A Majority of Scountrels - Don Berry

by Don Berry

  A couple of days later the Scots sportsman Stewart (who was still with Campbell’s train) "had some sport with a bear near our camp which he wounded, but did not kill. He represented him as large as a mule.”

  Nor was Wyeth (whose journal is being quoted) confined to reporting the escapades of others alone. He had his own adventure with a white bear, brought on by an uncharacteristic spasm of sheer idiocy. Shortly after they reached the Sweetwater Wyeth rode on ahead of the camp a bit and came on "a white bear in a thickett."

  Our redoubtable iceman got a bit heated at this point, for he fired his pistol into the thicket. This producing no noticeable result, he cheerfully started to heave rocks in, infuriating the bear:

  .. . he came as though he meant to fight us [says Wyeth, seeming almost surprised at this turn] but I gave him the shot of my rifle through the body. He then rushed on us and I ran as fast as I could Mr. Kamel snapped at him Mr Sublette ran also being on

  a mule.

  The bear chased them off a short distance, and then ran up a creek. Several of the party followed him on horseback and finished him off with four more shots.

  The next day, this combined Campbell-Wyeth-Fitzpatrick brigade came on four whites in a bad way. These four were from Bridger’s party (which seems to have been trapping along their route) and had run afoul of some Shoshones, a roving band of fifteen or so. (This by (report, though the valley of the Pop Agie is a little far-flung for Snakes, particularly a band as small as this.) There hadn’t been any manifest hostility at their first meeting—the Shoshones were generally friendly to whites—just a little smoke together, and the Indians departed peaceably enough. A couple of days later, however, they returned, for the horses. Thompson had fallen asleep while the other three were out hunting. Hearing a noise among the horses, he figured his partners had come back to water them. He opened his eyes, and found himself staringinto the muzzle of an Indian fusil. The Snake fired immediately. Thompson must have jerked his head, because the ball "entered . . . outside the eye and breaking the cheek bone passing downward and lodged behind the ear in the neck this stunned him and while insensible an arrow was shot into him on the top of the shoulder downward which entered about 6 inches, the Inds got 7 horses, all there were."

  (Wyeth then says that another member of this party—"Charboneau"—chased the Snakes on foot. This may have been one of the most famous half-breeds in American history: Baptiste Charbonneau, the child born to Sacajawea with Lewis and Clark, who appears in Clark’s journal as the famous Pomp.)

  The four dispirited trappers joined Campbell’s caravan, Thompson was patched up, and they moved on again. By the lst of August, they had discovered Bonneville’s presence just behind them and the parties joined together.

  Bonneville was still fidgety. He planned to trap the western side of the Bighorn this fall, and was not enthusiastic about competing again with RMF brigades. It had cost him too much last time. While he joined Campbell’s party, he secretly dispatched several small trapping brigades to work this area, hoping to beat Fitzpatrick and his men. As it happened, Fitz had no particular designs on this country, so the gesture was wasted. It did, however, enable Bonneville to repeat the mistake he consistently made throughout his career—in the mountains; that of breaking up his detachments into such small, groups that they were easy game for whatever predators they ran across, brown or white.

  With the addition of the main force of Bonneville's men, the total party now numbered nearly a hundred. For two weeks they pushed generally north, now in the Bighorn basin, without notable incident. By August 12 they were far enough down the Bighorn to shift to the water phase of the trip.

  ***

  A brief diversion is necessary here. One other party of major importance had left Rendezvous 1833 on the same day as the RMP brigades, Iuly 24.

  This was a party of men from Bonneville’s force, under the tough and hardy partisan Joe Walker. During Rendezvous 1833 Walker had recruited men among the free trappers (including Joe Meek) to supplement his own force, and set out on a trip that became one of the classic stories of the trade.

  Bonneville later claimed that he had dispatched Walker to survey and explore the Great Salt Lake. It was, according to the Irving-digested account of Bonneville’s journal, the "object of his intense curiosity and ambition." That being the case, it seems rather odd that he didn’t go see it for himself.

  But Bonneville himself, with the remainder of his party, set off to follow the RMF-Campbell party as described above. Joe Walker, whatever his orders may have been, set out for

  the West Coast.

  There is ample evidence that the intention from the beginning was to go to California. Zenas Leonard, for example, describing his enlistment, says "I was anxious to go to the coast of the Pacific." Another of the expedition’s members speaks of finding at Rendezvous 1833 "Captain Walker and company bound for California."

  But Bonneville was on leave for the purpose of making various geographical observations (in which he did not show the least interest), and the Great Salt Lake was one of the natural curiosities of the West; in short, it simply sounded better to say Walker was sent to explore the lake. Bonneville’s only observable interest in the country was to trap beaver.

  Wyeth’s proposal to Bonneville, shortly before Rendezvous 1833, had been for such an expedition to California; and he had made it sound very inviting, very prosperous; And, whereas Bonneville was apparently unwilling to undertake such a thing in partnership with Wyeth, he might well have been interested in it as a pure-Bonneville expedition. Bernard DeVoto has suggested that Bonneville "decided to shoot the moon"—deluded by the golden fantasy of Califomia—hoping to make back his losses and a profit in one fell swoop. It seems a likely supposition; it was an expedition of such economic bravado that no explanation will ever quite satisfy.

  We shall not follow this party in detail; Irving has done it, and Zenas Leonard, and Joe Meek. When Joe Walker broke camp at the rendezvous and set out, his party numbered around forty men of his own (and a few bands of assorted free trappers who thought they’d see about all that reported aguardiente and hospitality). They marched over to the valley of the Bear, made (not enough) meat; and then straight into the desert desolation of the country north and northwest of Great Salt Lake.

  They ran into the same thing every other party in this country had: starvin’ times, no beaver, suspicious Indians. Meek knew of it from only last year, when he’d accompanied Milton Sublette’s RMF brigade down here. Prescription as before: crickets, roots, and mule-blood soup. On the staggering joumey across the Great Basin they skirmished with even the miserably unaggressive Diggers, precipitating a massacre pf about twenty-five of the abject creatures.

  Meek, reporting this event, quotes Joe Walker as saying, "We must kill a lot of them, boys," as an object lesson to stay away from camp. The trappers accordingly fired point-blank into a mass of curious Indians, which scattered them rapidly. Bonneville later picked this incident as the focus for his dissatisfaction with Walker’s conduct of the "Salt Lake" party. Irving reports his "horror and indignation" at Walker’s action, and the event has taken its place among the less admirable actions of the trade.

  After their starvation passage across the Great American Desert—the first party since Smith—they reached Monterey late in year. Penetrating the Sierras took them three full weeks; but it was worth it. Joe Walker and his brigade were the first whites ever to see Yosemite.) If the expedition was horrifying to Bonneville, it was at least a little less so to the trappers themselves. They happily settled themselves into the California hospitality, and were soon immersed in riding contests, bull-and-bear baiting, and amorous diversions with the lovely and willing senoritas, who consistently took quite a fancy to the mountain men.

  As expanded around the winter fire, this fine good fellowship with the Californians (and their women) became a memorable event, and there were more than a few who later decided to float their sticks in the same direction. (Walker himself lat
er led a couple of horse-stealing expeditions to the Golden Land; and this became one of the features of the later mountain trade, a sort of business trip to sunny climes, with expense account courtesy of their California hosts.) As was usual, a certain number declined to return to the mountains, and Walker left six men behind. (Two of these—George Nidever and John Price—were to play recorded roles in the subsequent history of California.)

  It was the middle of February, 1834, when Walker's brigade regretfully pulled up stakes in California and "lazily left our camp for the east."

  IV

  We left the three RMF partners in the middle of August, 1833, camped on the Bighorn. The river here was navigable (for bullboats at least) and Bob Campbell prepared to transfer the year’s take to the water. RMF would. then take possession of the horses that had brought the fur this far, and make their Fall '33 hunt among the friendly Crows.

  Here on the banks of the Bighorn a minor revolution occurred. It would appear that Milton Sublette had his back up by this time; and resented brother Bill’s iron list on RMF. There was no way to break that stranglehold as long as Bill Sublette continued to have a monopoly on supplying goods—at his own prices. So Milton listened with interest as Nathaniel Wyeth expounded a good Yankee proposition.

  Wyeth’s trip back from Fort Vancouver to the mountains had convinced him that supplies would be infinitely cheaper to transport from here. (He later made a calculation for his backers, comparing costs of the route from St. Louis: to carry $3,000 in goods from Vancouver to the mountains $4,554; from St. Louis = $11,382.) This would bring goods to RMF at half the price or less than Bill Sublette was charging them. As Wyeth pointed out in a letter written later:

  The great diliiculty which your concern [RMF] has encountered and the enormous expence in getting your supplies has induced me to suppose that you would avail yourself of any opportunity which on reasonable terms would obviate all the difficulties and . .much of the expense. Such opportunity is now within your reach. By means of our vessells employed in the salmon trade we can take out goods and bring home furs to any extent to the Columbia. These goods we can purchase. cheaper than goods can be purchased to send over the mountains [from St. Louis] . . . The packing up from the Columbia is neither difficult nor expensive, horses there are comparatively cheap and in that country there is little danger consequently few men are required. These advantages we are willing to divide with you, in order that by getting your goods on reasonable terms you may be able to monopolise in a great measure the trade of the mountains, and thus, much enlarge the amt. of goods which you will take from us One other advantage to be derived from pursuing the business through this route is that if you succeed in breaking up the other companies as you certainly can do, when you get your goods so much cheaper you will prevent the influx [of] small traders and others who by their competition continually injure your business and spoil your men.

  That was the plan, and it was a good one. Wyeth probably first outlined it at this August camp on the Bighorn, while the bullboats were being made. First notion was to make a trial run of Wyeth-as-supplier; bring out a small load next year, and see how it worked out. Milton himself would go back to civilization to pick out his own goods and get the best available prices.

  On August 14 articles were drawn up providing that Wyeth should deliver merchandise to RMF for the following year. First cost was to be $3,000—about the same as first cost on the shipments Sublette & Campbell had brought up But in this agreement, Wyeth’s profit was established in advance; he was to receive—in addition to cost, $3,521. The total cost to RMF is thus about $6,500, and they have been paying about $15,000 for the same thing from Bill Sublette. (Also, the debt to Wyeth was payable in beaver at $4 a pound, which gives RMF another advantage; remember they had figured it worth only $3.25 in the arrangement with Christy.)

  Both parties agreed to a bond of $500 in case of default. Milton and Fitz signed for RMF (Bridger had already separated on his hunt), and Wyeth was now in business as a supplier.

  Captain Bonneville sent most of his men (thirty-six) back to St. Louis with their small catch. They made three bullboats, and set off down the Bighorn. Bonneville himself took all the horses from his party, forty-six of them, and the remaining four men. He immediately set out to catch up with his detached trappers for a scattered fall hunt, during which he got all the way to the HBC post at Walla Walla.

  Campbell made only two bullboats for the year’s catch though his was by far the largest load—and sent some of his livestock overland with a small party under Louis Vasquez (Old Vaskiss of the literature). The remainder of the horses were taken by Tom Fitzpatrick for RMF, who set out for the Tongue to make the Fall '33 hunt in Crow country. Bridger’s brigade was somewhere in the vicinity, but was not with the main party.

  Campbell’s second party, going overland, encountered a bad omen. Vasquez and his men were stopped by a band of Crows on the prod. This contingent wanted to trade, whether the whites were interested or not. They took what they wanted, in short, but not in an outright raid, which would have been more normal. For the first time the usually friendly Absaroka were surly and belligerent. There was always the thing about the horses, of course, but this was different; a kind of hostility not normal to Crows.

  Just around the corner, however, was the reason for it. Fort Cass and Samuel Tulloch of the American Fur Company, who was this fall engaged in a little educational project with the Crows: how to tell RMF men from Company men, and which ones to rob.

  Even in his bullboats, Wyeth noticed hostile signs among Crows on the banks as he passed. He was moving slowly downriver, his lack of speed mostly due to the good feeling that existed after signing the contract with Milton. On the first day, for example, he made only three miles: "Too much liquor to proceed therefore stopped."

  As any of the mountain men could—and probably did tell him, the only solution to a problem like that is a hair of the dog. Next day—in the morning, at least—he 'found traveling quite pleasant. . . [but] All feel badly today from a severe bout of drinking last night."

  So they careened down the Bighorn until the 17th, when they pulled in at Fort Cass, near the mouth of the Yellowstone:

  . . . we were treated with little or no ceremony by Mr. Tullock, who was found in charge which I attributed to sickness on his part well knowing that a sick man is never disposed to be over civil to others.

  Tulloch wasn’t sick, he was working. And the tactics of American Fur were stiffening up rapidly. Chouteau’s maxim and aim—écraser toure opposition—was being converted into practical terms by Kenneth McKenzie, and, through him, Tulloch. It amounted to a very simple program: get all the furs, and don’t worry about how it’s done. If the situation seems to call for bribing a few Crows to pillage the rivals, fine. If it requires paying five times normal value for pelts—well, not so fine, but do it anyway.

  So Wyeth and Campbell and Milton Sublette enjoyed Mr. Tu1loch’s hospitality for only a day. They traded off a few skins at unpleasing rates, then took to the river again, down the Yellowstone to its confluence with the Missouri.

  About noon on the 24th of August they pulled up to the residence of the King, Fort Union, where they "were met with all possible hospitality and politeness by Mr. McKensie the Am. F. Co. agent in this country."

  CHAPTER 22

  "The company did authorize experiments"

  THE King of the Missouri could afford "all possible politeness and hospitality" He was riding high and happy. When Milton Sublette, Wyeth, and Campbell appeared at the doors of Fort Union on August_24, 1833, McKenzie was at the height of his power. In a few short years he had been able to open permanent posts among both Blackfeet and Crows, and Fort Union itself was far and away the most important single post in the American fur trade.

  He greeted his competitors expansively, showed them around, explained everything in detail, and gave them to sample of the "fruits of the country."

  At this particular moment McKenzie had every reason for e
lation, because he, thought he had solved the conundrum set him by the government with its pestiferous liquor law. He solved it with characteristic directness (albeit tinged with a somewhat uncharacteristic naiveté.) If it was against the law to import liquor, so be it. He would make it himself, and was able to say: "I believe that no law of the United States is thereby broken." He was sufficiently aware that the government might view his proceedings with a jaundiced eye to admit "though perhaps one [law] may be made to break " up my distillery?

  'Ihe components of the distillery were probably taken up aboard the Company boats Yellowstone and Assiniboine in the spring of '33. On that occasion, McKenzie had essayed to test the act of July 9, 1832; by taking up his usual supply of liquor, in addition to the still. At Fort Leavenworth he discovered that the government was serious about it after all, and had put teeth into their law. He wrote to Pierre Chouteau, Jr., shortly after, that he had

  been robbed of all our liquors, say seven barrels shrub, one of rum, one of wine and all the fine men and sailors’ whiskey which was in two barrels. They kicked and knocked about everything they could find and even cut through our bales of blankets which had never been undone since they were put up in England.

  The gentleman-naturalist Maximilian was with McKenzie in the Yellowstone (which carried passengers and goods as far as Fort Pierre, where they were transferred to the Assiniboine). He, too, notes the severity of the inspection, complaining that he was barely allowed "to take a small portion to preserve our specimens of natural history." (But Maximilian was new to the country; he wouldn’t know how familiar—and fanciful—were the evasions used to slip the alcohol past. "Preserving specimens" was comparatively unimaginative.)