Amigo Mio! DRAGOONED #8

Amigo mio! by Scott Norsworthy

Didn't you desert me on the eve of a snowstorm?

Read on Substack

 

Memnon and Mount Pike

Revisions to the May 1853 episode of Scenes Beyond the Western Border included deletion of the simile comparing a loud "crash" of thunder to the sound of splitting rock. The deleted figure begins with the formula, "as of a..."; thus:

".. as of a mountain of rock torn asunder."

Southern Literary Messenger - May 1853

In Pierre (1852) Melville poetically describes the Egyptian monument to Memnon that in ancient times made a musical sound when first struck by sunlight every morning. Melville's Memnon passage includes a close parallel to the deleted simile in "Scenes Beyond the Western Border." Using the same "as of a..." formula, Melville in Pierre compares the sound once emitted from the stone monument to the sound of a breaking harp-string:

Touched by the breath of the bereaved Aurora, every sunrise that statue gave forth a mournful broken sound, as of a harp-string suddenly sundered, being too harshly wound. --Pierre; Or, The Ambiguities

 Both similes begin with as + of + a; both employ a form of sunder:

as of a harp-string suddenly sundered (Pierre)

as of a mountain of rock torn asunder (Scenes Beyond the Western Border)

The example from "Scenes Beyond the Western Border" does not appear in the 1857 book version.

MAY 1853

The storm which had followed the higher range, was now in our front; sporting as with fierce joy, amid the mountain tops. Suddenly, with a crash, as of a mountain of rock torn asunder, lightning revealed through a vista of black and magnificently wild array of clouds, Mount Pike,—splendent with the glare, but simple, serene, sublime amid the chaos of elemental war. Like a fata morgana, turned to stone. --May 1853 Scenes Beyond the Western Border

1857

But the storm which had followed the higher range, now came sweeping on, sporting as with fierce joy amid the mountain tops; and here, and there, and far, the spectral peaks seemed rising to the capricious gleams, and many-voiced Echo swelled the glorious diapason. Sport and music of the Gods!—O! it was joy unspeakable, to stand thus on the very throne of the storm, whilst its fierce wings hurtled the mountains around,—and the wanton thunderbolts made the elements to tremble! But suddenly, with a direful crash amid the Titanic rocks, there came a wondrous glare, that revealed through a vista of the black array of clouds, Mount Pike, splendent, sublime, serene, amid the chaotic war!—like a Fata Morgana, turned to stone. --Scenes and Adventures in the Army

 Also deleted: the adjective elemental, lost in revision of "chaos of elemental war" to "chaotic war."

The deleted idea of warfare among the elements occurs also in Melville's Pierre, with reference to the Fountain of Enceladus. Melville figures it as "elemental rivalry," in this instance between water and volcanic fire. In the Enceladus Grove at the Palace of Versailles, the water spouting from the mouth of the fallen Titan figuratively battles the fire that Enceladus supposedly breathed, being buried under Mount Etna. Melville in Pierre is comparing a local rock formation dubbed "Enceladus" to Gaspard Marsy's Versailles sculpture of Enceladus,

"from whose still twisted mouth for sixty feet the waters yet upgush, in elemental rivalry with those Etna flames, of old asserted to be the malicious breath of the borne-down giant...." --Pierre; Or, The Ambiguities

Related post:

• Deleting as of a

Birthdays and Deserts

Image Credit: YesterYear Once More

Later: forgot to mention that June 13th was also the birthday of Elizabeth Shaw ("Lizzie") Melville, Herman's wife.

Elizabeth Shaw was born June 13, 1822 in Boston, Massachusetts.
--Civil War Women  

"For her sixty-fourth birthday, on June 13, he bought for her four books which had been published in the year of their marriage [1847]...."  --Leon Howard, Herman Melville

Philip St, George Cooke, "Born in Leesburg, Virginia on June 13, 1809."
--Elmwood Historic Cemetery

Herman Melville paid attention to birthdays of writers. We know this from notations that he made in his books, for example this pencil notation, inscribed by Melville on the front flyleaf verso to Hawthorne's Mosses from an Old Manse:

"July 4.  Born 1804"

You can see the above inscription at  Melville's Marginalia Online where the editors explain:

"In the copies of works he admired, Melville regularly inscribed the authors' birth and death dates, as well as other key dates in their careers."

In the July 1852 installment of "Scenes Beyond the Western Border," the temporarily depressed Captain of U. S. Dragoons makes a melancholy reference to his own birthday on his birthday (June 13th, the birthday of Philip St. George Cooke). The Captain's unexpectedly dark allusion occurs in one of many prairie dialogues with his Imaginary Friend:

June 13th.—Twenty-four miles to-day, over a desert! hills and river valley equally a desert! In this last, we have seen many large cottonwoods seemingly the wrecks of a blasting tempest, mere limbless or distorted stems of trees: and others, the bleeched [1857: bleached] and desolate drift of a flood.

We came over a lofty bluff almost overhanging the river, which commanded a view over vast and sternly sterile plains, breaking up at last into confused mountain spurs, and dim blue peaks beyond; but to this gloomy grandeur the river far winding amid white sands and green islands, and at the foot of many another precipitous bluff adorned with evergreens, lent an element of softening beauty.

I. F. What oppresses you? You seem in mournful harmony with these silent wastes.  

C. Behold those spectral ruins of trees strangely white and gleaming in the starlight!— they are melancholy. But no—it is a day that ever, since it first gave me unhappy life, leaves its influences upon me. 

I. F. Such a mood should always be resisted. [1857: But better resist such a mood.] How do you succeed with your diary now? We are passing remarkable scenery; most wildly picturesque; and there is always some incident....
--July 1852 Scenes Beyond the Western Border and

Scenes and Adventures in the Army

A likely source for scenery and events of the 1845 march by U. S. dragoons to the Rocky Mountains is the narrative by J. Henry Carleton. Carleton's journal entry specifies that this June 13th in 1845 was Friday the 13th. Cooke's "spectral ruins" of whitened cottonwood trees are melancholy enough. According to Carleton, the cottonwood trees at the campsite of Friday, June 13th once held human corpses:

The reader knows that the Dahcotahs place bodies of their deceased friends upon scaffolds, and in the forks of trees, having previously wrapped them carefully in buffalo robes; so it is not worth while to describe how they do it, just at the bottom of a sheet. Many of the cotton-woods about our present encampment have borne aloft upon their branches this death-fruit. The fire having caught two of them and burned off their limbs, the charred and crackled bones have dropped down, and now lay in confused masses upon the ground below. I speak of this because one of the trees stands right in front of my tent, and while I sit here writing I can almost touch the bones with my feet.

--The Prairie Logbooks

Now I'm wondering what the other diarists of the 1845 expedition--H. S. Turner, and the engineer William B. Franklin--wrote about Friday the 13th, in particular about those cottonwood trees.  Let me check.

First, here's the matter-of-fact description by H. S. Turner, transcribed from his manuscript journal available with subscription online at fold3:

On this part of the river there has been a growth of Cottonwood & Ash, but from proximity to Fort Laramie & other causes but few trees remain. As we approach Fort Laramie the barrenness of the soil increases, little vegetation visible anywhere—scarcely more in the valleys than on the hills. Distance 24 miles. Direction about N. W. Weather of pleasant temperature: clear sky.

Turner's details closely agree with the beginning of the entry for June 13th in "Scenes Beyond the Western Border. Indeed, the first sentence in the June 13th Scenes Beyond the Western Border entry looks like a direct paraphrase, neatly reworking Turner's remark of "scarcely more [vegetation] in the valleys than on the hills":

June 13th.—Twenty-four miles to-day, over a desert! hills and river valley equally a desert!

How about Franklin? Same scenery of course but notice the lack of any comparable phrasing with the words valleys and hills in the full entry for June 13, 1845:

June 13. To-day we travelled 24 miles. Our direction for the first 12 miles was NW. We then struck the Platte again, and the direction for the remainder of the distance was 30° N of W. Far on our left were the high bluffs of sandstone perfectly barren, and on the right hills of gravel or sand, covered with a stunted or parched growth of grass. The river is lined with Cottonwood timber from where we struck it, and may be said to be slightly timbered from this point to the Sweetwater where we left it. We found a scant supply of grass in one of the bottoms to-night, but consoled ourselves with the expectation of getting to Laramie to-morrow. Every one looked forward to our arrival there as the end of all our troubles, we supposed that the voyageurs would have plenty of good horses, and that we could buy them for almost nothing, but we were undeceived before we left them.  --March to South Pass

Carleton's report of corpses in the cottonwoods near Fort Laramie is confirmed, and illustrated, by Lodisa Frizzell in her 1852 journal:

We are about 5 ms. from Ft. Laramie. Near by where we nooned to-day, there was 2 dead indians in the top of a cottonwood tree, this being their manner of disposing of their dead. They were wraped in well dressed buffalo hides, & then lashed to several small poles, which were fastened to the limbs of the tree, it was a very singular sight, they must have been there some time, as I found a part of an old rusty knife, which had probably been one of the many things which had been hung on the tree, such as, knife, bow & arrow, & whatever he might have posessed.  --Across the Plains to California in 1852

Tree-burial, as illustrated by Lodisa Frizzell
From Across the Plains to California in 1852

Cooke's Sketches of the Great West (1845)

Below is the complete text of Philip St. George Cooke's letter to the National Institute, as first published in the Washington Daily Union on October 6, 1845. Reprinted in other newspapers, for example in the Alexandria [Virginia] Gazette, October 9, 1845.  Most of this letter was again reprinted in Niles' National Register on October 25, 1845. Passages and numerous details from Cooke's "Sketches of the Great West" are appropriated in "Scenes Beyond the Western Border" (1851-53), which forms the basis for Part II of Scenes and Adventures in the Army (1857).

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.

Hamilton Gardner on Philip St George Cooke's Fictional Friend

Historians of the American West have little use for the invented "Friend" in Scenes and Adventures in the Army. Most commentators don't know what to make of him. Usually they just ignore him.
 
To his everlasting credit, Hamilton Gardner openly confronted the problem of reading numerous and seemingly extraneous fictions as veritable history.  Here is Gardner at his candid and pragmatic best, from the October 1953 article for The Colorado Magazine, titled "Captain Philip St George Cooke and the March of the First Dragoons to the Rocky Mountains in 1845":

"Not all of the 149 pages of his account of the expedition were devoted to strictly military facts. He was an unusually well-read man, with keen powers of observation of persons, events and places. In a rather striking literary style he comments freely on the Oregon emigrants, the Indians, the daily routine of the Dragoons, their non-duty activities such as their hunting, the wild life, the flora and fauna, scenic effects, scientific conclusions, in particular, geology, and allusions to local history. But most of the space is devoted to detailing fictitious conversations with a mythical "Friend," on all manner of non-military subjects. Frequently one must wander through a maze of irrelevant material in order to find a pertinent fact concerning the march."
(Colorado Magazine p249)

Gardner it seems did not know about the earlier publication of Scenes and Adventures, Part II, as "Scenes Beyond the Western Border" in the 1851-1853 Southern Literary Messenger.  So he would not have known about the prior textual evolution of this confounded "Friend" from Imaginary Friend to Frank.

mountains, snow, pinnacles, another world

"At the top we paused insensibly, and all gathered there, first to behold and gaze excitedly at the glittering summits of the Rocky Mountains. Their sharp pyramids of snow seemed to penetrate,—or all sun-lit—were sublimely relieved by the dark clouds. We descended to find a level camp ground on the Sweet Water; and the telescope now reveals faintly many more pinnacles penetrating dim, airy space, beyond the eye's power to catch the bright reflections of their snow mantles. Like phantoms they seem, mysteriously shadowing forth an unknown land,—a new world."
"Scenes Beyond the Western Border," Southern Literary Messenger 18 (August 1852): 507; and Scenes and Adventures in the Army

 * * *

On our starboard beam, like a pile of glaciers in Switzerland, lay this Staten Land, gleaming in snow-white barrenness and solitude. Unnumbered white albatross were skimming the sea near by, and clouds of smaller white wings fell through the air like snow-flakes. High, towering in their own turbaned snows, the far-inland pinnacles loomed up, like the border of some other world. 
White-Jacket (1850), chapter 28