A History of Oregon, 1792-1849. Gray William Henry
Whitman with his wagon, notwithstanding all parties and persons, except the Indians, advised him to leave it. He was literally alone in his determination to get his old wagon through on to the waters of the Columbia, and to the mission station that might be established no one knew where. The man that says Dr. Whitman is fickle-minded, knows nothing of his character and less of his moral worth.
Next day, all camps, including those of the Flathead and Nez Percé Indians, were “raised,” as the expression is, and on we went; the Hudson’s Bay Company and mission camp, or caravan, together, Dr. Whitman in charge of his wagon, with some Indians to help him. They seemed rather to get the Doctor’s ideas of this chick-chick-shauile-kai-kash (iron rolling carriage), and hunted a road around the bad places, and helped him along when he required their assistance. Our route was nearly the same as the great overland route to Bear River and Soda Springs.
Two days before we reached Soda Springs one of the mission party became quite unwell, and unable to sit upon his horse. He was left, at his own request, on a little stream, while the caravan passed on some six miles further to camp. After remaining alone and resting some two hours, The Lawyer and an Indian companion of his came along, picked up the sick man, put him upon a strong horse, got on behind him, and held him on till they reached camp. Dr. Whitman gave him a prescription, which relieved him, so that next day he was able to continue the journey with the camp. This transaction has always been a mystery to the writer. The place where the sick man was left was a beautiful stream, and a good place for a camp for the whole caravan. The sick man was wholly unable to proceed; did not ask the caravan to stop and bury him, but simply informed them he could proceed no further; his strength was gone; they could leave him to die alone if they chose. A word from McLeod would have stopped the caravan. Should the mission party remain with him? He said: “No; go on with the caravan and leave me; you will be compelled to seek your own safety in continuing with the caravan; I am but an individual; leave me to my fate.” He requested a cup that he might get some water from the stream, close to the side of which he wished them to place him. Dr. Whitman remained with him as long as was deemed safe for him, and passed on to overtake the caravan. The Lawyer and his companion came along two or three hours afterward, picked up the dying or dead man (for aught the caravan knew), and brought him into camp. My impression of this transaction has always been that McLeod wished to get rid of this young American, who was then in the service of the mission party.
“That d – d Indian, Lawyer,” as the Hudson’s Bay Company’s men called him, by his kindness of heart and determination not to let an American die if he could help it, defeated the implied wish of these Hudson’s Bay Company’s men in this case. The Lawyer says the sick man vomited all the way into camp, and called for water, which his young man got for him.
From the Soda Springs the Indian camps went north into the mountains for buffalo.
The Hudson’s Bay Company and mission party continued their journey through the spurs of the mountains over on to the waters of the Portneuf to Fort Hall. It is due to Dr. Whitman to say that notwithstanding this was the most difficult route we had to travel, yet he persevered with his old wagon, without any particular assistance; from Soda Springs to Fort Hall his labor was immense, yet he overcame every difficulty and brought it safe through. I have thrice since traveled the same route, and confess I can not see how he did it, notwithstanding I was with him, and know he brought the wagon through.
Fort Hall, in 1836, was a stockade, made of cotton-wood logs, about twelve feet long, set some two feet in the ground, with a piece of timber pinned near the top, running entirely around the stockade, which was about sixty feet square. The stores and quarters for the men were built inside with poles, brush, grass, and dirt for covering, stamped down so as to partially shed rain, and permit the guards to be upon the tops of the quarters and see over the top of the stockade. It is situated on an extensive level plain or flat, with spurs of the Rocky Mountains on the east, at the distance of thirty miles, high ranges of barren sage hills on the south, some eight miles distant. As you leave the flat level bottom formed by the Snake and Portneuf rivers, all along its banks it is skirted with a fine growth of cotton-wood, relieving the landscape and forming a beautiful contrast to the high barren plains beyond. To the west is the valley of the Snake River, from thirty to sixty miles wide, a high, sandy, and barren sage plain. This valley is bounded on the south by a low range of hills, running from northwest to southeast. On the north side of Fort Hall is an extensive high plain; this plain is, from Fort Hall, across it, full forty miles. The only objects that meet the eye on this extensive plain are three high basaltic buttes or mountains thrown up near its center. At the foot of the one a little to the south and west of the two rounder and equally prominent ones, is a fine spring of water. In 1837, the writer, in his explorations of the country, was anxious to learn more than was then known of the character of this great basin in the mountains, having the year previous entered it by way of Soda Springs and Portneuf. This time he came into it from the north by Codie’s Defile, and concluded he would take a straight course and pass between the two northeastern buttes, and reach Snake River near Fort Hall. His Indian guide objected; still, as we had good horses, and were traveling light, we took the precaution to water our animals before entering this plain. We were twenty-six hours on horseback, having stopped but six hours to rest; we tied our horses to the sage brush, to prevent them from leaving us to hunt for water. Not a drop did we find on our route till we reached Snake River, thirty-two hours from the time we left running water on the north and west sides of this plain. In our course we found nothing but barren, basaltic rock, sand, and sage. It is possible, had we turned to the right or left, we might have found water, but I saw nothing that gave indications that water was near; on the contrary, I noticed that the fine stream at which we watered our animals sank into the rocks, leaving no marks of a channel to any great distance. In fact, my impression was, after twelve hours’ ride, that it was useless to spend our time and strength to hunt for water, and kept our course. Jaded and fatigued as our animals were, as we approached Snake River every nerve seemed strung to the utmost; our animals became frantic and unmanageable; they rushed forward at full speed and plunged into the first water they saw. Fortunately for them and the riders, the water was only about three feet deep; water appeared to be preferred to air; they plunged their heads deep in and held their breaths till their thirst was relieved.
This plain is bounded on the north and east by spurs of the Rocky and Bear River mountains; on the south and west by the high plains of Portneuf and Snake River valleys. There is a range of mountains commencing on the northwest of this plain, extending west and north along Snake River, dividing the waters of the Snake and La Rivière aux Bois (the wooded river.) This whole plain has the appearance of having been one vast lake of lava, spread over the whole surrounding country, appearing to have issued from the three basaltic mountains in the midst of it. I noticed, as we passed between the two, which were probably not more than ten miles apart, that we appeared to be on higher rock than in any direction around us. From this fact I concluded that the three must have been pouring out their volcanic lava at the same time and ceased together, leaving the country comparatively level. The small amount of soil found upon the surface, as well as the barrenness of the rock, indicated no distant period of time when this volcanic plain had been formed.
At Fort Hall we had another overhauling and lightening of baggage. The Doctor was advised to take his wagon apart and pack it, if he calculated to get it through the terrible cañons and deep, bottomless creeks we must pass in going down Snake Plains. Miles Goodyear, the boy we picked up two days from Fort Leavenworth, who had been assigned to assist the Doctor, was determined, if the Doctor took his wagon any further, to leave the company. He was the only one that could be spared to assist in this wild, and, as all considered, crazy undertaking. Miles was furnished a couple of horses, and the best outfit the mission party could give him for his services, and allowed to remain or go where he might choose. In his conclusions, he was influenced by the stories he heard about the treatment he might expect should he reach the lower Columbia. His idea of liberty was unlimited. Restraint and obedience to others was what he did not like at home; he would try his fortune in the mountains; he did not care for missionaries, Hudson’s Bay men, nor Indians; he was determined to be his own man, and was allowed to remain at Fort Hall. This loss of manual strength to the mission party compelled the Doctor to curtail his wagon, so he made a cart on two of the wheels, placed the axletree and the other two wheels on his cart, and about the 1st of August, 1836, our camp was again in motion.