It was the third day after the halt upon crossing of the South Pass; now in camp by a lake at the head of the New Fork of the Green River, northwest from the South Pass, the lieutenant had decided to climb the Wind River mountain-chain, to the northeast, and measure the highest peak. Here in the grove of beech-trees amidst which the camp was located the lieutenant fortified by raising a breastwork of logs; in charge of this camp and corral he and Kit Carson left about half the company, under Baptiste Bernier of the Frémont party; and with the other half, provisioned by dried meat, maccaroni and coffee for two days, they set out.
“Wall, boy,” said Kit, in telling off his own party, to the expectant Oliver, “what do you think? Can you make a climb like that, into the snow? You’ll freeze yore moccasins.”
The Carson tanned, sandy face was solemn, but the keen gray eyes were twinkling; for he read Oliver through and through. He knew how hard Oliver wanted.
“I think I could do it,” answered Oliver, hopefully. “I’m not afraid to try.”
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“Better come along then,” bade Kit; and proceeded with his duties.
Oliver went.
One snowy peak of the heavily-wooded, white-crested, sharp-toothed ridge to the northward seemed to stand up above all others. This was accepted by the camp below as being the highest peak of the Wind River Mountains. Some of the men thought it to be one mile, some two miles, some three miles high; and all declared it to be higher than the great James’ or Pike’s Peak which was the landmark northwest of Bent’s Fort.
The South Pass had been crossed during August 8; now early in the morning of August 12 the little party left Camp Bernier (as it was christened, in honor of Baptiste its commander), and upon the best of the hardy mules, with pack animal for the coffeepot and the meat kettle and a few tin cups and the provisions, each member carrying at his saddle a blanket for bedding, headed forth for the great feat.
The first day’s travel conducted amidst a richly verdured country of trees and grass and flowers, secret valleys, rushing streams and gem-like lakes—a constant surprise to Kit Carson and all, who never had penetrated here before. In late afternoon were passed wonderful lakes which poured one into another by cataracts; and through a silent level forest, grassed like a city lawn, the explorers, riding on, camped in a[113] dark, rock-and-pine surrounded little gulch—“the heart,” as William New expressed, “o’ nowhere.”
“Never white nor Injun war in this region before,” he asserted, with wag of his shaggy head. “This chile ain’t afraid; but if these hyar mountains air ha’nted an’ the spirits air up to trap, they got a chance to get us, sure!”
However, Oliver saw Kit Carson wink at the lieutenant and Lucien Maxwell, as the speech reached them, and it was evident that these three leaders did not believe the Indian tales. Consequently he himself decided that the reports of “evil spirits” awaiting were all bosh.
Kit Carson pointed through the little gulch.
“Thar’s our peak,” he said.
In the gulch defile dusk had gathered; but outside still lingered the twilight, and beyond the end of the gulch lifted, massy in the near distance, a snow summit.
There was space for only a few stars at a time to peer down into the narrow gulch; but the camp fires lighted redly the jumbled rocks and the crowded circle of pines like blanketed Indians of heroic size. Guarded by fires, and stars, and courage, and by One who was nearer than the fires, farther than the stars, and mightier than courage, here through the chill black night of the deepest wilds safely slept the camp.
In the morning start was made early. The ride onward, up a long valley which flowed with springs and bloomed with many flowers, promised success.[114] And when they reached the head of the valley, they found themselves at a fair little lake, set about with asters, in a green lawn bordered by rocks and pines.
At the edge the park fell away into a wide cross-draw rippled by ridges; and across it, apparently not more than a mile, rose again the Wind River Range surmounted by the high peak.
The lieutenant and Kit Carson determined that now the mules and the baggage might be left and that the draw should be crossed and the climb beyond be made afoot. Accordingly, here in this beautiful little basin was stationed a “mule camp”; here were left the provisions and blankets and coats, with two or three men in charge. Afoot the others pushed on, in their flannel shirt-sleeves—for so near seemed the snowy range that they felt certain of climbing it and returning before dark! Lieutenant Frémont carried tucked inside his shirt an American flag, of special design showing amidst the stars an eagle clutching peace-pipe and arrows. Such a token the Indians could understand. This flag the lieutenant wished to plant on the loftiest spire of the West.
This proved a very deceptive valley. Those ridges which looked upon from above had appeared to be ripples, when inspected from below were gigantic breakers, 500 feet high, frequently separated by chasms. Therefore the pace was up, and down, and back and around, and each task achieved brought but another as hard or harder. Rocks fell, waters seen and unseen[115] roared, the difficulties increased, and almost might the wayfarer believe, like Trapper William New, that the Wind River Mountains were held under the rule of evil spirits.
By four o’clock the line of bristling snow-seamed crests looked as far ahead as ever. Now torn and scarred and hungry and exhausted, the party came together upon the sandy beach of another little lake, amidst the innumerable ridges. Here upon a broad flat rock above the lake they camped for the night.
Just beyond the lake and camp all trees ceased, and around about were snow patches. The sun sank, behind the dark ridges; an icy breeze sprang up, soughing through the few pines, mingling its song with the weird chant of a waterfall emptying into the lake below.
The lieutenant was suddenly stricken with a violent attack of headache and stomach-sickness. They decided that this was due to climbing up and down among the rocks, and to the lack of food and warmth. The breeze blew away the heat of the fires, the moon arose and seemed to make things colder, the granite rock was hard and chill, they had nothing to eat and no coverings; and altogether it was an uncomfortable camp.
Nobody complained, of course. They were men, and explorers. Kit Carson said that he had been in worse places, and afterwards had been in better places, and that he expected to be in better places again! This was a cheering thought.
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Oliver curled in the lee of a fire, so that a little of the heat might blow across him, and occasionally he dozed. Whenever he awakened, he saw the grim, whitish line of pinnacles, cold and still in the moonlight, as if watching and waiting for their next efforts.
Early in the morning, “not being delayed by any breakfast,” as remarked Lieutenant Frémont (who was better), they set out again.
Now the enchanter guarding the magic pinnacles doubled his spells against them. Steeper were the ridges, sharper were the precipices, more loudly roared the waters, ice and snow were strewn underfoot. Mr. Preuss slipped and slid head over heels down an ice-field into the bristling rocks at the bottom. But he was only bruised. Clément Lambert and Joseph Descoteaux were taken ill and must lie down in their tracks. Lieutenant Frémont also was taken ill, again, in head and stomach; and halting sent his barometer on to Mr. Preuss the plucky German, who was ahead. Mr. Preuss must proceed to the high peak and see what the barometer said when there. But Mr. Preuss found himself cut off from the peak by a precipice or canyon. Kit Carson, trying to reach Mr. Preuss and help him, discovered a trail to the main divide, and climbing a knob or butte saw the high peak, which they had been calling the “Snow Peak,” still a thousand feet above him!
So back he came, and they all went into council. Lieutenant Frémont seemed to be growing worse;[117] Clément Lambert and Joseph Descoteaux were very weak; but nobody was ready to quit. Instead, Basil Lajeunesse with a party of four was despatched back to the Mule Camp, to bring up mules and provisions and blankets. How the mules would get through none might say; but they would, for mules always did. Wherever a man could go, a mule could go.
“Hadn’t you better go along back, too, boy?” asked Kit Carson, of Oliver; and Oliver shook his head.
“I’m all right; I’d rather stay,” he said, trying not to let his teeth chatter.
With Lieutenant Frémont very ill and scarcely able to stagger, they returned to the camp on the rock above the lake, and waite............