Volume 45 - No. 01
January 01, 2015
Compiled by lyle e davis
Editor’s Note: This is one of a series of journal entries dictated by James P. Beckwourth, an adventurer, explorer, scout, hunter, trapper, pioneer, emigrant and, for a time, Indian Chief of the Crows.
The narrative is almost amusing in that hardy pioneers did not really talk in such elegant terms. Clearly, T. D. Bonner, who writes this biography, has exercised considerable ‘poetic license’ in describing the adventures in such elegant prose. Here, then, more in the continuing saga describing the trek out West by James P. Beckwourth:
Arrival of General Ashley and Party.—His Relation of their Sufferings after leaving the Rendezvous.—Their Excursion to Salt Lake.— Fall in with a Fur Company before unknown to the Mountaineers.—His final Fortune, and return to St. Louis.
SITTING in camp one beautiful summer morning — for the month of June is always lovely in northern latitudes — an Indian lass stepped up to me, and wished me to kill a deer or an antelope, and bring her the brains, wherewith to dress a deer-skin, offering me, in compensation, a handsome pair of moccasins. Thinking to save two dollars by a few minutes' exertion, I took my rifle and alone left camp. After traveling two miles, I obtained sight of a fine antelope, which had also seen me, and kept himself at a respectful distance. In following him up to get a fair shot, I at length found myself about ten miles from camp, with small prospect of getting either brains or moccasins.
While among the wild sage, still trying to approach the antelope, I observed a horse and rider coming in my direction. Feeling satisfied that the rider was an Indian, I at once made up my mind to run no farther after the antelope, but to shoot him, and take his brains to the squaw, as she would know no difference. I therefore concealed myself in the sage until he should come The Paper - 760.747.7119
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within range of my rifle. Becoming impatient, at length, at his tardy approach, I raised my head to take a look, when, to my utter astonishment, I saw General Ashley in the act of mounting his horse at a few paces' distance. He had stopped to adjust something belonging to his saddle, and to this trifling circumstance he was indebted for his life. On seeing who it was, I became so excited at the narrow escape he had made, that my rifle fell from my hand. If I had shot him, it being well known in camp that I was not entirely reconciled to him, I should, most undoubtedly, have been charged with his murder. I told the general of the narrow escape he had just made. He was surprised at my mistaking him for an Indian, and inquired if I did not know that they never traveled singly.
I then inquired after his health, and the success he had met with, and then related to him our own losses and success generally. He inquired where the camp was. I told him it was close at hand. In conducting
the general thither, he pronounced my "close at hand" rather distant.
Arrived at camp, the general related their adventures in descending the Green River over the rapids, through the Suck and cañon, in the following narrative:
"We had a very dangerous passage down the river, and suffered more than I ever wish to see men suffer again. You are aware that we took but little provision with us, not expecting that the cañon extended so far. In passing over the rapids, where we lost two boats and three guns, we made use of ropes in letting down our boats over the most dangerous places. Our provisions soon gave out. We found plenty of beaver in the cañon for some miles, and, expecting to find them in as great plenty all the way, we saved none of their carcasses, which constituted our food. As we proceeded, however, they became more and more scarce, until there were none to be seen, and we were entirely out of provisions. To retrace the river was
impossible, and to ascend the perpendicular cliffs, which hemmed us in on either side, was equally impossible. Our only alternative was to go ahead. After passing six days without tasting food, the men were weak and disheartened. I listened to all their murmurings and heart-rending complaints. They often spoke of home and friends, declaring they would never see them more. Some spoke of wives and children whom they dearly loved, and who must shortly become widows and orphans. They had toiled, they said, through every difficulty; had risked their lives among wild beasts and hostile Indians in the wilderness, all which they were willing to undergo; but who could bear up against actual starvation?
I encouraged them all in my power, telling them that I bore an equal part in their sufferings; that I, too, was toiling for those I loved, and whom I yet hoped to see again; that we should all endeavor to keep up our courage, and not add to our
The Journey West . . . Continued on Page 2