The Crows, who had for two years been on terms of a sort of semi-amity with the
whites, found it to their interest to conciliate so powerful an enemy as the American Fur
Company was now become, and made frequent visits to the camp, on which occasion
they usually succeeded in obtaining a taste of the fire-water of which they were
inordinately fond. Occasionally a trader was permitted to sell liquor to the whole village,
when a scene took place whose peculiar horrors were wholly indescribable, from the
inability of language to convey an adequate idea of its hellish degradation. When a
trader sold alcohol to a village it was understood both by himself and the Indians what
was to follow. And to secure the trader against injury a certain number of warriors were
selected out of the village to act as a police force, and to guard the trader during the
'drunk' from the insane passions of his customers. To the police not a drop was to be
This being arranged, and the village disarmed, the carousal began. Every individual,
man, woman, and child, was permitted to become intoxicated. Every form of
drunkenness, from the simple stupid to the silly, the heroic, the insane, the beastly, the
murderous, displayed itself. The scenes which were then enacted beggared
description, as they shocked the senses of even the hard-drinking, license-loving
trappers who witnessed them. That they did not "point a moral" for these men, is the
strangest part of the whole transaction.
When everybody, police excepted, was drunk as drunk could be, the trader began to
dilute his alcohol with water, until finally his keg contained water only, slightly flavored
by the washings of the keg, and as they continued to drink of it without detecting its
weak quality, they finally drank themselves sober, and were able at last to sum up the
cost of their intoxication. This was generally nothing less than the whole property of the
village, added to which were not a few personal injuries, and usually a few murders.
The village now being poor, the Indians were correspondingly humble; and were forced
to begin a system of reprisal by stealing and making war, a course for which the traders
were prepared, and which they avoided by leaving that neighborhood. Such were some
of the sins and sorrows for which the American fur companies were answerable, and
which detracted seriously from the respect that the courage, and other good qualities of
the mountain-men freely commanded.
By the first of March these scenes of wrong and riot were over, for that season at least,
and camp commenced moving back toward the Blackfoot country. After re-crossing the
mountains, passing the Bighorn, Clarke's, and Rosebud rivers, they came upon a
Blackfoot village on the Yellowstone, which as usual they attacked, and a battle
ensued, in which Manhead, captain of the Delawares was killed, another Delaware
named Tom Hill succeeding him in command. The fight did not result in any great loss
or gain to either party. The camp of Bridger fought its way past the village, which was
what they must do, in order to proceed.
Meek, however, was not quite satisfied with the punishment the Blackfeet had received
for the killing of Manhead, who had been in the fight with him when the Camanches
attacked them on the plains. Desirous of doing something on his own account, he
induced a comrade named LeBlas, to accompany him to the village, after night had
closed over the scene of the late contest. Stealing into the village with a noiselessness
equal to that of one of Fennimore Cooper's Indian scouts, these two daring trappers
crept so near that they could look into the lodges, and see the Indians at their favorite
game of Hand. Inferring from this that the savages did not feel their losses very
severely, they determined to leave some sign of their visit, and wound their enemy in
his most sensitive part, the horse. Accordingly they cut the halters of a number of the
animals, fastened in the customary manner to a stake, and succeeded in getting off
with nine of them, which property they proceeded to appropriate to their own use.
As the spring and summer advanced, Bridger's brigade advanced into the mountains,
passing the Cross Creek of the Yellowstone, Twenty-five-Yard River, Cherry River, and
coming on to the head-waters of the Missouri spent the early part of the summer in that
locality. Between Gallatin and Madison forks the camp struck the great trail of the
Blackfeet. Meek and Mark Head had fallen four or five days behind camp, and being on
this trail felt a good deal of uneasiness. This feeling was not lessened by seeing, on
coming to Madison Fork, the skeletons of two men tied to or suspended from trees, the
flesh eaten off their bones. Concluding discretion to be the safest part of valor in this
country, they concealed themselves by day and traveled by night, until camp was finally
reached near Henry's Lake. On this march they forded a flooded river, on the back of
the same mule, their traps placed on the other,.and escaped from pursuit of a dozen
yelling savages, who gazed after them in astonishment; "taking their mule," said Mark
Head," to be a beaver, and themselves great medicine men. " That," said Meek, "is
what I call 'cooning' a river."
From this point Meek set out with a party of thirty or forty trappers to travel up the river
to head-waters, accompanied by the famous Indian painter Stanley, whose party was
met with, this spring, traveling among the mountains. The party of trappers were a day
or two ahead of the main camp when they found themselves following close after the
big Blackfoot village which had recently passed over the trail, as could be seen by the
usual signs; and also by the dead bodies strewn along the trail, victims of that horrible
scourge, the small pox. The village was evidently fleeing to the mountains, hoping to rid
itself of the plague in their colder and more salubrious air.
Not long after coming upon these evidences of proximity to an enemy, a party of a
hundred and fifty of their warriors were discovered encamped in a defile or narrow
bottom enclosed by high bluffs, through which the trappers would have to pass. Seeing
that in order to pass this war party, and the village, which was about half a mile in
advance, there would have to be some fighting done, the trappers resolved to begin the
battle at once by attacking their enemy, who was as yet ignorant of their neighborhood.
In pursuance of this determination, Meek, Newell, Mansfield, and Le Blas, commenced
hostilities. Leaving their horses in camp, they crawled along on the edge of the
overhanging bluff until opposite to the encampment of Blackfeet, firing on them from the
shelter of some bushes which grew among the rocks. But the Blackfeet, though
ignorant of the number of their enemy, were not to be dislodged so easily, and after an
hour or two of random shooting, contrived to scale the bluff at a point higher up, and to
get upon a ridge of ground still higher than that occupied by the four trappers. This
movement dislodged the latter, and they hastily retreated through the bushes and
returned to camp.
The next day, the main camp having come up, the fight was renewed. While the greater
body of the company, with the pack-horses, were passing along the high bluff
overhanging them, the party of the day before, and forty or fifty others, undertook to
drive the Indians out of the bottom, and by keeping them engaged allow the train to
pass in safety. The trappers rode to the fight on this occasion, and charged the
Blackfeet furiously, they having joined the village a little farther on. A general skirmish
now took place. Meek, who was mounted on a fine horse, was in the thickest of the
fight. He had at one time a side to side race with an Indian who strung his bow so hard
that the arrow dropped, just as Meek, who had loaded his gun running, was ready to
fire, and the Indian dropped after his arrow.
Newell too had a desperate conflict with a half-dead warrior, who having fallen from a
wound, he thought dead and was trying to scalp. Springing from his horse he seized
the Indian's long thick hair in one hand, and with his knife held in the other made a
pass at the scalp, when the savage roused up knife in hand, and a struggle took place
in which it was for a time doubtful which of the combatants would part with the coveted
scalp-lock. Newell might have been glad to resign the trophy, and leave the fallen
warrior his tuft of hair, but his fingers were in some way caught by some gun-screws
with which the savage had ornamented his coiffure, and would not part company. In this
dilemma there was no other alternative but fight. The miserable savage was dragged a
rod or two in the struggle, and finally dispatched.
Mansfield also got into such close quarters, surrounded by the enemy, that he gave
himself up for lost, and called out to his comrades: " Tell old Gabe, (Bridger,) that old
Cotton (his own sobriquet) is gone." He lived, however to deliver his own farewell
message, for at this critical juncture the trappers were re-inforced, and relieved. Still the
fight went on, the trappers gradually working their way to the upper end of the enclosed
part of the valley, past the point of danger.
Just before getting clear of this entanglement Meek became the subject of another picture, by Stanley, who was viewing the battle from the heights above the valley. The picture which is well known as "The Trapper's Last Shot," represents him as he turned upon his horse, a fine and spirited animal, to discharge his last shot at an Indian
pursuing, while in the bottom, at a little distance away, other Indians are seen skulking
in the tall reedy grass.
The last shot having been discharged with fatal effect, our trapper, so persistently
lionized by painters, put his horse to his utmost speed and soon after overtook the
camp, which had now passed the strait of danger. But the Blackfeet were still
unsatisfied with the result of the contest. They followed after, reinforced from the
village, and attacked the camp. In the fight which followed a Blackfoot woman's horse
was shot down, and Meek tried to take her prisoner: but two or three of her people
coming to the rescue, engaged his attention; and the woman was saved by seizing hold
of the tail of her husbands horse, which setting off at a run, carried her out of danger.
The Blackfeet found the camp of Bridger too strong for them. They were severely
beaten and compelled to retire to their village, leaving Bridger free to move on. The
following day the camp reached the village of Little Robe, a chief of the Peagans, who
held a talk with Bridger, complaining that his nation were all perishing from the small-pox which
had been given to them by the whites. Bridger was able to explain to Little-Robe his error;
inasmuch as although the disease might have originated among the
whites, it was communicated to the Blackfeet by Jim Beckwith, a negro, and principal
chief of their enemies the Crows. This unscrupulous wretch had caused two infected
articles to be taken from a Mackinaw boat, up from St. Louis, and disposed of to the
Blackfeet-- whence the horrible scourge under which they were suffering.
This matter being explained, Little-Robe consented to trade horses and skins; and the
two camps parted amicably. The next day after this friendly talk, Bridger being
encamped on the trail in advance of the Blackfeet, an Indian came riding into camp,
with his wife and daughter, pack-horse and lodge-pole, and all his worldly goods,
unaware until he got there of the snare into which he had fallen. The French trappers,
generally, decreed to kill the man and take possession of the woman. But Meek, Kit
Carson, and others of the American trappers of the better sort, interfered to prevent this
truly savage act. Meek took the woman's horse by the head, Carson the man's, the
daughter following, and led them out of camp. Few of the Frenchmen cared to interrupt
either of these two men, and they were suffered to depart in peace. When at a safe
distance, Meek stopped, and demanded as some return for having saved the man's life,
a present of tobacco, a luxury which, from the Indian's pipe, he suspected him to
possess. About enough for two chews was the result of this demand, complied with
rather grudgingly, the Indian vieing with the trapper in his devotion to the weed. Just at
this time, owing to the death of Fontenelle, and a consequent delay in receiving
supplies, tobacco was scarce among the mountaineers.
Bridger's brigade of trappers met with no other serious interruptions on their summer's
march. They proceeded to Henry's Lake, and crossing the Rocky Mountains, traveled
through the Pine Woods, always a favorite region, to Lewis' Lake on Lewis' Fork of the
Snake River; and finally up the Grovant Fork, re-crossing the mountains to Wind River,
where the rendezvous for this year was appointed.
Here, once more, the camp was visited by a last years' acquaintance. This was none
other than Mr. Gray, of the Flathead Mission, who was returning to the States on
business connected with the missionary enterprise, and to provide himself with a
helpmeet for life,--a co-laborer and sufferer in the contemplated toil of teaching
savages the rudiments of a religion difficult even to the comprehension of an old
Mr. Gray was accompanied by two young men (whites) who wished to return to the
States, and also by a son of one of the Flathead chiefs. Two other Flathead Indians,
and one Iroquois and one Snake Indian, were induced to accompany Mr. Gray. The
undertaking was not without danger, and so the leaders of the Fur Company assured
him. But Mr. Gray was inclined to make light of the danger, having traveled with entire
safety when under the protection of the Fur Companies the year before. He proceeded
without interruption until he reached Ash Hollow, in the neighborhood of Fort Laramie,
when his party was attacked by a large band of Sioux, and compelled to accept battle.
The five Indians, with the whites, fought bravely, killing fifteen of the Sioux, before a
parley was obtained by the intervention of a French trader who chanced to be among
the Sioux. When Mr. Gray was able to hold a 'talk' with the attacking party he was
assured that his life and that of his two white associates would be spared, but that they
wanted to kill the strange Indians and take their fine horses. It is not at all probable that
Mr. Gray consented to this sacrifice; though he has been accused of doing so.
No doubt the Sioux took advantage of some hesitation on his part, and rushed upon his
Indian allies in an unguarded moment. However that may be, his allies were killed and
he was allowed to escape, after giving up the property belonging to them, and a portion
of his own.
This affair was the occasion of much ill-feeling toward Mr. Gray, when, in the following
year, he returned to the mountains with the tale of massacre of his friends and his own
escape. The mountain-men, although they used their influence to restrain the vengeful
feelings of the Flathead tribe, whispered amongst themselves that Gray had preferred
his own life to that of his friends. The old Flathead chief too, who had lost a son by the
massacre, was hardly able to check his impulsive desire for revenge; for he held Mr.
Gray responsible for his son's life. Nothing more serious, however, grew out of this
unhappy tragedy than a disaffection among the tribe toward Mr. Gray, which made his
labors useless, and finally determined him to remove to the Wallamet Valley.
There were no outsiders besides Gray's party at the rendezvous of this year, except Captain Stuart, and he was almost as good a mountaineer as any. This doughty English traveler had the bad fortune together with that experienced leader Fitzpatrick, of being robbed by the Crows in the course of the fall hunt, in the Crow country. These expert horse thieves had succeeded in stealing nearly all the horses belonging to the joint camp, and had so disabled the company that it could not proceed. In this emergency, Newell, who had long been a sub-trader and was wise in Indian arts and wiles, was sent to hold a talk with the thieves. The talk was held, according to custom, in the Medicine lodge, and the usual amount of smoking, of long silences, and grave looks, had to be participated in, before the subject on hand could be considered. Then the chiefs complained as usual of wrongs at the hands of the white men; of their fear of small-pox, from which some of their tribe had suffered; of friends killed in battle with the whites, and all the list of ills that Crow flesh is heir to at the will of their white enemies. The women too had their complaints to proffer, and the number of widows and orphans in the tribe was pathetically set forth. The chiefs also made a strong point of this latter complaint; and on it the wily Newell hung his hopes of recovering the stolen property.
"It is true," said he to the chiefs, " that you have sustained heavy losses. But that is not
the fault of the Blanket chief (Bridger.) If your young men have been killed, they were
killed when attempting to rob or kill our Captain's men. If you have lost horses, your
young men have stolen five to our one. If you are poor in skins and other property, it is
because you sold it all for drink which did you no good. Neither is Bridger to blame that
you have had the small-pox. Your own chief, in trying to kill your enemies the Blackfeet,
brought that disease into the country.
"But it is true that you have many widows and orphans to support, and that is bad. I pity
the orphans, and will help you to support them, if you will restore to my captain the
property stolen from his camp. Otherwise Bridger will bring more horses. and plenty of
ammunition, and there will be more widows and orphans among the Crows than ever
This was a kind of logic easy to understand and quick to convince among savages. The bribe, backed by a threat, settled the question of the restoration of the horses, which were returned without further delay, and a present of blankets and trinkets was given, ostensibly to the bereaved women, really to the covetous chiefs.