw there, asleep under the cart, with
the tar dripping off the hub of the wheel on his shoulder!"
At this Shaw got up, with his eyes half opened, and feeling the part
indicated, he found his hand glued fast to his red flannel shirt.
"He'll look well when he gets among the squaws, won't he?" observed the
captain, with a grin.
He then crawled under the cart, and began to tell stories of which his stock
was inexhaustible. Yet every moment he would glance nervously at the horses. At
last he jumped up in great excitement. "See that horse! There--that fellow just
walking over the hill! By Jove; he's off. It's your big horse, Shaw; no it
isn't, it's Jack's! Jack! Jack! hallo, Jack!" Jack thus invoked, jumped up and
stared vacantly at us.
"Go and catch your horse, if you don't want to lose him!" roared the captain.
Jack instantly set off at a run through the grass, his broad pantaloons
flapping about his feet. The captain gazed anxiously till he saw that the horse
was caught; then he sat down, with a countenance of thoughtfulness and care.
"I tell you what it is," he said, "this will never do at all. We shall lose
every horse in the band someday or other, and then a pretty plight we should be
in! Now I am convinced that the only way for us is to have every man in the camp
stand horse-guard in rotation whenever we stop. Supposing a hundred Pawnees
should jump up out of that ravine, all yelling and flapping their buffalo robes,
in the way they do? Why, in two minutes not a hoof would be in sight." We
reminded the captain that a hundred Pawnees would probably demolish the
horse-guard, if he were to resist their depredations.
"At any rate," pursued the captain, evading the point, "our whole system is
wrong; I'm convinced of it; it is totally unmilitary. Why, the way we travel,
strung out over the prairie for a mile, an enemy might attack the foremost men,
and cut them off before the rest could come up."
"We are not in an enemy's country, yet," said Shaw; "when we are, we'll
travel together."
"Then," said the captain, "we might be attacked in camp. We've no sentinels;
we camp in disorder; no precautions at all to guard against surprise. My own
convictions are that we ought to camp in a hollow square, with the fires in the
center; and have sentinels, and a regular password appointed for every night.
Besides, there should be vedettes, riding in advance, to find a place for the
camp and give warning of an enemy. These are my convictions. I don't want to
dictate to any man. I give advice to the best of my judgment, that's all; and
then let people do as they please."
We intimated that perhaps it would be as well to postpone such burdensome
precautions until there should be some actual need of them; but he shook his
head dubiously. The captain's sense of military propriety had been severely
shocked by what he considered the irregular proceedings of the party; and this
was not the first time he had expressed himself upon the subject. But his
convictions seldom produced any practical results. In the present case, he
contented himself, as usual, with enlarging on the importance of his
suggestions, and wondering that they were not adopted. But his plan of sending
out vedettes seemed particularly dear to him; and as no one else was disposed to
second his views on this point, he took it into his head to ride forward that
afternoon, himself.
"Come, Parkman," said he, "will you go with me?"
We set out together, and rode a mile or two in advance. The captain, in the
course of twenty years' service in the British army, had seen something of life;
one extensive side of it, at least, he had enjoyed the best opportunities for
studying; and being naturally a pleasant fellow, he was a very entertaining
companion. He cracked jokes and told stories for an hour or two; until, looking
back, we saw the prairie behind us stretching away to the horizon, without a
horseman or a wagon in sight.
"Now," said the captain, "I think the vedettes had better stop till the main
body comes up."
I was of the same opinion. There was a thick growth of woods just before us,
with a stream running through them. Having crossed this, we found on the other
side a fine level meadow, half encircled by the trees; and fastening our horses
to some bushes, we sat down on the grass; while, with an old stump of a tree for
a target, I began to display the superiority of the renowned rifle of the back
woods over the foreign innovation borne by the captain. At length voices could
be heard in the distance behind the trees.
"There they come!" said the captain: "let's go and see how they get through
the creek."
We mounted and rode to the bank of the stream, where the trail crossed it. It
ran in a deep hollow, full of trees; as we looked down, we saw a confused crowd
of horsemen riding through the water; and among the dingy habiliment of our
party glittered the uniforms of four dragoons.
Shaw came whipping his horse up the back, in advance of the rest, with a
somewhat indignant countenance. The first word he spoke was a blessing fervently
invoked on the head of R., who was riding, with a crest-fallen air, in the rear.
Thanks to the ingenious devices of the gentleman, we had missed the track
entirely, and wandered, not toward the Platte, but to the village of the Iowa
Indians. This we learned from the dragoons, who had lately deserted from Fort
Leavenworth. They told us that our best plan now was to keep to the northward
until we should strike the trail formed by several parties of Oregon emigrants,
who had that season set out from St. Joseph's in Missouri.
In extremely bad temper, we encamped on this ill-starred spot; while the
deserters, whose case admitted of no delay rode rapidly forward. On the day
following, striking the St. Joseph's trail, we turned our horses' heads toward
Fort Laramie, then about seven hundred miles to the westward.
Full text of The Oregon Trail at the University of Virginia
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