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| Image Credit: The Nature Conservancy |
"Ah! not long, bright Sweet Water, did we refrain thy tempting embrace: Thou wert a Lethe to the desert behind; all illusion faded from the delightful realities of thy bath."
--August 1852 Scenes Beyond the Western Border;
and Scenes and Adventures in the Army
"Come, this little episode of fictitious estrangement will but enhance the delightful reality." --Herman Melville, The Confidence-Man
Wert wẽrt The second person singular, indicative and subjunctive moods, imperfect tense, of the verb be. It is formed from were, with the ending -t, after the analogy of wast. Now used only in solemn or poetic style. --fine dictionaryCompare the apostrophe in Mardi to "Orienda," Melville's mythologized Near East:
Oh Orienda! thou wert our East, where first dawned song and science, with Mardi's primal mornings! --Mardi, vol. 2, chapter 64with the Captain's manner of apostrophizing the Sweetwater as the mythical river of forgetfulness:
Ah! not long, bright Sweet Water, did we refrain thy tempting embrace: Thou wert a Lethe to the desert behind; all illusion faded from the delightful realities of thy bath.
--August 1852 Scenes Beyond the Western Border
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| Photo by Tom Rea via WyoHistory |
The beautiful Sweetwater, pure as the ice from which it flows over golden (mica) sands, seems carefully to avoid a blue range of fir-clad mountains, which bounds its wide valley at the south, and cleaves to the primitive rocks―From "Scenes Beyond the Western Border," August 1852 installment:
... certain it is, this merry little river, whose sparkling waters often demurely purl over golden sands, this very coquette of all the mountain offspring, if it ever approaches the fir-clad mountains of soft, inviting blue, turns suddenly back; leaves, too, the grassy bed of the valley, and cleaves to the stern rocks....
"beautiful" revised to "merry little"
"a kind of merry little walk" --Melville's January 20, 1845 letter to his sister, Kate
sparkling added: a favorite adjective to describe water in Melville's writing, for example:
"streams of sparkling water" --Encantadas Sketch Fourth
"flows" changed to "demurely purl"
"Down each of these little valleys
flows a clear stream, here and there assuming the form of a
slender cascade, then stealing invisibly along until it burst upon
the sight again in larger and more noisy waterfalls, and at last
demurely wanders along to the sea." --Typee
"watered by purling brooks" --Typee, chapter 2
grassy added
Oh, grassy glades! --Moby-Dick, The Gilder
the grassy billows --John Marr
"primitive" revised to "stern"
"... some stern thing of antediluvian art." --Herman Melville's PierreMelville's use of "stern" with "antediluvian' in the Enceladus chapter from Pierre makes a fascinating association in view of the revision from "primitive rocks" to "stern rocks" in Scenes Beyond the Western Border. Melville's narrator also is describing remarkable rocks, and one in particular named "Enceladus" after the ancient Titan. Melville's expression "stern thing of antediluvian art" involves the same mental or conceptual association of "primitive" and "stern" evident in the 1852 revision.
In mid field again you paused among the recumbent sphinx-like shapes thrown off from the rocky steep. You paused; fixed by a form defiant, a form of awfulness. You saw Enceladus the Titan, the most potent of all the giants, writhing from out the imprisoning earth;—turbaned with up-born moss he writhed; still, though armless, resisting with his whole striving trunk, the Pelion and the Ossa hurled back at him ;—turbaned with upborn moss he writhed; still turning his unconquerable front toward that majestic mount eternally in vain assailed by him, and which, when it had stormed him off, had heaved his undoffable incubus upon him, and deridingly left him there to bay out his ineffectual howl.
To Pierre this wondrous shape had always been a thing of interest, though hitherto all its latent significance had never fully and intelligibly smitten him. In his earlier boyhood a strolling company of young collegian pedestrians had chanced to light upon the rock; and, struck with its remarkableness, had brought a score of picks and spades, and dug round it to unearth it, and find whether indeed it were a demoniac freak of nature, or some stern thing of antediluvian art.
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| Image Credit: Stone Structures |
EDITORS' CORRESPONDENCE.
―――
PLATTE RIVER, May 30, 1845.OREGON, HO !
Where is the West? The Celestial Empire will one day be called the West, else in Oregon they will have no West.
Three squadrons of the 1st Dragoons (the others are in motion far and wide) marched from Fort Leavenworth the 18th instant, under the immediate command of Colonel S. W. KEARNEY. A right pleasant company are we; all joyously bent upon ascending the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains, and grateful to our Colonel for resigning the actual power of his department command and the ease of St. Louis, to place himself at our head. In thus promoting our welfare, he eminently advances national interests; safely leads on the thousands of rough and hardy frontiersmen to lay the foundations of a new empire on the other ocean; the best diplomatists of us all, they will checkmate the presumptuous claims of Britain.
Presumptuous claims, indeed. A royal claim, forsooth! to the most distant portion of this virgin world of ours! We will plant our standard on the ocean verge, and administer the caveat of the rifle!
The world was given to MAN, to subdue and enjoy; and not to kings—royal puppets—to quarrel for. Away, then, with the trivial conventional claims of the elder diplomacy—the inventions of the Pope and the Don, and other palace slaves! We will occupy, use, and possess.
Such expeditions as this will prove an ample protection to the migration, and the only one now practicable. Intermediate posts, unnecessary at best, could only be established at an immensely disproportionate expenditure. Even fuel could not be obtained in this vast grassy desert.
On a bright morning, turning our backs on that lovely spot, Fort Leavenworth, the ties and comforts of home, we set forth on a march of 2,500 miles; duty, enterprise, and the excitement of change will strew our paths with flowers. We followed for more than two days the trails of previous marches, guiding us through the intricate and broken but picturesque grounds which border the Missouri. Right beautiful scenery it is—broken but verdant; with its many irregular vales, with the rich dark forest tree; in the distance, the bold blue highlands of the great river―itself revealed in far off silver spots. The third day we struck out boldly into the almost untrodden prairies, bearing quite to the west. The sixth day, having marched about ninety miles, we turned more to the south, crossing a vast, elevated, and nearly level plain, turning its branches on either side into two branches of the Blue river. Thus, without an obstacle for fifteen miles, we reached and encamped on its banks. We had the company of an afternoon rain, which lasted us for the night. Thus "to sleep" wet is "perchance to dream" indeed for young campaigners. It was just bad enough to elicit the jest of "seeing the elephant"; but an amateur, who, in addition, here lost a horse, was supposed to have considered it a poor joke.
We fortunately struck the Blue, where the pioneers soon made a ford practicable for our wagons. This is a difficult undertaking, to lead three hundred heavily armed men for four months beyond communications. It is not thus the European marches or goes to war. The foresight of much experience is requisite. Accordingly, we are incumbered with seventeen wagons, although the rations are greatly shortened; cattle are driven, and buffalo much depended on.
The seventh day, leaving the Blue, and turning to the northwest, between two tributaries from that direction, we soon espied on a distant ridge the white wagon tops of the Oregon emigrants—mere dim specks on the horizon; we gradually approached, and in a few hours met.
Here was a vast thoroughfare—a broad and well-worn road—better than a macadamized one; it is the longest and best natural road in the world. Endless seemed the procession of wagons; mostly light, and laden rather with family goods and children than heavier wares, for teams averaging perhaps two yokes of oxen. We inquired, and found that we had seen a mere rear-guard; and some three hundred other wagons, or families, were said to be in advance. This was cause to tremble for our sole resource for forage. The grass is backward and full short at best; and these Romulus-ites—these foster-children of the Missouri bear (see the state arms), we knew, take vast herds of cattle, like the patriarchs of old; and we cannot say, like Abraham to Lot, "if thou will take the left hand I will take the right."
Having progressed about twenty miles we turned off to a small branch of the Blue, where we found that our friends in advance had left their mark. Here we had a frost.
This little creek has made a section of about twenty feet through a stratum of yellow adhesive clay. At its foot was found a mammoth tooth, of which I obtained possession; the roots are nearly all gone; but, exclusive of them, it is two and a half inches long, two broad, but three-fourths of an inch thick on one side, and only one-fourth on the other. My guess is that it is the smallest grinder of a herbiferous animal. Can there be much doubt that the skeleton might there be found in situ, to borrow a mineralogical expression?
On the 26th we were off betimes, highly desirous to "head" the very leading "captain" of this vast migration; for we fear that, worse than the myriads of locusts which we saw east of the Blue, they will make a clean sweep of the grass at all the spots where it is necessary to encamp for water.
After a very long march a camp-ground was sought at a small branch, fringed as usual with small tress trees—which are an unerring indication of water in the prairies; but the grass was found so backward and well-grazed, that we were forced to countermarch and retrace our steps above half a mile to a low spot, where it was to be found. Then had our soldiers, weary with the long slow march, in addition to their usual toil of grooming horses, pitching tents, cooking, &c. (making their extemporaneous settlement in the wilderness) to go afoot this long half mile and load themselves with wood and water. Such is a peace campaign; but cheerfulness makes all light. We had passed at noon a beautiful creek, with one of those island groves in the green ocean of prairie which are so refreshing to every sense—in whose cool recesses birds do congregate and sing musical greetings: delightful they are, with their cool sparkling brooks, and, pleasing most from the contrast to the hot bare plains around, are of the nature of, but more natural and sweet than, the rus in urbe. After an hour's enjoyment we part, perhaps forever, with these friendly spots, and encamp, mayhap, in an inhospitable waste. Such is the type of a soldier's life. Indeed it gives it all its zest; the excitement of change and uncertainties, the unlooked-for pleasure, and the difficulty overcome.
I observed to-day with pain poor women trudging along the weary road. Three weeks ago they parted from every comfort; severed the ties of kindred, of civilization (and of country, it may be said), and their journey is scarce begun―a poor 150 miles, with 1,500 more before them! What privations are here; what exposure to stormy weather, cooking out of doors; they must unsex themselves, and struggle with all the sterner toils which civilization has happily cast upon the harder and rougher male. Is it possible that many of them willingly follow thus their life's partners for all the "worse"? That old woman of sixty, whom I have often seen dispensing kindly the comforts and joys of the homestead fireside, does she willingly forswear the repose which her years, her virtues, her labors, and her sex entitle her to? And that child—that little boy, who, barefooted, limps along, holding for assistance to the hinder axletree of that weak old wagon—is his case to be pitied? Ah! but he may one day be the "gentleman from Oregon," who arrived in last night's cars, and to-day takes his seat in his arm-chair in the Capitol.
But there was a wedding last night! That damsel takes things coolly as they come. She is a fine girl for a new country. Beware, ye Suckers, after the romantic! Cry not Eureka! and straightway with bold imagination found a love story with intricate plot of a maid of the mountain, who was wooed and won by a bold horseman of the prairie desert, and, scorning silken dalliance and trifling forms, yielded her hand, possibly, over the arching neck of a prancing steed; for ruthlessly I shall wave my wand of truth, and presto! the fabric will vanish. Thus, then it fell out. A driver of oxen, a homespun matter-of-fact lad—not even a "leather stocking," but clad in dirty woollen—having for some time observed with longing eyes a fair neighbor—that is, for three nights they had encamped on the same stream—a strapping lass, who was the possessor of the extra attraction of a beautiful red blanket—that is, an extra blanket, and he, all weary and cold of nights (and that accursed frost!) with nothing between him and the rugged earth but a worn and well-singed blanket, thus forlorn and tempted by the splendid dower, and struck, too, with the obvious truth that two can sleep warmer than one—he bluntly proposed; the kind she consented to share his fate and her blanket; and they were wed! Thus clearly a marriage de convenance. I defy all story-tellers to make any thing further of it. But Oregon will surely be peopled in due season.
May 26th, we quitted early our camp-ground, and soon approached that far western and longest branch of the Blue, which seems to fulfill its destiny in leading the Missourians, by its hospitable waters and fuel, in the direct route of their new West; and, having ministered to all his pressing wants, turns him over—the "divide"—to the like friendly offices of the great Platte—in late parlance, the Nebraska, which honest river is thus too desired to stand godfather to a most iniquitous territory, to people which the political hacks of a very late day were willing to break all the last and most binding pledges of their country's faith—her voluntary and most solemn and plain obligations to the congregated remnants of many of the weak, ignorant, and helpless tribes of the red man; and the motives assigned were ridiculous, the assumptions false, the ignorance great.
Approaching this other Blue, from its hill-tops we were struck with the beauty of its vicinity, indented far and deeply with narrow vales of a thousand shapes, their soft green dotted and fringed with the blue-green oaks. After this introduction, the road led us away again on a high plain, where we were for hours out of sight of all earth but grass. But soon we saw before us a long line of wagons, with a vast herd of cattle. Approaching and passing as rapidly as we might, we learned that several such companies were some days gone on. The cattle were grazing like buffalo on the prairie, and I estimated them at their real number of one thousand; and then I was convinced, by comparison, that from one spot, by turning my head, I had seen at least two hundred thousand buffaloes.
We descended at evening into the wide savannas of the Blue to make our night camp.
A few hours after I had written the last sentence, a hurricane passed over the camp. No night was ever darker; the rain fell in torrents; many tents were prostrated. I cannot refrain from recording the impressions made on my mind in the moments of uneasiness and awe by this storm, the most remarkable in its sounds I ever heard. I imagined that vast multitudes of the wild horse and buffalo rushed madly over the earth, following some extinct mammoth animal revisiting its ancient haunts, and uttering at each moment a bellowing roar! The furious wind was sounding in the canvass of many tents; the incessant thunders strangely played a sonorous bass accompaniment.
Next morning a bright sun set us all to rights by 9 o'clock. We still ascended this Western Blue; crossing now and then the feet of the hills protruding into the bottoms; at times winding through some great ravine or sand-gully, washed by the rain of ages. The little river was now a turbid, rushing stream; its bottoms, a fourth of a mile wide, begin sensibly to lessen; the grass is very deficient from drought, but, turning short down from a high bluff, at the camping hour we fortunately found a sweet little valley and bottom, where the grazing was good, and was as fresh and beautiful as late showers and green groves could make it.
May 29.―To-day, just as yesterday, we marched some twenty-two miles, following the stream, passing near night a small emigrant party. When desirous of making the night halt, we found that grass was scarcely to be had far or near; and, after a long search, the squadrons were necessarily dispersed over a half mile. This day a cool wind has blown freshly from the north, pure and invigorating, such as it is a pleasure to breathe. The hills are diluvial—mere sand, with a soil that scarcely supports a thin sod. As the hills break off, they are washed by the rains into fantastical shapes of white sand that prettily contrast the surrounding verdure. Many slopes beyond the stream are clothed with a tall old growth of grass exactly resembling ripe wheat. Adjoining are weed stubbles, with dead trees, which, together, are the picture of corn-fields with girdled trees. These surround green hills and meadows, groves and shrubbery, which we easily imagine conceal a mansion-house. Such beauties, to be seen on the stream in a day's ride, must deceive no one, for beyond all is barren; and the vast territory, between the frontier and the mountains, has not ten trees of all sorts to the square mile, and is, much of it, little better than a sand desert; even game is not found.
Last night we had an arrival of an officer of the Topographical Engineers, with astronomical instruments. We shall thus be enabled, in our far-reaching expedition, to make important additions to a geographical knowledge, so much needed, of these semi-deserts.―The longitude, for instance, of Jackson Grove, has been in debate between ours and the Texan government. That is the point where Capt. Cooke, of the First Dragoons, performed the difficult and disagreeable duty of disarming a large force of Texan rovers, with the name of troops, whom he surprised within our frontier, and pursued across the Arkansas river, but at a point, as he believed, east of the boundary line.
Marching later than usual this morning, there was no expectation of leaving the Blue; but, after six miles, we found that we were ascending the elevated and apparently nearly level plain (called a "divide"), where, in twenty-three miles, no water could be found, unless pools of the late rain.
We passed, midway, at such a pool, an emigrant party of twenty-four wagons. These, as a specimen, were ascertained to be composed of thirty-one men, thirty-two women, and sixty-one children; they had two hundred and twelve head of cattle. We also met, on the ridge, Pawnees with some two-hundred horse-loads of dried buffalo meat, which they were conducting to their village, perhaps seventy miles below, on the Platte. This is a temporary supply. After getting their corn fairly under way the whole tribe will move off on their "summer hunt."
We arrived on the hills of sand bordering the remarkable valley of the Platte near sundown. At our feet lay two miles of level savanna; the waters of the broad river were nearly concealed by Grand Island, which is sixty miles long, and, like all others, well wooded. It is a rare thing to find a tree on either shore of the Platte. It was a beautiful sight. The squadrons winding along a gentle curve, two abreast, over the fresh well-washed young grass, which the slant rays of a clear sun made brilliant. The horses had a gallant bearing: fifty blacks led, fifty grays followed, then fifty bays, next fifty chestnuts, and fifty blacks closed the procession; the arms glittered, the very horse-shoes shone twinkling on the moving feet. It was a gay picture, set in emeralds. Just then a hare, of the large black-eared species found here, bounded away from the head of the column, pursued by a swift dog. It was a beautiful chase for a mile over the greensward, which we halted to witness, but the hare proved the fleeter animal.
The broad valley of the Platte is nearly level, rising but from two to five or six feet above the ordinary height of the water. It is composed of sand, through which the river spreads to its level. There is no rising above the universal flatness, which resembles the Delaware near its mouth. You have a horizon of green meadows, and frequently, too, of water. We had marched two hundred and fifty miles (in part as explorers) in twelve days.
May 30.―The trumpet sounds of reveille called us forth this morning, as usual, under arms, and we instantly beheld a scene of beauty and sublimity such as the wanderer over the earth sees now and then when least expected. Above the illimitable plain to the west, dotted with white wagons and vast herds grazing, black clouds, tossed by a gale, came thundering on wrathfully, as the lightning leaped from mass to mass, and from beneath the sympathetic river rolled forth in angry waves of dusty hue. To the east the sun was rising, dispensing a rosy glory over the calm and fleecy cloud-mists of his hemisphere, which was caught and reflected back by the dancing waves of the broad waters. It seemed a rebellion of the Powers of Darkness against the Spirit of Light. Then three hundred men uprose the midst upon the placid green, the sun shone forth, and the threatening storm melted into rain. This was a wondrous reality, breaking, all unprepared, at early morning, on eyes that had been closed the still night long, and on minds just roused from dreams of quiet home-scenes.
Now, as I write, all is reversed: the sun sinks serenely on the western wave, while, in the east, a dark cloud mutters a menace of its power in the coming night. Sad types of the world's doings, and the busy varying warfare of good and evil. To-day we rest.
SKETCHES OF THE GREAT WEST.
The following communication will prove very acceptable to all lovers of picturesque landscape, and curious natural history. The scenes which are described are singularly striking, and the description itself is expressed with great beauty and force. We would advise our female readers, especially, to peruse it, because they will admire and enjoy it.
NATIONAL INSTITUTE.
Letter from Captain Phil. St. George Cooke, of the 1st regiment United States dragoons, describing the recent expedition to the Rocky mountains, of the dragoons, under command of Col. S. W. Kearny; and the various objects of natural history collected, during it, for the National Institute at Washington.
FORT LEAVENWORTH, Sept. 9, 1845.
DEAR SIR: I have lately returned from the expedition to the Rocky mountains, conducted by Col. S. W. Kearney, 1st dragoons. It may be expected of the officers who have thus passed over thousands of miles of our remote territory, some of which has been but little explored by men of science, that they would contribute somewhat to the stores of knowledge which it is the object of the National Institute to accumulate. Certainly there was manifested by almost every individual a zealous disposition to acquire and preserve specimens in many departments of natural history; but, in truth, a great difficulty with all has been the extraordinary speed with which we have passed over the whole ground. This will be realized, when I mention that we marched twenty-one hundred miles in ninety-nine days, or about twenty-one miles a day for the whole period. The horses, carrying the burden of the dragoon and his heavy equipment, and subsisting exclusively upon a very scanty and precarious grazing, is itself, perhaps, the most extraordinary fact in natural history which will be established by our labors.
The geography of those regions is very little known. A man of science, after making a hurried tour through an inhospitable wilderness, will be afterward strongly tempted, if he make a map, to give it an air of finish; and if he guess not, or take common reports for sufficient data, will probably copy some old authority. A young officer of the topographical engineers accompanied the expedition; and having passed through districts, unexplored by even the indefatigable Frémont, it is believed his report will shed important light upon that terra incognita.
We were agreeably surprised to find beautiful and varied scenery upon the Platte river, but particularly on the North fork. A great level alluvial valley, resembling rather in extent the flats bordering an ocean, without mountain or grove, promises little; but in the river are islands beautifully wooded, and its shallow bed is so vast and straight, as frequently to bound the horizon with water, on which the sun is seen to rise and set, just as at sea; and the bluffs, though not lofty, are often of a white marl, or sand, so soft as to be moulded, at the sport of the elements, into fantastic shapes, which are dotted and relieved by cedars and pines. Over these features a prevailing mirage―arising, probably, from great heat and rapid evaporation―like a gauze mantle, throws and additional charm; and often, by optical illusion, disposes them in shapes of startling and exquisite beauty.
Not far below Fort Laramie we encamped on the river bank, opposite the picturesque white lodges of a band of Sioux. With the easy fearlessness of good faith, they soon crossed over to our camp. They are fine-looking and well-dressed Indians―a numerous and nomadic tribe, who are formidable enemies. They despatched runners to several other bands, who met us in council at Fort Laramie.
Here, too, we passed the foremost of the many companies of emigrants. Like the Arabs, with families and flocks, they seem quite at home, and fearless or careless of any danger; in fact, the Indians must have viewed their countless numbers with apprehension and gloomy forebodings.
Beyond Fort Laramie, a hundred and fifty miles, over the sandy desert bordering the North fork, brought us into the remarkable valley of its tributary, the Sweetwater―not through the "Devil's Gate," but a much less lofty portal―a gap in a prairie hill; but the river, as usual, seeks the rocky passage. Whether thus placed in the original world, or whether the chasm is left deeper and clearer by some throe of nature, or whether the water more readily wears away some vein, as of trap-rock, softer than the hill of stubborn gravel and argil; so it is, the river here passes through a vast chasm of vertical granite. I hit perhaps happily, on a point of view, a shoulder of rock about one hundred feet high, almost overhung by a wall three hundred feet higher; and will now only add, that it pleased me more than Harper's Ferry, or Marshall's Pillar, on New river, in Virginia.
The most singular formation of this valley is a range of mountain masses of gray granite, which skirts the Sweetwater in a great part of its course of about 120 miles; bare of soil or vegetation, nothing relieves them from monumental solemnity but the presence of the chamois; these we saw scale the steep rocks, and, when fired on, skim along the rugged surface with a swiftness that was truly wonderful―greater, we are told, than they are capable of on the level prairie. This animal rejoices in several aliases; among which, the most appropriate seems the big-horn, and which it has bestowed on a tributary of the Yellow Stone. Thus, and in other instances, science has not even named the most remarkable objects in our territory. The beautiful Sweetwater, pure as the ice from which it flows over golden (mica) sands, seems carefully to avoid a blue range of fir-clad mountains, which bounds its wide valley at the south, and cleaves to the primitive rocks―such as throw a grandeur over its fountain; indeed, as if in sportiveness, it abandons here and there the inviting bed of the valley, struggles among the mountains of rock, riots along over their rugged feet, broiling with the rocks which time has sent splashing into its face.
On the alluvial banks of this stream grow many willow bushes, and rich grasses abound―several species of buffalo grass, white clover, and a pale-blue grass, which grows in tufts, and abounds throughout the mountain region (where anything but artemesias is produced), is highly esteemed. Rose-bushes in abundance, and strawberries, which were in blossom in July; but it is a narrow strip, and like the Platte, gains praises from contrast; for the whole region is of unmitigated sterility; the leaden-hued artemesias, sage, and Frémontias, reign supreme. It is a desert which supports but little of life; in much of it, the rare Indian, the antelope, or gaunt buffalo, appear as weary travellers, who seek where they may be at rest.
One afternoon, at about one hundred miles from the Pass, having ascended a lofty hill which confines the Sweetwater on our right to a mere chasm between it and mountains of granite, suddenly we beheld the goal of our long labors―of our life-time hopes―the proud summits of our land, which send forth to the east and to the west world-famous rivers, to ennoble and enrich vast regions where freedom and equality establish their irresistible empire. Its majestic outline stood boldly forth among white and rosy clouds, and its lustrous mantle of snow and ice gleamed gloriously in our eyes. When in camp, the telescope revealed, rising above lofty and distant highlands, dim and phantom-like peaks, which seemed to shadow forth, at mysterious distance, an unknown world.
After ascending quite sensibly for many days, we found ourselves in the great gap in the mountains, serving as a broad and easy avenue to the new West, which looks, as to a neighbor, towards that oldest world of all, and our extreme east―Asia.
We were several days very near this lofty Wind-river range, which overlooks the Pass from the north, and witnessed, daily, magnificent thunder-storms. They replenish its fountains with rain and with snow. The Sweetwater, as with a mountain tide, daily rose soon after noon, and fell again as the shades of night hardened the melting snows. In the long days, the twilight ending about 10 o'clock, we suffered from heat, the reflections from white sands and rock; but, at night, we had frequently ice in our tents.
On the 30th of June, and 1st of July, we drank both of the Atlantic and Pacific waters.
At Independence rock, returning, the baggage was sent on by the road (52 miles) to the Platte; and, with the expectation of finding good grass, we turned down the Sweetwater, to follow it and the Platte to the same point. The road passes through a rugged desert of sand and salt plains, and mountains apparently of volcanic origin; but the pass we attempted, we knew was utterly impracticable for wagons.
Having ascended a slope for thirteen miles, we suddenly found ourselves overlooking a river valley of wonderful grandeur and beauty; on the pass, we felt not near so high; beneath and before us was a circular valley, twelve miles wide, and a thousand feet deep, into which the Platte entered by an unseen mountain chasm close to our right, and wound about, as it might, through confused and rocky mountain masses, peaks and precipices of red sand-stone―a chaos of grand elements, to which the bright colors of the rocks, and a profusion of cedars, gave a noble beauty. It was a labyrinth which the river seemed with difficulty to thread. We could see it approach with a gentle curve, as if coquetting with some smooth and inviting gap, where a hill had at least bent its rugged head in homage, and capriciously turn short back and rush into the narrow and rough embrace of a vertical chasm, through the very midst of a lofty mountain. There we could not follow; but often wound, by buffalo paths, over precipices―once among conical peaks of red clay, pointed with shining crystals of fibrous gypsum. After a march of eleven hours, generally leading the horses, we found a little prairie bottom on the river, where we bivouacked, robbing a half-dozen buffaloes of their supper; and truly they might almost have finished what was left for our poor horses.
July 15, we turned our backs on the beautiful Laramie river, and took our course toward the south, among the foot of the Black hills. We found it 160 miles, by a circuitous but smooth route, to the South fork of the Platte. This was a trackless wilderness, where the few small streams (there were unwatered intervals of 26 miles) did not present a sufficiency of grass for the horses. This particular part of our route, where I promised myself much, was the least interesting. About the Chugwater alone―where the stream has cut a deep and abrupt valley through the prevailing formation of soft conglomerate rock―does this lofty table-land of the Piedmont impress a sense of its vast elevation and extent. On that strangely named stream we found a very interesting band of Cheyennes. Their patriarch, with the garrulity of age, and the shadow of an authority which had descended to the active warriors, and even sages of the first and second generations, addressed his two hundred descendants and connexions, and enforced the excellent advice given them by the Colonel; and, with still greater emphasis, acknowledged a liberal largess.
Approaching the South fork, we passed under Long's peak, towering above a long range, all tipped with snow, and caught a view of Pike's peak, 150 miles to the southeast, and said to be more lofty. We crossed near its mouth a beautiful river, four feet deep, called Cache-a-la-poudre. (I propose for it the name Arapaho.)
We ascended the South fork about 40 miles. It is here a most rapid and clear stream, running just at the foot of the Black hills. Here barrenness outdid itself, and was illustrated by many ruins of the traders' sun-dried brick forts; they only inspired us with wonder how man could have attempted to live here, where even security has tempted but very few animals to penetrate its solitudes. Leaving the South fork, we directed our course southeast to a tributary―Cherry creek. This (as usual here) so near its mouth, was as dry as white sand can become under a hot sun. We ascended it two days, towards the great mountain dividing the country between the Platte and the Arkansas. At its head we found a most lovely valley. Here first we found green grass on the hills―first we found the glorious green oak, mingled with lofty pines and firs, through whose leaves the breeze from the pure snows in sight whispered Æolian music. Under these groves were smooth graceful grass slopes, adorned with roses and picturesque rocks; in the midst was a crystal streamlet, purling from its near fountains; in view were the snow-clad mountains, which were a type of seclusion from the world; there, no man or beast had made a mark, and the only living voice was the murmuring of doves. How startling to the presiding nymphs, the apparition of a long procession of mounted warriors!―how dissonant the clamor of rude words, and the clang of arms!
On the highlands we rode through the only forest of the two thousand miles―less than a mile of pine woods. On the southern slopes we found grass, and a soil manifestly superior to that of any district on the waters of the Platte. Two hard days' ride brought us to the Arkansas, about sixty miles above Bent's fort, a very strong and military-looking establishment, where we were most hospitably received. Here we took our last look at Pike's peak, in view of which we had travelled very rapidly for nine days. As at the Wind-river mountains, so, when near this range, and that of Long's peak, we witness, day after day, almost incessant thunderstorms. "Pike's peak" is a mass of naked granite, which has the appearance of a peak only when seen from the east or southeast. It was bare of snow, save in an immense chasm, which seemed to bisect it on the north, far down from its apex; when nearest, however (about ten miles), we saw it snow all over the top. Near different parts of the base of this mountain arise three great rivers―the Arkansas, the Platte (or Nebraska, its south fork), and the Colorado (or Grand river, a branch). From the point where we struck the Arkansas, its course is to the east for 280 miles; there are no trees off the islands below the "crossing," and the country is sterile to Walnut creek (where the buffalo-grass ends, and the buffalo too). From this stream (near which the road leaves the Arkansas), about 230 miles to the Missouri, there is a fine soil and frequent streams, generally well fringed with groves.
Returning, we missed meeting Captain Frémont near Bent's fort. For some purpose, he had made a detour from the river.
Unluckily meeting with no large bodies of the wild, remote tribes of Indians, we saw small parties of several that are very interesting. We found, above Laramie, a woman and two fine children, of eight or ten years, who were perhaps lost, and certainly in a starving condition, having nothing left but the remains of a dog, which they had at first packed, and now were eating nearly raw. She was an Arapaho, and, as such, was spared from the massacre, by the Sioux, of her husband and a party of other Arickaras, who were recently returning from a visit of several years to a kindred tribe, to their native mountains. She was sent to a depot we established near Fort Laramie, and afterward accompanied us south, until we fell in with a party of her nation, to which she returned. Singularly enough, one of this party, when a child, was discovered by Mr. Fitzpatrick, lost in a desert, and at the point of death, and was saved and brought up by that worthy gentleman. He was named Friday, and taught to speak English.
Near Bent's fort, we met a large party of the famous Apache Indians―the terror of the Mexicans―who have overrun and half ruined the province of New Mexico. Its government, in despair, once employed against them a small mercenary force of Americans, and Delaware and Shawnee Indians―fearless adventurers from these small tribes, who are our near neighbors at Fort Leavenworth. They were large, fine-looking men, and, I imagine, could be distinguished by their personal appearance from nearly all our tribes―their physiognomy more resembling the white race. They said they were a war party against the Pawnees. These last steal horses from all the world. All the tribes consequently treat them as enemies. But they seem to meet their losses with stoical indifference, but are forced to keep guards on all the commanding points near their towns. We met a large party of them returning, loaded with buffalo flesh, to their villages on the Platte.
Of the Cumanches―those true Arabs―we saw none; and I never have been able to meet them―except, in truth, in a hostile way; which was a rather distant, though very interesting view.
These Indians depend upon the buffalo for food, raiment, and dwellings. In their rapid decay, what is to become of them? We marched above three weeks―from 60 miles above Laramie to a point as far below Bent's fort―without seeing, from the column, but three buffalo, on one occasion. They themselves use multitudes―a lodge, generally renewed every year, consisting of about twenty skins of cows. But the Indian trade is the great cause of their destruction. This may, in a measure, correct itself, by a failure of receipts; unless the robes rise in value in a degree somewhat corresponding to their rarity―which, I should judge, was not the case with the beaver fur, if I was told the truth at Fort Laramie: they said that, the beaver becoming too scarce to repay the labor, they were not trapped for a number of years, and that now they were again abundant. The command subsisted about six weeks upon buffalo; but I am confident I saw not a fifth so many as I did sixteen years ago.
From near Laramie, to the Pass, we found ourselves among a species of game unknown to us―a bird called, variously, heathcock, blackcock, and sagehen; they were at first mistaken for turkeys, but they most resemble the grouse, like which they are hunted; and their taste is much the same. By a great oversight, we had but very little shot; or more specimens of these, of hares, and other small animals, would have been obtained and preserved. We have a few, which I hope will eventually be sent to you. I took much pains to bring in two of the birds alive; but they seemed untamable, refused food, and soon died. Nearly the same may be said of many other pets―young antelopes, hares, magpies, &c. The obstacles of so rapid a march were insuperable. The hare of the great plains is unknown in the States, but is said to be much like the English. It is thought our swiftest animal; it is as large as a small wolf. I weighed one, which exceeded eight pounds. The black-tailed rabbit is also very large; its ears, six inches long, have a large black spot. The antelope is very numerous on the Platte, and is very tame; the command sometimes subsisted on them for days. It is a beautiful animal, and easily tamed. Their name is probably a misnomer; they seem to be a species of goat.
Elk have nearly disappeared; but it is supposed they have generally migrated further north. We saw very few, and but twice; none were killed.
Of black-tailed deer, which are a very marked species, very few were seen; one was killed, and would have been preserved, but that it was in the velvet.
Of the chamois, or ibex, none were killed but a female, and by a detached party. Hunters were out daily, and Col. Kearney had kindly ordered that if they killed any, it should be brought in uninjured, for my purpose of preparing the skin for mounting. One of our most interesting sights was their race-horse speed over rugged and bare granite rocks.
We saw an unusual number of grizzly bears; but none but cubs were killed. One was chased by us, and severely wounded from horseback; but first crossing the river (the North fork), it took refuge in an impenetrable thicket.
I have brought in a few specimens of the most characteristic and prevailing rocks and formations between this post and the South Pass. I found fossiliferous limestone within forty miles of its top; the prevailing hill-formation is of marls, and a friable sandy conglomerate; the surface of the whole country beyond the river bottoms is either sand or clay, which are sometimes found together. The road beyond Fort Laramie is often very hilly; but the greatest difficulty is, that the country does not produce grass in sufficiency for such large companies as this year passed over it. The emigrants amounted to about 2,500 souls. Even on the lower Platte, we had generally a long and doubtful search for our horses.
At the great elevation we attained beyond Laramie, we felt very sensibly the dryness and rarity of the atmosphere; combined with the heat of the sun reflected from sands, it often produced dizziness; and all remarked the absence of any sensible perspiration. Meat could be kept fresh almost any length of time; and we saw several buffalo skulls on which the skin an inch thick, and the ears, had been preserved.
This dry air and the sand are the causes, it is said, that almost every plant contains turpentine. We found, however, at different points of the long march, many plants and fruits which have been cultivated―flax and hemp, the gooseberry, currants, and raspberries.
The buffalo grass I first observed about 50 miles below the fork of the Platte: thence we found it generally over the whole route to Walnut creek, but nearly all of species different from that on the Arkansas, on which I could find no grain; and for this we were too late―it had fallen before we reached that river.
I have made a collection of plants and flowers, rare―or new to us, at least.
But this rambling and hasty letter, written amid a thousand official interruptions, is already too long; and I end it by offering to the institute (and I shall immediately enclose them in a box) the following poor fruits of our rapid and inconvenient excursion:
1. A collection of dried flowers and plants.
2. A collection of mineralogical specimens.
3. A portion of the stem of an artemisia, six inches in diameter.
4. The horns and skull of the chamois, or big horn (a small specimen, but weighing about 18 pounds).
5. A portion of the scalp of a buffalo bull (perhaps the most curious and distinctive specimen of the animal that the institute could well obtain).
6. A horned frog. (This singular animal, which you will receive alive―for it seems indifferent to food, if not air―is, perhaps, no rarity in the collections of the institute. I think it rather a lizard than a frog.)
7. A mammoth tooth of some extinct animal, found in a clay bank on a branch of the Blue, a tributary of the Kanzas.
I remain, sir, with high respect,Your most obedient servant,
PHIL. ST. GEO. COOKE,Captain 1st dragoons.
TO F. MARKOE, jr., esq.,
Corresponding Secretary National Institute
Washington city.
Go to! God hath deposited cash in the Bank subject to our gentlemanly order; he hath bounteously blessed the world with a summer carpet of green. Begone, Heraclitas!
--Pierre, or The Ambiguities (1852)
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How enviable is the Chian! Such is his simple, clean, comfortable house; so cheap, so movable! When his summer carpet — of green velvet — wears out, how easy to move to another; to select some still pleasanter spring or valley, and enjoy the change of scene and air; free of the curses and the cares entailed by civilization.
--May 1853 Scenes Beyond the Western Border; and
Scenes and Adventures in the Army
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| Rembrandt via Wikimedia Commons |
Sleep on, my friend! Though I would question you if I could, in this dark hour, if sympathy may pass the mysterious boundary of dream-land;—if that deathlike seeming calm were of careless oblivion,—or of the soul profoundly disturbed.
Wondrous contrasts, at times, have dreams to the actual life around.—Alone with Death, in bloody guise, and tossed on ocean in its hour of storm and darkness,—with the roar of breakers in my ear,—I have fallen asleep and dreamed of happy summer scenes. Blest Dreamland! --March 1853 Scenes Beyond the Western BorderDeleted in revision of the March 1853 installment of Scenes Beyond the Western Border, "Blest Dreamland!" does not appear in the later book version:
Sleep on, my Friend ! Though I would question you if I could, in this dark hour, if sympathy may ever pass the mysterious boundary of dream-land;—if that deathlike seeming calm were of careless oblivion,—or of some divine despair.
Wondrous contrasts, at times, have dreams to the actual life around. Alone with death in bloody guise, and tossed on ocean in its hour of storm and darkness, with the roar of breakers in my ear,—I have fallen asleep and dreamed of home and happy scenes!
But when our bark glides smoothly to summer airs,—when the rough sea of trouble and of toil is for a moment calmed, and we lap ourselves in hopeful repose, —then mayhap, some demon, born of darkness, harrows our defenceless souls with images of hellish torture! --Scenes and Adventures in the ArmyIn both versions the word "dreamland" also occurs in the phrase "mysterious boundary of dream-land," and that prior occurrence is preserved in the book version. So the deletion of "Blest Dreamland" eliminates the extra dreamland. However, "Blest" is gone for good.
all the charms of dream-land
Oroolia the Blest
blest soulsFrom Melville's Mardi, vol. 2:
blest Odonphi?
Araby the blest
blest souls
blest SereniaFrom Herman Melville's poem The New Rosicrucians:
Exempt from that, in blest recline
We let life's billows toss;
