Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (free e reader txt) 📖
- Author: Henry J. Coke
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Had Flowed Eastward; Now Suddenly Every Little Rivulet Was
Making For The Pacific.
The Descent Is As Gradual As The Rise. On The First Day Of
It We Lost Two Animals, A Mule And Samson's Spare Horse. The
Latter, Never Equal To The Heavy Weight Of Its Owner, Could
Go No Further; And The Dreadful State Of The Mule's Back
Rendered Packing A Brutality. Morris And Potter, Who Passed
Us A Few Days Later, Told Us They Had Seen The Horse Dead,
And Partially Eaten By Wolves; The Mule They Had Shot To Put
It Out Of Its Misery.
In Due Course We Reached Fort Hall, A Trading Post Of The
Hudson's Bay Company, Some 200 Miles To The North-West Of The
South Pass. Sir George Simpson, Chairman Of That Company,
Had Given Me Letters, Which Ensured The Assistance Of Its
Servants. It Was Indeed A Rest And A Luxury To Spend A
Couple Of Idle Days Here, And Revive One's Dim Recollection
Of Fresh Eggs And Milk. But We Were Already In September.
Our Animals Were In A Deplorable Condition; And With The
Exception Of A Little Flour, A Small Supply Of Dried Meat,
And A Horse For Samson, Mr. Grant, The Trader, Had Nothing To
Sell Us. He Told Us, Moreover, That Before We Reached Fort
Boise, Their Next Station, 300 Miles Further On, We Had To
Traverse A Great Rocky Desert, Where We Might Travel Four-
And-Twenty Hours After Leaving Water, Before We Met With It
Again. There Was Nothing For It But To Press Onwards. It
Was Too Late Now To Cross The Sierra Nevada Range, Which Lay
Between Us And California; And With The Miserable Equipment
Left To Us, It Was All We Could Hope To Do To Reach Oregon
Before The Passage Of The Blue Mountains Was Blocked By The
Winter's Snow.
Chapter 24 Pg 129
Mr. Grant's Warnings Were Verified To The Foot Of The Letter.
Great Were Our Sufferings, And Almost Worse Were Those Of The
Poor Animals, From The Want Of Water. Then, Too, Unlike The
Desert Of Sahara, Where The Pebbly Sand Affords A Solid
Footing, The Soil Here Is The Calcined Powder Of Volcanic
Debris, So Fine That Every Step In It Is Up To One's Ankles;
While Clouds Of It Rose, Choking The Nostrils, And Covering
One From Head To Heel. Here Is A Passage From My Journal:
'Road Rocky In Places, But Generally Deep In The Finest
Floury Sand. A Strong And Biting Wind Blew Dead In Our
Teeth, Smothering Us In Dust, Which Filled Every Pore.
William Presented Such A Ludicrous Appearance That Samson And
I Went Into Fits Over It. An Old Felt Hat, Fastened On By A
Red Cotton Handkerchief, Tied Under His Chin, Partly Hid His
Lantern-Jawed Visage; This, Naturally Of A Dolorous Cast, Was
Screwed Into Wrinkled Contortions By Its Efforts To Resist
The Piercing Gale. The Dust, As White As Flour, Had Settled
Thick Upon Him, The Extremity Of His Nasal Organ Being The
Only Rosy Spot Left; Its Pearly Drops Lodged Upon A Chin
Almost As Prominent. His Shoulders Were Shrugged To A Level
With His Head, And His Long Legs Dangled From The Back Of
Little "Cream" Till They Nearly Touched The Ground.'
We Laughed At Him, It Is True, But He Was So Good-Natured, So
Patient, So Simple-Minded, And, Now And Then, When He And I
Were Alone, So Sentimental And Confidential About Mary, And
The Fortune He Meant To Bring Her Back, That I Had A Sort Of
Maternal Liking For Him; And Even A Vicarious Affection For
Mary Herself, The Colour Of Whose Eyes And Hair - Nay, Whose
Weight Avoirdupois - I Was Now Accurately Acquainted With.
No, The Honest Fellow Had Not Quite The Grit Of A
'Leatherstocking.'
One Night, When We Had Halted After Dark, He Went Down To A
Gully (We Were Not Then In The Desert) To Look For Water For
Our Tea. Samson, Armed With The Hatchet, Was Chopping Wood.
I Stayed To Arrange The Packs, And Spread The Blankets.
Suddenly I Heard A Voice From The Bottom Of The Ravine,
Crying Out, 'Bring The Guns For God's Sake! Make Haste!
Bring The Guns!' I Rushed About In The Dark, Tumbling Over
The Saddles, But Could Nowhere Lay My Hands On A Rifle.
Still The Cry Was For 'Guns!' My Own, A Muzzle-Loader, Was
Discharged, But A Rifle None The Less. Snatching Up This,
And One Of My Pistols, Which, By The Way, Had Fallen Into The
River A Few Hours Before, I Shouted For Samson, And Ran
Headlong To The Rescue. Before I Got To The Bottom Of The
Hill I Heard Groans, Which Sounded Like The Last Of Poor
William. I Holloaed To Know Where He Was, And Was Answered
In A Voice That Discovered Nothing Worse Than Terror.
It Appeared That He Had Met A Grizzly Bear Drinking At The
Very Spot Where He Was About To Fill His Can; That He Had
Chapter 24 Pg 130Bolted, And The Bear Had Pursued Him; But That He Had
'Cobbled The Bar With Rocks,' Had Hit It In The Eye, Or Nose,
He Was Not Sure Which, And Thus Narrowly Escaped With His
Life. I Could Not Help Laughing At His Story, Though An
Examination Of The Place Next Morning So Far Verified It,
That His Footprints And The Bear's Were Clearly Intermingled
On The Muddy Shore Of The Stream. To Make Up For His Fright,
He Was Extremely Courageous When Restored By Tea And A Pipe.
'If We Would Follow The Trail With Him, He'd Go Right Slick
In For Her Anyhow. If His Rifle Didn't Shoot Plum, He'd A
Bowie As 'Ud Rise Her Hide, And No Mistake. He'd Be Darn'd
If He Didn't Make Meat Of That Bar In The Morning.'
Chapter 25 Pg 131
We Were Now Steering By Compass. Our Course Was Nearly
North-West. This We Kept, As Well As The Formation Of The
Country And The Watercourses Would Permit. After Striking
The Great Shoshone, Or Snake River, Which Eventually Becomes
The Columbia, We Had To Follow Its Banks In A Southerly
Direction. These Are Often Supported By Basaltic Columns
Several Hundred Feet In Height. Where That Was The Case,
Though Close To Water, We Suffered Most From Want Of It. And
Cold As Were The Nights - It Was The Middle Of September -
The Sun Was Intensely Hot. Every Day, Every Mile, We Were
Hoping For A Change - Not Merely For Access To The Water, But
That We Might Again Pursue Our Westerly Course. The Scenery
Was Sometimes Very Striking. The River Hereabouts Varies
From One Hundred To Nearly Three Hundred Yards In Width;
Sometimes Rushing Through Narrow Gorges, Sometimes Descending
In Continuous Rapids, Sometimes Spread Out In Smooth Shallow
Reaches. It Was For One Of These That We Were In Search, For
Only At Such Points Was The River Passable.
It Was Night-Time When We Came To One Of The Great Falls. We
Were Able Here To Get At Water; And Having Halted Through The
Day, On Account Of The Heat, Kept On While Our Animals Were
Refreshed. We Had To Ascend The Banks Again, And Wind Along
The Brink Of The Precipice. From This The View Was
Magnificent. The Moon Shone Brightly Upon The Dancing Waves
Hundreds Of Feet Below Us, And Upon The Rapids Which Extended
As Far As We Could See. The Deep Shade Of The High Cliffs
Contrasted In Its Impenetrable Darkness With The Brilliancy
Of The Silvery Foam. The Vast Plain Which We Overlooked,
Chapter 25 Pg 132Fading In The Soft Light, Rose Gradually Into A Low Range Of
Distant Hills. The Incessant Roar Of The Rapids, And The
Desert Stillness Of All Else Around, Though They Lulled One's
Senses, Yet Awed One With A Feeling Of Insignificance And
Impotence In The Presence Of Such Ruthless Force, Amid Such
Serene And Cold Indifference. Unbidden, The Consciousness
Was There, That For Some Of Us The Coming Struggle With Those
Mighty Waters Was Fraught With Life Or Death.
At Last We Came Upon A Broad Stretch Of The River Which
Seemed To Offer The Possibilities We Sought For. Rather Late
In The Afternoon We Decided To Cross Here, Notwithstanding
William's Strong Reluctance To Make The Venture. Part Of His
Unwillingness Was, I Knew, Due To Apprehension, Part To His
Love Of Fishing. Ever Since We Came Down Upon The Snake
River We Had Seen Quantities Of Salmon. He Persisted In The
Belief That They Were To Be Caught With The Rod. The Day
Before, All Three Of Us Had Waded Into The River, And Flogged
It Patiently For A Couple Of Hours, While Heavy Fish Were
Tumbling About Above And Below Us. We Caught Plenty Of
Trout, But Never Pricked A Salmon. Here The Broad Reach Was
Alive With Them, And William Begged Hard To Stop For The
Afternoon And Pursue The Gentle Sport. It Was Not To Be.
The Tactics Were As Usual. Samson Led The Way, Holding The
Lariat To Which The Two Spare Horses Were Attached. In
Crossing Streams The Mules Would Always Follow The Horses.
They Were Accordingly Let Loose, And Left To Do So. William
And I Brought Up The Rear, Driving Before Us Any Mule That
Lagged. My Journal Records The Sequel:
'At About Equal Distances From Each Other And The Main Land
Were Two Small Islands. The First Of These We Reached
Without Trouble. The Second Was Also Gained; But The Packs
Were Wetted, The Current Being Exceedingly Rapid. The Space
Remaining To Be Forded Was At Least Two Hundred Yards; And
The Stream So Strong That I Was Obliged To Turn My Mare's
Head Up It To Prevent Her Being Carried Off Her Legs. While
Thus Resting, William With Difficulty, - The Water Being Over
His Knees, - Sidled Up To Me. He Wanted
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