POTOSI alias Mine à Burlon.

SCENES

AND

ADVENTURES

IN THE

Semi-Alpine Region

OF THE

OZARK MOUNTAINS OF MISSOURI
AND ARKANSAS,

WHICH WERE FIRST TRAVERSED BY DE SOTO, IN 1541.

BY HENRY ROWE SCHOOLCRAFT.

PHILADELPHIA:
LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.
1853.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by
HENRY ROWE SCHOOLCRAFT,
in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court for the District of Columbia.

Dedication.

To the Memory

OF

DE WITT CLINTON,

LATE GOVERNOR OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK, &C. &C. &C,
AN EARLY FRIEND, DURING THE YEARS DEVOTED TO THESE EXCURSIONS
INTO THE GREAT AREA OF THE WEST;—
A MAN WHO WAS EMINENT IN VARIOUS WALKS OF LIFE;—
WHO, BY HIS EXALTED FORECAST, WISE COUNSELS, AND STEADY POLICY,
CONTRIBUTED TO THE HIGHEST BENEFITS AND RENOWN OF HIS
NATIVE STATE;—
THESE RECORDS OF INCIDENTS OF EXPLORATORY TRAVEL,
ARE DEDICATED WITH THE SINCEREST SENTIMENTS OF RESPECT AND REGARD
FOR HIS CHARACTER AND NAME,
WHICH I EVER ENTERTAINED FOR HIM WHILE LIVING,
AND CONTINUE TO CHERISH NOW THAT HE IS DEAD.

HENRY R. SCHOOLCRAFT.

PREFACE.

These early adventures in the Ozarks comprehend my first exploratory effort in the great area of the West. To traverse the plains and mountain elevations west of the Mississippi, which had once echoed the tramp of the squadrons of De Soto—to range over hills, and through rugged defiles, which he had once searched in the hope of finding mines of gold and silver rivalling those of Mexico and Peru; and this, too, coming as a climax to the panorama of a long, long journey from the East—constituted an attainment of youthful exultation and self-felicitation, which might have been forgotten with its termination. But the incidents are perceived to have had a value of a different kind. They supply the first attempt to trace the track of the Spanish cavaliers west of the Mississippi. The name of De Soto is inseparably connected with the territorial area of Missouri and Arkansas, which he was the first European to penetrate, and in the latter of which he died.

Four-and-thirty years have passed away, since the travels here brought to view, were terminated. They comprise a period of exciting and startling events in our history, social and political. With the occupancy of Oregon, the annexation of Texas, the discoveries in California, and the acquisition of New Mexico, the very ends of the Union appear to have been turned about. And the lone scenes and adventures of a man on a then remote frontier, may be thought to have lost their interest. But they are believed to possess a more permanent character. It is the first and only attempt to identify De Soto's march west of the Mississippi; and it recalls reminiscences of scenes and observations which belong to the history of the discovery and settlement of the country.

Little, it is conceived, need be said, to enable the reader to determine the author's position on the frontiers of Missouri and Arkansas in 1818. He had passed the summer and fall of that year in investigating the geological structure and mineral resources of the lead-mine district of Missouri. He had discovered the isolated primitive tract on the sources of the St. Francis and Grand rivers—the "Coligoa" of the Spanish adventurer—and he felt a strong impulse to explore the regions west of it, to determine the extent of this formation, and fix its geological relations between the primitive ranges of the Alleghany and Rocky mountains.

Reports represented it as an alpine tract, abounding in picturesque valleys and caves, and replete with varied mineral resources, but difficult to penetrate on account of the hostile character of the Osage and Pawnee Indians. He recrossed the Mississippi to the American bottom of Illinois, to lay his plan before a friend and fellow-traveller in an earlier part of his explorations, Mr. Ebenezer Brigham, of Massachusetts, who agreed to unite in the enterprise. He then proceeded to St. Louis, where Mr. Pettibone, a Connecticut man, and a fellow-voyager on the Alleghany river, determined also to unite in this interior journey. The place of rendezvous was appointed at Potosi, about forty miles west of the Mississippi. Each one was to share in the preparations, and some experienced hunters and frontiersmen were to join in the expedition. But it turned out, when the day of starting arrived, that each one of the latter persons found some easy and good excuse for declining to go, principally on the ground that they were poor men, and could not leave supplies for their families during so long a period of absence. Both the other gentlemen came promptly to the point, though one of them was compelled by sickness to return; and my remaining companion and myself plunged into the wilderness with a gust of adventure and determination, which made amends for whatever else we lacked.

It is only necessary to add, that the following journal narrates the incidents of the tour. The narrative is drawn up from the original manuscript journal in my possession. Outlines of parts of it, were inserted in the pages of the Belles-lettres Repository, by Mr. Van Winkle, soon after my return to New York, in 1819; from whence they were transferred by Sir Richard Phillips to his collection of Voyages and Travels, London, 1821. This latter work has never been republished in the United States.

In preparing the present volume, after so considerable a lapse of time, it has been thought proper to omit all such topics as are not deemed of permanent or historical value. The scientific facts embraced in the appendix, on the mines and mineralogy of Missouri, are taken from my publication on these subjects. In making selections and revisions from a work which was at first hastily prepared, I have availed myself of the advantage of subsequent observation on the spot, as well as of the suggestions and critical remarks made by men of judgment and science.

A single further remark may be made: The term Ozark is applied to a broad, elevated district of highlands, running from north to south, centrally, through the States of Missouri and Arkansas. It has on its east the striking and deep alluvial tract of the Mississippi river, and, on its west, the woodless buffalo plains or deserts which stretch below the Rocky Mountains. The Osage Indians, who probably furnish origin for the term, have occupied all its most remarkable gorges and eminences, north of the Arkansas, from the earliest historical times; and this tribe, with the Pawnees ("Apana"), are supposed to have held this position ever since the days of De Soto.

Washington, January 20, 1853.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION.

De Soto, in 1541, was the true discoverer of the Mississippi river, and the first person who crossed it, who has left a narrative of that fact; although it is evident that Cabaca de Vaca, the noted survivor of the ill-fated expedition of Narvaez in 1528, must, in his extraordinary pilgrimage between Florida and the eastern coasts of the gulf of California, have crossed this river, perhaps before him; but he has not distinctly mentioned it in his memoir. Narvaez himself was not the discoverer of the mouth of the Mississippi, as some persons have conjectured, inasmuch as he was blown off the coast and lost, east of that point. The most careful tracing of the narrative of his voyage in boats along the Florida shore, as given by De Vaca, does not carry him beyond Mobile bay, or, at farthest, Perdido bay.[1]

De Soto's death frustrated his plan of founding a colony of Spain in the Mississippi valley; and that stream was allowed to roll its vast volume into the gulf a hundred and thirty-two years longer, before it attracted practical notice. Precisely at the end of this time, namely, in 1673, Mons. Jolliet, accompanied by James Marquette, the celebrated enterprising missionary of New France, entered the stream at the confluence of the Wisconsin, in accordance with the policy, and a plan of exploration, of the able, brave, and efficient governor-general of Canada, the Count Frontenac. Marquette and his companion, who was the chief of the expedition, but whose name has become secondary to his own, descended it to the mouth of the Arkansas, the identical spot of De Soto's demise. La Salle, some five or six years later, continued the discovery to the gulf; and Hennepin extended it upward, from the point where Marquette had entered it, to the falls of St. Anthony, and the river St. Francis. And it is from this era of La Salle, the narrators of whose enlarged plans, civic and ecclesiastical, recognised the Indian geographical terminology, that it has retained its Algonquin name of Mississippi.

It is by no means intended to follow these initial facts by recitals of the progress of the subsequent local discoveries in the Mississippi valley, which were made respectively under French, British, and American rule. Sufficient is it, for the present purpose, to say, that the thread of the discovery of the Mississippi, north and west of the points named, was not taken up effectively, till the acquisition of Louisiana. Mr. Jefferson determined to explore the newly acquired territories, and directed the several expeditions of discovery under Lewis and Clark, and Lieut. Z. M. Pike. The former traced out the Missouri to its sources, and followed the Columbia to the Pacific; while the latter continued the discovery of the Mississippi river above St. Anthony's falls where Hennepin, and perhaps Carver, had respectively left it. The map which Pike published in 1810 contained, however, an error of a capital geographical point, in regard to the actual source of the Mississippi. He placed it in Turtle lake, at the source of Turtle river of upper Lac Cedre Rouge, or Cass lake, which lies in the portage to Red lake of the great Red River of the North, being in the ordinary route of the fur trade to that region.

In 1820, Mr. Calhoun, who determined to erect a cordon of military posts to cover the remotest of the western settlements, at the same time that he despatched Major Long to ascend to the Yellowstone of the Missouri, directed the extreme upper Mississippi to be examined and traced out to its source. This expedition, led by Gov. Cass, through the upper lakes, reached the mouth of Turtle river of the large lake beyond the upper cataract of the Mississippi, which has since borne the name of the intrepid leader of the party. It was satisfactorily determined that Turtle lake was not the source, nor even one of the main sources, of the Mississippi; but that this river was discharged, in the integrity of its volume, into the western end of Cass lake. To determine this point more positively, and trace the river to its source, another expedition was organized by the Department of War in 1832, and committed to me. Taking up the line of discovery where it had been left in 1820, the river was ascended up a series of rapids about forty miles north, to a large lake called the Amigegoma; a few miles above which, it is constituted by two forks, having a southern and western origin, the largest and longest of which was found[2] to originate in Itasca lake, in north latitude 37° 13'—a position not far north of Ottertail lake, in the highlands of Hauteur des Terres.

So far as the fact of De Soto's exploration of the country west of the Mississippi, in the present area of Missouri and Arkansas, is concerned, it is apprehended that the author of these incidents of travel has been the first person to identify and explore this hitherto confused part of the celebrated Spanish explorer's route. This has been traced from the narrative, with the aid of the Indian lexicography, in the third volume of his Indian History (p. 50), just published, accompanied by a map of the entire route, from his first landing on the western head of Tampa bay. Prior to the recital of these personal incidents, it may serve a useful purpose to recall the state of geographical information at this period.

The enlarged and improved map of the British colonies, with the geographical and historical analysis, accompanying it, of Lewis Evans, which was published by B. Franklin in 1754, had a controlling effect on all geographers and statesmen of the day, and was an important element in diffusing a correct geographical knowledge of the colonies at large, and particularly of the great valley of the Mississippi, agreeably to modern ideas of its physical extent. It was a great work for the time, and for many years remained the standard of reference. In some of its features, it was never excelled. Mr. Jefferson quotes it, in his Notes on Virginia, and draws from it some interesting opinions concerning Indian history, as in the allusion to the locality and place of final refuge of the Eries. It was from the period of the publication of this memoir that the plan of an "Ohio colony," in which Dr. Franklin had an active agency, appears to have had its origin.

Lewis Evans was not only an eminent geographer himself, but his map and memoir, as will appear on reference to them, embrace the discoveries of his predecessors and contemporary explorers, as Conrad Wiser and others, in the West. The adventurous military reconnoissance of Washington to fort Le Bœuf, on lake Erie, was subsequent to this publication.

Evans's map and analysis, being the best extant, served as the basis of the published materials used for the topographical guidance of General Braddock on his march over the Alleghany mountains. Washington, himself an eminent geographer, was present in that memorable march; and so judicious and well selected were its movements, through defiles and over eminences, found to be, that the best results of engineering skill, when the commissioners came to lay out the great Cumberland road, could not mend them. Such continued also to be the basis of our general geographical knowledge of the West, at the period of the final capture of fort Du Quesne by General Forbes, and the change of its name in compliment to the eminent British statesman, Pitt.

The massacre of the British garrison of Michilimackinac in 1763, the investment of the fort of Detroit in the same year by a combined force of Indian tribes, and the development of an extensive conspiracy, as it has been termed, against the western British posts under Pontiac, constituted a new feature in American history; and the military expeditions of Cols. Bouquet and Bradstreet, towards the West and North-west, were the consequence. These movements became the means of a more perfect geographical knowledge respecting the West than had before prevailed. Hutchinson's astronomical observations, which were made under the auspices of Bouquet, fixed accurately many important points in the Mississippi valley, and furnished a framework for the military narrative of the expedition. In fact, the triumphant march of Bouquet into the very strongholds of the Indians west of the Ohio, first brought them effectually to terms; and this expedition had the effect to open the region to private enterprise.

The defeat of the Indians by Major Gladwyn at Detroit had tended to the same end; and the more formal march of Colonel Bradstreet, in 1764, still further contributed to show the aborigines the impossibility of their recovering the rule in the West. Both these expeditions, at distant points, had a very decided tendency to enlarge the boundaries of geographical discovery in the West, and to stimulate commercial enterprise.

The Indian trade had been carried to fort Pitt the very year of its capture by the English forces; and it may serve to give an idea of the commercial daring and enterprise of the colonists to add, that, so early as 1766, only two years after Bouquet's expedition, the leading house of Baynton, Wharton & Morgan, of Philadelphia, had carried that branch of trade through the immense lines of forest and river wilderness to fort Chartres, the military capital of the Illinois, on the Mississippi.[3] Its fertile lands were even then an object of scarcely less avidity.[4] Mr. Alexander Henry had, even a year or two earlier, carried this trade to Michilimackinac; and the English flag, the symbol of authority with the tribes, soon began to succeed that of France, far and wide. The Indians, finding the French flag had really been struck finally, submitted, and the trade soon fell, in every quarter, into English hands.

The American revolution, beginning within ten years of this time, was chiefly confined to the regions east of the Alleghanies. The war for territory west of this line was principally carried on by Virginia, whose royal governors had more than once marched to maintain her chartered rights on the Ohio. Her blood had often freely flowed on this border, and, while the great and vital contest still raged in the Atlantic colonies, she ceased not with a high hand to defend it, attacked as it was by the fiercest and most deadly onsets of the Indians.

In 1780, General George Rogers Clark, the commander of the Virginia forces, visited the vicinity of the mouth of the Ohio, by order of the governor of Virginia, for the purpose of selecting the site for a fort, which resulted in the erection of fort Jefferson, some few miles (I think) below the influx of the Ohio, on the eastern bank of the Mississippi. The United States were then in the fifth year of the war of independence. All its energies were taxed to the utmost extent in this contest; and not the least of its cares arose from the Indian tribes who hovered with deadly hostility on its western borders. It fell to the lot of Clark, who was a man of the greatest energy of character, chivalric courage, and sound judgment, to capture the posts of Kaskaskia and Vincennes, in the Illinois, with inadequate forces at his command, and through a series of almost superhuman toils. And we are indebted to these conquests for the enlarged western boundary inserted in the definitive treaty of peace, signed at Paris in 1783. Dr. Franklin, who was the ablest geographer among the commissioners, made a triumphant use of these conquests; and we are thus indebted to George Rogers Clark for the acquisition of the Mississippi valley.

American enterprise in exploring the country may be said to date from the time of the building of fort Jefferson; but it was not till the close of the revolutionary war, in 1783, that the West became the favorite theatre of action of a class of bold, energetic, and patriotic men, whose biographies would form a very interesting addition to our literature. It is to be hoped that such a work may be undertaken and completed before the materials for it, are beyond our reach. How numerous this class of men were, and how quickly they were followed by a hardy and enterprising population, who pressed westward from the Atlantic borders, may be inferred from the fact that the first State formed west of the Ohio river, required but twenty years from the treaty of peace for its complete organization. Local histories and cyclical memoirs have been published in some parts of the West, which, though scarcely known beyond the precincts of their origin, possess their chief value as affording a species of historical material for this investigation. Pioneer life in the West must, indeed, hereafter constitute a prolific source of American reminiscence; but it may be doubted whether any comprehensive work on the subject will be effectively undertaken, while any of this noble band of public benefactors are yet on the stage of life.

The acquisition of Louisiana, in 1803, became the period from which may be dated the first efforts of the United States' government to explore the public domain. The great extent of the territory purchased from France, stretching west to the Pacific ocean—its unknown boundaries on the south, west, and north—and the importance and variety of its reputed resources, furnished the subjects which led the Executive, Mr. Jefferson, to direct its early exploration. The expeditions named of Lewis and Clark to Oregon, and of Pike to the sources of the Mississippi, were the consequence. Pike did not publish the results of his search till 1810. Owing to the death of Governor Meriwether Lewis, a still greater delay attended the publication of the details of the former expedition, which did not appear till 1814. No books had been before published, which diffused so much local geographical knowledge. The United States were then engaged in the second war with Great Britain, during which the hostility of the western tribes precluded explorations, except such as could be made under arms. The treaty of Ghent brought the belligerent parties to terms; but the intelligence did not reach the country in season to prevent the battle of New Orleans, which occurred in January 1815.

Letters from correspondents in the West, which were often published by the diurnal press, and the lectures of Mr. W. Darby on western and general geography, together with verbal accounts and local publications, now poured a flood of information respecting the fertility and resources of that region, and produced an extensive current of emigration. Thousands were congregated at single points, waiting to embark on its waters. The successful termination of the war had taken away all fear of Indian hostility. The tribes had suffered a total defeat at all points, their great leader Tecumseh had fallen, and there was no longer a basis for any new combinations to oppose the advances of civilization. Military posts were erected to cover the vast line of frontiers on the west and north, and thus fully to occupy the lines originally secured by the treaty of 1783. In 1816, Mr. J. J. Astor, having purchased the North-west Company's posts, lying south of latitude 49°, established the central point of his trade at Michilimackinac. A military post was erected by the government at the falls of St. Anthony, and another at Council Bluffs on the Missouri. The knowledge of the geography and resources of the western country was thus practically extended, although no publication, so far as I am aware, was made on this subject.

In the fall of 1816, I determined to visit the Mississippi valley—a resolution which brought me into the situations narrated in the succeeding volume. In the three ensuing years I visited a large part of the West, and explored a considerable portion of Missouri and Arkansas, in which De Soto alone, I believe, had, in 1542, preceded me. My first publication on the results of these explorations was made at New York, in 1819. De Witt Clinton was then on the stage of action, and Mr. Calhoun, with his grasping intellect, directed the energies of the government in exploring the western domain, which, he foresaw, as he told me, must exercise a controlling influence on the destinies of America.

In the spring of 1818, Major S. H. Long, U. S. A., was selected by the War Office to explore the Missouri as high as the Yellowstone, and, accompanied by a corps of naturalists from Philadelphia, set out from Pittsburgh in a small steamer. The results of this expedition were in the highest degree auspicious to our knowledge of the actual topography and natural history of the far West, and mark a period in their progress. It was about this time that Colonel H. Leavenworth was directed to ascend the Mississippi, and establish a garrison at the mouth of the St. Peter's or Minnesota river. Early in 1820, the War Department directed an exploratory expedition to be organized at Detroit, under the direction of Lewis Cass, Esq., Governor of Michigan Territory, for the purpose of surveying the upper lakes, and determining the area at the sources of the Mississippi—its physical character, topography, and Indian population. In the scientific corps of this expedition, I received from the Secretary of War the situation of mineralogist and geologist, and published a narrative of it. This species of public employment was repeated in 1821, during which I explored the Miami of the Lakes, and the Wabash and Illinois; and my position assumed a permanent form, in another department of the service, in 1822, when I took up my residence in the great area of the upper lakes.

It is unnecessary to the purposes of this sketch to pursue these details further than to say, that the position I occupied was favorable to the investigation of the mineral constitution and natural history of the country, and also of the history, antiquities, and languages and customs, of the Indian tribes. For a series of years, the name of the author has been connected with the progress of discovery and research on these subjects. Events controlled him in the publication of separate volumes of travels, some of which were, confessedly, incomplete in their character, and hasty in their preparation. Had he never trespassed on public attention in this manner, he would not venture, with his present years, and more matured conceptions of a species of labor, where the difficulties are very great, the chances of applause doubtful, and the rewards, under the most favorable auspices, very slender. As it is, there is a natural desire that what has been done, and may be quoted when he has left this feverish scene and gone to his account, should be put in the least exceptionable form. Hence the revision of these travels.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Vide Narr. of Cabaca de Vaca, Smith's Tr., 1851.

[2] 291 years after De Soto's discovery, and 159 after Marquette's.

[3] MS. Journal of Matthew Clarkson, in the possession of Wm. Duane, Esq., Philadelphia.

[4] Ibid.

INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL.

CHAPTER I.

JUNCTION OF THE OHIO WITH THE MISSISSIPPI—DIFFICULTY OF ASCENDING THE LATTER WITH A BARGE—ITS TURBID AND RAPID CHARACTER—INCIDENTS OF THE VOYAGE—PHYSICAL IMPEDIMENTS TO ITS NAVIGATION—FALLING-IN BANKS—TIAWAPATI—ANIMALS—FLOATING TREES—RIVER AT NIGHT—NEEDLESS AND LAUGHABLE ALARM—CHARACTER OF THE SHORES—MEN GIVE OUT—REACH THE FIRST FAST LANDS—MINERAL PRODUCTS—CAPE GIRARDEAU—MOCCASIN SPRING—NON-POETIC GEOGRAPHICAL NAMES—GRAND TOWER—STRUGGLE TO PASS CAPE GARLIC.

I reached the junction of the Ohio with the Mississippi on the last day of June, 1818, with feelings somewhat akin to those of one who performs a pilgrimage;—for that Algonquin name of Mississippi had been floating through my mind ever since boyhood, as if it had been invested with a talismanic power.

The reading of books of geography, however, makes but a feeble impression on the mind, compared to the actual objects. Born on one of the tributaries of the Hudson—a stream whose whole length, from the junction of the Mohawk, is less than two hundred miles—I had never figured to myself rivers of such magnificent length and velocity. I had now followed down the Ohio, in all its windings, one thousand miles; it was not only the longest, but the most beautiful river which I had ever seen; and I felt something like regret to find it at last swallowed up, as it were, by the turbid and repulsive Mississippi. The latter was at its summer flood, and rushed by like a torrent, which seemed to be overcharged with the broken-down materials of half a continent.

De Soto had been the first European to gaze upon this heady mass of waters, urging downward everything that comes within their influence, and threatening to carry even their own banks into the gulf. We came, in a large, heavily-manned barge, to the very point of the influx of the Ohio, where Cairo is now located. It was early in the afternoon; but the captain of our craft, who was a stout-hearted fellow, of decision of character and a full-toned voice, deemed it best to come-to here, and wait till morning to grapple with the Mississippi. There were some old arks on the point, which had been landed in high water, and were now used as houses; but I retained my berth in the barge, and, after looking around the vicinity, amused myself by angling from the sides of the vessel. The only fish I caught was a gar—that almost single variety of the voracious species in these waters, which has a long bill, with sharp teeth, for arousing its prey, apparently, from a muddy bottom. The junction of two such streams as the Ohio and Mississippi, exhibits a remarkable struggle. For miles, along the eastern shores of the Mississippi, the clear blue waters of the Ohio are crowded to the banks; while the furious current of the former, like some monster, finally gulps it down, though the mastery is not obtained, I am told, till near the Chickasaw bluffs.

Early in the morning (1st July), the voice of the captain was heard, and the men paraded the sides of the deck, with their long poles shod with iron; and we were soon in the gurgling, muddy channel, struggling along its eastern shore. The men plied their poles with the skill of veterans, planting them as near the margin of the channel as possible, and placing the head of the pole against the shoulder, while they kept their footing by means of slats nailed across the footway. With every exertion, we made but five miles the first day. This slowness of ascent was, however, very favorable to observation. I was the only passenger on board, except two adventurers from the Youghioghany, in Western Pennsylvania, who had freighted the barge, and were in the position of supercargoes. Such tugging and toiling I had never before seen. It seemed to me that no set of men could long stand it. The current ran as if it were charged with power to sweep everything down its course. Its banks were not proof against this impetuosity, and frequently fell in, with a noise and power which threatened to overwhelm us. This danger was often increased by the floating trees, which had fallen into the stream at higher points. And when, after a severe day's toil, the captain ordered the boat to be moored for the night, we felt an insecurity from the fear that the bank itself might prove treacherous before morning.

Nothing in the structure of the country appeared to present a very fixed character. The banks of the river were elevated from ten to fifteen feet above the water, and consisted of a dark alluvium, bearing a dense forest. When they became too precipitous, which was an indication that the water at these points was too deep for the men to reach bottom with their poles, they took their oars, and crossed to the other bank. When night came on, in these damp alluvions, and darkness was added to our danger, the scene was indeed gloomy. I remember, this evening, we tried most perseveringly to drink our tea by a feeble light, which appeared to be a signal for the collection of insects far and near, who, by their numbers and the fierceness of their attacks, made it impossible to bring our cups to our mouths without stopping to brush away the fierce and greedy hordes of mosquitoes. Amongst the growth, cane and cotton-wood were most conspicuous.

I had a specimen of boatman manners to-day, which should not certainly be a subject of surprise, considering the rough-and-ready life and character of that class. Having laid down on the top deck of the barge a mineralogical specimen to which I attached value, and gone temporarily away, I found, on my return, that it had been knocked to pieces by one of the men, who acted, probably, like the boy who broke the fiddle, "to get the music out" of it. On expressing my disapproval of this, to one who evidently had not the most distant idea of the scientific value of "a stone," he made some trite remark, that "there was more where this came from," and then, stretching himself up at his full length of six feet, with sinews which had plainly become tense and hard from the use of the setting-pole, he exclaimed, "Help yourself!"

July 2d. The toils of this day were similar to those of the last. It was a perpetual struggle to overcome the force of the current by poles placed in the bed, and, when that became too deep, we sought for shallower shores. We encountered the same growth of trees along the banks. The land became somewhat more elevated. The insects were in such hordes, that it was amazing. We proceeded but about six miles to-day, and they were miles of incessant toil.

July 3d. To the ordinary dangers and efforts of this day, were added the frequent occurrence of snags and sawyers, or planters—terms which denote some of the peculiar impediments of Mississippi navigation. The captain of our craft, who was a courageous and vigilant man, was continually on the look-out to avoid these dangers, and put-to, at night, at the foot of a large cane-covered island, by which he avoided, in some measure, the sweep of the current, but was yet in jeopardy from falling-in banks. He requested me, in this exigency, to take a pole, and, from the bow, sound for bottom, as we crossed the river, to avoid shoals. This I did successfully. We estimated our ascent this day at seven miles.

July 4th. The perils and toils of the crew did not prevent their remembrance of the national anniversary; and the captain acknowledged their appeal in the morning by an extra measure of "old Monongahela." We then set forward against the wild, raging current. From the appearance of the wild turkey and large grey squirrel ashore, it is probable that we are passing out of the inundated region. In other respects, the face of the country and its productions appear the same. After ascending about six miles, when the time approached for looking out for a place to moor for the night, a storm of wind suddenly arose, which dashed the water into the barge. We put ashore in haste, at a precipitous bank of an island, which fell in during the night very near to us, and put us in momentary peril. To leave our position in the dark, would be to take the risk of running afoul of snags, or encountering floating trees; but as early as the light appeared on the morning of the 5th, we left the spot immediately, crossing to the western bank. By diligence we made eight miles this day, which brought us to the first settlement at Tiawapeta bottom, on the Missouri shore. This is the first land that appears sufficiently elevated for cultivation. The settlement consists of six or eight farms, where corn, flax, hemp, potatoes, and tobacco, are abundantly raised. The peach and apple-tree also thrive. I observed the papaw and persimmon among the wild fruits.

July 6th. The downward movement of the water, and its gurgling and rush as it meets with obstacles, is very audible after the barge has been fastened to the shore for the night, when its fearful impetuosity, surcharged as it is with floating wrecks of forest life, is impressive to the listener, while night has thrown her dark pall over the scene.

Early in the morning, the oarsmen and polemen were at their masculine toils. I had feared that such intense application of muscle, in pushing forward the boat, would exhaust their strength; and we had not gone over three miles this day, when we were obliged to lay-by for the want of more competent hands. The complaining men were promptly paid, and furnished with provisions to return. While detained by this circumstance, we were passed by a boat of similar construction to our own, laden with planks from Olean, on the sources of the Alleghany river, in New York. This article had been transported already more than thirteen hundred miles, on its way to a market at St. Louis, where it was estimated to be worth sixty dollars per thousand feet.

While moored along this coast, the day after we had thus escaped from the treacherous island, we seemed to have taken shelter along a shore infested by wild beasts. "Grizzly bear!" was the cry at night. We were all alarmed by a snorting and disturbance at the water's edge, a short distance below us, which, it was soon evident, proceeded from a large, light-colored, and furious animal. So far, all agreed. One of our Pennsylvanians, who had a choice rifle, prepared himself for the attack. The captain, who had no lack of resolution, and would, at any rate, have become bold by battling the Mississippi river for six or seven days, had some missiles; and all prepared to be useful on the occasion. As I carried nothing more deadly than a silver crucible and some acids, I remained on the upper deck of the barge. From this elevation I soon saw, by the dim moonlight, the whole party return, without having fired a gun. It turned out that the cause of this unusual disturbance was a large white hog, which had been shot in the head and snout with swan-shot, by some cruel fellows, the preceding day, and came at night to mitigate its burning and festering wounds by bathing in the river.

July 7th. Having procured some additional hands, our invincible captain pressed stoutly forward, and, at an early hour, we reached the head of Tiawapeta bottom, where a short stop was made. At this point, the bed of the Mississippi appears to be crossed by a chain of rocks, which oppose, however, no obstruction to its navigation. Such masses of it as appear on shore, are silico-carbonates of lime, and seem to belong to the metalliferous system of Missouri. About half a mile above the commencement of this chain, I observed, at the foot of an elevation near the water's edge, a remarkable stratum of white aluminous earth, of a rather dry and friable character, resembling chalk, and which, I afterwards observed, was extensively used by mechanics in Missouri as a substitute for that article. Masses, and in some instances nodules, of hornstone, resembling true flint, are found imbedded in it; yet it is not to be confounded with the chalk formation. It yields no effervescence with nitric, and is wholly destitute of carbonic, acid. Portions of the stratum are colored deeply by the red oxide of iron. Scattered along the shores of the river at this place, I observed large, angular masses of pudding-stone, consisting chiefly of silicious pebbles and sand, cemented by oxide of iron.

I now began to breathe more freely. For seven days we had been passing through such a nascent region, down which the Mississippi swept at so furious a rate, that I never felt sure, at night, that I should behold another day. Had the barge, any day, lost her heading and got athwart the stream, nothing could have prevented the water from rushing over her gunwales, and sweeping her to destruction. And the whole district of the alluvial banks was subject to be momentarily undermined, and frequently tumbled in, with the noise and fury of an avalanche, threatening destruction to whatever was in the vicinity.

Owing to the increased firmness of the shore, and the reinforcement of hands, we ascended this day ten miles. We began to feel in better spirits.

July 8th. The calcareous and elevated formation of rocks, covered with geological drift, continued constantly along the Missouri shore; for it was this shore, and not the Illinois side, that we generally hugged. This drift, on ascending the elevations, consisted of a hard and reddish loam, or marly clay, filled with pebble-stones of various kinds, and fragments and chips of hornstone, chert, common jasper, argillaceous oxide of iron, radiated quartz, and quartz materials, betokening the disruption, in ancient eras, of prior formations. The trees observed on the diluvial elevations were oaks, sassafras, and, on the best lands, walnut, but of sparse growth; with a dense forest of cotton-wood, sycamore, and elm, on the alluvions. On ascending the river five miles, we came to the town of Cape Girardeau, consisting of about fifty wooden buildings of all sorts, with a post-office and two stores. We were now at the computed distance of fifty miles above the influx of the Ohio. We went no farther that day. This gave me an opportunity to explore the vicinity.

I had not yet put my foot ashore, when a fellow-passenger brought me a message from one of the principal merchants of the place, desiring me to call at his store, and aid him in the examination of some drugs and medicines which he had newly received. On reaching his store, I was politely ushered into a back room, where some refreshments were handsomely set out. The whole thing was, in fact, designed as a friendly welcome to a professional man, who came neither to sell nor buy, but simply to inquire into the resources and natural history of the country. At this trait of hospitality and appreciation in a stranger, I took courage, and began to perceive that the West might be relied on.

I found the town of Cape Girardeau situated on an elevation of rich, red, marly soil, highly charged with oxide of iron, which is characteristic of the best arable soils of the mine country. This soil appears to be very readily dissolved in water, and carried off rapidly by rains, which furnishes a solution to the deep gulfs and gorges that disfigure many parts of the cultivated high grounds. If such places were sown with the seeds of grass, it would give fixity to the soil, and add much to the beauty of the landscape.

July 9th. We resumed our journey up the rapid stream betimes, but, with every exertion, ascended only seven miles. The river, in this distance, preserves its general character; the Missouri shores being rocky and elevated, while the vast alluvial tracts of the Illinois banks spread out in densely wooded bottoms. But, while the Missouri shores create the idea of greater security by their fixity, and freedom from treacherous alluvions, this very fixity of rocky banks creates jets of strong currents, setting around points, which require the greatest exertions of the bargemen to overcome. To aid them in these exigencies, the cordelle is employed. This consists of a stout rope fastened to a block in the bow of the barge, which is then passed over the shoulders of the men, who each at the same time grasp it, and lean hard forward.

July 10th. To me, the tardiness of our ascent, after reaching the rock formations, was extremely favorable, as it facilitated my examinations. Every day the mineralogy of the western banks became more interesting, and I was enabled daily to add something to my collection. This day, I picked up a large fragment of the pseudo pumice which is brought down the Missouri by its summer freshets. This mineral appears to have been completely melted; and its superficies is so much enlarged by vesicles filled with air, and its specific gravity thereby so much reduced, as to permit it to float in water. We encamped this evening, after an ascent of seven miles, at a spot called the Moccasin Spring, which is contained in a crevice in a depressed part of the limestone formation.

July 11th. This day was signalized by our being passed by a small steamer of forty tons burden, called the Harriet, laden with merchandise for St. Louis. Viewed from our stand-point, she seemed often nearly stationary, and sometimes receded, in her efforts to stem the fierce current; but she finally ascended, slowly and with labor. The pressure of the stream, before mentioned, against the rocky barrier of the western banks, was found, to-day, to be very strong. With much ado, with poles and cordelle, we made but five miles.

July 12th. We passed the mouth of Great Muddy river, on the Illinois shore, this morning. This stream, it is said, affords valuable beds of coal. The name of the river does not appear to be very poetic, nor very characteristic, in a region where every tributary stream is muddy; the Mississippi itself being muddy above all others. But, thanks to the Indians, they have not embodied that idea in the name of the Father of rivers; its greatness, with them, being justly deemed by far its most characteristic trait.

About two miles above this locality, we came to one of the geological wonders of the Mississippi, called the Grand Tower. It is a pile of limestone rocks, rising precipitously from the bed of the river in a circular form, resembling a massive castle. The height of this geological monument may be about one hundred feet. It is capped by some straggling cedars, which have caught a footing in the crevices. It might, with as much propriety as one of the Alps, be called the Jungfrau (Virgin); for it seems impossible that any human being should ever have ascended it. The main channel of the river passes east of it. There is a narrower channel on the west, which is apparently more dangerous. We crossed the river below this isolated cliff, and landed at some cavernous rocks on the Illinois side, which the boatmen, with the usual propensity of unlettered men, called the Devil's Oven. We then recrossed the river, and, after ascending a distance along the western shore, were repulsed in an attempt, with the cordelle, to pass Garlic Point. The captain then made elaborate preparations for a second attempt, but again failed. A third effort, with all our appliances, was resolved on, but with no better success; and we came-to, finally, for the night, in an eddy below the point, having advanced, during the day, seven miles. If we did not make rapid progress, I had good opportunities of seeing the country, and of contemplating this majestic river in one of its most characteristic phases—namely, its summer flood. I pleased myself by fancying, as I gazed upon its rushing eddies of mud and turbid matter, that I at least beheld a part of the Rocky mountains, passing along in the liquid state! It was a sight that would have delighted the eyes of Hutton; for methinks the quantity of detritus and broken-down strata would not have required, in his mind, many cycles to upbuild a continent.

Mountains to chaos are by waters hurled,
And re-create the geologic world.

CHAPTER II.

PASS CAPE GARLIC—OBRAZO RIVER—CLIFFS—EMIGRANTS—CAPE ST. COMB—BOIS BRULE BOTTOM—PAROQUET—FORT CHARTRES—KASKASKIA—ST. GENEVIEVE—M. BRETON—THE MISSISSIPPI DEFICIENT IN FISH—ANTIQUITIES—GEOLOGY—STEAMER—HERCULANEUM—M. AUSTIN, ESQ., THE PIONEER TO TEXAS—JOURNEY ON FOOT TO ST. LOUIS—MISADVENTURES ON THE MARAMEC—ITS INDIAN NAME—CARONDELET—ST. LOUIS, ITS FINE SITE AND PROBABLE FUTURE IMPORTANCE—ST. LOUIS MOUNDS NOT ARTIFICIAL—DOWNWARD PRESSURE OF THE DILUVIAL DRIFT OF THE MISSISSIPPI.

July 13th. We renewed the attempt to pass Cape Garlic at an early hour, and succeeded after a protracted and severe trial. But two of our best men immediately declared their unwillingness to proceed farther in these severe labors, in which they were obliged to pull like oxen; and they were promptly paid off by the captain, and permitted to return. The crew, thus diminished, went on a short distance further with the barge, and came-to at the mouth of the Obrazo river, to await the effort of our commander to procure additional hands. We had not now advanced more than two miles, which constituted the sum of this day's progress. While moored here, we were passed by four boats filled with emigrants from Vermont and Western New York, destined for Boon's Lick, on the Missouri. I embraced the occasion of this delay to make some excursions in the vicinity.

July 14th. Having been successful in obtaining a reinforcement of hands from the interior, we pursued the ascent, and made six miles along the Missouri shore. The next day (15th) we ascended seven miles. This leisurely tracing of the coast revealed to me some of the minutest features of its geological structure. The cliffs consist of horizontal strata of limestone, resting on granular crystalline sandstone. Nothing can equal the beauty of the varying landscape presented for the last two days. There has appeared a succession of the most novel and interesting objects. Whatever pleasure can be derived from the contemplation of natural objects, presented in surprising and picturesque groups, can here be enjoyed in the highest degree. Even art may be challenged to contrast, with more effect, the bleak and rugged cliff with the verdant forest, the cultivated field, or the wide-extended surface of the Mississippi, interspersed with its beautiful islands, and winding majestically through a country, which only requires the improvements of civilized and refined society, to render it one of the most delightful residences of man. Nor is it possible to contemplate the vast extent, fertility, resources, and increasing population of this immeasurable valley, without feeling a desire that our lives could be prolonged to an unusual period, that we might survey, an hundred years hence, the improved social and political condition of the country, and live to participate in its advantages, improvements, and power.

All the emigrants whom we have passed seem to be buoyed up by a hopeful and enterprising character; and, although most of them are manifestly from the poorest classes, and are from twelve to fifteen hundred miles on their adventurous search for a new home, from none have I heard a word of despondency.

July 16th. I observed to-day, at Cape St. Comb, large angular fragments of a species of coarse granular sandstone rock, which appear to be disjecta membra of a much more recent formation than that underlying the prevalent surface formation.

The gay and noisy paroquet was frequently seen, this day, wheeling in flocks over the river; and at one point, which was revealed suddenly, we beheld a large flock of pelicans standing along a low, sandy peninsula. Either the current, during to-day's voyage, was less furious, or the bargemen exerted more strength or skill; for we ascended ten miles, and encamped at the foot of Bois Brule (Burnt-wood) bottom. The term "bottom" is applied, in the West, to extensive tracts of level and arable alluvial soil, whether covered by, or denuded of, native forest trees. We found it the commencement of a comparatively populous and flourishing settlement, having on the next day (17th) passed along its margin for seven miles. Its entire length is twelve miles.

July 18th. The most prominent incidents of this day were the passing, on the Illinois shore, of the celebrated site of fort Chartres, and the influx of the Kaskaskia (or, as it is abbreviated by the men, Ocaw or Caw) river—a large stream on the eastern shore. These names will recall some of the earliest and most stirring scenes of Illinois history. The town of Kaskaskia, which is the present seat of the territorial government, is seated seven miles above its mouth.

Fort Chartres is now a ruin, and, owing to the capricious channel of the Mississippi, is rapidly tumbling into it. It had been a regular work, built of stone, according to the principles of military art. Its walls formerly contained not only the chief element of military power in French Illinois, but also sheltered the ecclesiastics and traders of the time. In an old manuscript journal of that fort which I have seen, a singular custom of the Osages is mentioned, on the authority of one Mons. Jeredot. He says (Dec. 22, 1766) that they have a feast, which they generally celebrate about the month of March, when they bake a large (corn) cake of about three or four feet diameter, and of two or three inches thickness. This is cut into pieces, from the centre to the circumference; and the principal chief or warrior arises and advances to the cake, when he declares his valor, and recounts his noble actions. If he is not contradicted, or none has aught to allege against him, he takes a piece of the cake, and distributes it among the boys of the nation, repeating to them his noble exploits, and exhorting them to imitate them. Another then approaches, and in the same manner recounts his achievements, and proceeds as before. Should any one attempt to take of the cake, to whose character there is the least exception, he is stigmatized and set aside as a poltroon.

It is said by some of the oldest and most intelligent inhabitants of St. Louis, that about 1768, when the British had obtained possession of fort Chartres, a very nefarious transaction took place in that vicinity, in the assassination of the celebrated Indian chief Pontiac. Tradition tells us that this man had exercised great influence in the North and West, and that he resisted the transfer of authority from the French to the English, on the fall of Canada. Carver has a story on this subject, detailing the siege of Detroit in 1763, which has been generally read. The version of Pontiac's death in Illinois, is this:—While encamped in this vicinity, an Illinois Indian, who had given in his adherence to the new dynasty of the English, was hired by the promise of rum, by some English traders, to assassinate the chief, while the latter was reposing on his pallet at night, still vainly dreaming, perhaps, of driving the English out of America, and of restoring his favorite Indo-Gallic empire in the West.

July 19th. We ascended the Mississippi seven miles yesterday, to which, by all appliances, we added eleven miles to-day, which is our maximum ascent in one day. Five miles of this distance, along the Missouri shore, consists of the great public field of St. Genevieve. This field is a monument of early French policy in the days of Indian supremacy, when the agricultural population of a village was brought to labor in proximity, so that any sudden and capricious attack of the natives could be effectively repelled. We landed at the mouth of the Gabarie, a small stream which passes through the town. St. Genevieve lies on higher ground, above the reach of the inundations, about a mile west of the landing. It consists of some three hundred wooden houses, including several stores, a post-office, court-house, Roman Catholic church, and a branch of the Missouri Bank, having a capital of fifty thousand dollars. The town is one of the principal markets and places of shipment for the Missouri lead-mines. Heavy stacks of lead in pigs, are one of the chief characteristics which I saw in, and often piled up in front of its storehouses; and they give one the idea of a considerable export in this article.

July 20th. I devoted this day to a reconnoissance of St. Genevieve and its environs. The style of building reminds one of the ancient Belgic and Dutch settlements on the banks of the Hudson and Mohawk—high-pointed roofs to low one-story-buildings, and large stone chimneys out-doors. The streets are narrow, and the whole village as compact as if built to sustain a siege. The water of the Mississippi is falling rapidly, and leaves on the shores a deposit of mud, varying from a foot to two feet in depth. This recent deposit appears to consist essentially of silex and alumine, in a state of very intimate mixture. An opinion is prevalent throughout this country, that the water of the Mississippi, with every impurity, is healthful as a common drink; and accordingly the boatmen, and many of the inhabitants on the banks of the river, make use of no other water. An expedient resorted to at first, perhaps, from necessity, may be continued from an impression of the benefits resulting from it. I am not well enough acquainted with the chemical properties of the water, or the method in which it operates on the human system, to deny its utility; but, to my palate, clear spring-water is far preferable. A simple method is pursued for clarifying it: a handful of Indian meal is sprinkled on the surface of a vessel of water, precipitating the mud to the bottom, and the superincumbent water is left in a tolerable state of purity.

July 21st. We again set forward this morning. On ascending three miles, we came to Little Rock ferry—a noted point of crossing from the east to the west of the Mississippi. The most remarkable incident in the history of this place is the residence of an old French soldier, of an age gone by, who has left his name in the geography of the surrounding country. M. Breton, the person alluded to, is stated to be, at this time, one hundred and nine years of age. Tradition says that he was at Braddock's defeat—at the siege of Louisbourg—at the building of fort Chartres, in the Illinois—and at the siege of Bergen-op-Zoom, in Flanders. While wandering as a hunter, after his military services had ended, in the country about forty miles west of the Mississippi, he discovered the extensive lead-mines which continue to bear his name.

We ascended this day twelve miles, which is the utmost stretch of our exertions against the turbid and heavy tide of this stream. Our captain (Ensminger) looked in the evening as if he had been struggling all day in a battle, and his men took to their pallets as if exhausted to the last degree.

July 22d. I have seen very little, thus far, in the Mississippi, in the shape of fish. The only species noticed has been the gar; one of which I caught, as described, from the side of the boat, while lying at the mouth of the Ohio. Of all rivers in the West, I should think it the least favorable to this form of organized matter. Of the coarse species of the catfish and buffalo-fish which are found in its waters, I suppose the freshet has deprived us of a sight.

Of antiquities, I have seen nothing since leaving the Ohio valley till this day, when I picked up, in my rambles on shore, an ancient Indian dart, of chert. The Indian antiquities on the Illinois shore, however, are stated to be very extensive. Near the Kaskaskia river are numerous mounds and earthworks, which denote a heavy ancient population.

The limestone cliffs, at the place called Dormant Rocks, assume a very imposing appearance. These precipitous walls bear the marks of attrition in water-lines, very plainly impressed, at great heights above the present water-level; creating the idea that they may have served as barriers to some ancient ocean resting on the grand prairies of Illinois.

We were passed, near evening, by the little steamer Harriet, on her descent from St. Louis. This vessel is the same that was noticed on the 11th, on her ascent, and is the only representative of steam-power that we have observed.[5] Our ascent this day was estimated at thirteen miles.

July 23d. Passing the Platten creek, the prominence called Cornice Rock, and the promontory of Joachim creek, an ascent of five miles brought us to the town of Herculaneum. This name of a Roman city buried for ages, gives, at least, a moral savor of antiquity to a country whose institutions are all new and nascent. It was bestowed, I believe, by Mr. Austin, who is one of the principal proprietors of the place. It consists of between thirty and forty houses, including three stores, a post-office, court-house, and school. There are three shot-towers on the adjoining cliffs, and some mills, with a tan-yard and a distillery, in the vicinity. It is also a mart for the lead-mine country.

I had now ascended one hundred and seventy miles from the junction of the Ohio. This had required over twenty-two days, which gives an average ascent of between seven and eight miles per day, and sufficiently denotes the difficulty of propelling boats up this stream by manual labor.

At Herculaneum I was introduced to M. Austin, Esq.—a gentleman who had been extensively engaged in the mining business while the country was yet under Spanish jurisdiction, and who was favorably known, a few years after, as the prime mover of the incipient steps to colonize Texas. Verbal information, from him and others, appeared to make this a favorable point from which to proceed into the interior, for the purpose of examining its mineral structure and peculiarities. I therefore determined to leave my baggage here until I had visited the territorial capital, St. Louis. This was still thirty miles distant, and, after making the necessary preparations, I set out, on the 26th of the month, on foot. In this journey I was joined by my two compagnons de voyage from Pennsylvania and Maryland. We began our march at an early hour. The summer had now assumed all its fervor, and power of relaxation and lassitude on the muscles of northern constitutions. We set out on foot early, but, as the day advanced, the sun beat down powerfully, and the air seemed to owe all its paternity to tropical regions. It was in vain we reached the summit land. There was no breeze, and the forest trees were too few and widely scattered to afford any appreciable shade.

The soil of the Missouri uplands appears to possess a uniform character, although it is better developed in some localities than in others. It is the red mineral clay, which, in some of its conditions, yields beds of galena throughout the mine country, bearing fragments of quartz in some of its numerous varieties. In these uplands, its character is not so well marked as in the districts further west; geologically considered, however, it is identical in age and relative position. The gullied character of the soil, and its liability to crumble under the effect of rain, and to be carried off, which was first noticed at Cape Girardeau, is observed along this portion of the river, and is most obvious in the gulfy state of the roads.

What added greatly to our fatigue in crossing this tract, was the having taken a too westerly path, which gave us a roundabout tramp. On returning to the main track, we forded Cold river, a rapid and clear brook; a little beyond which, we reached a fine, large, crystal spring, the waters of which bubbled up briskly and bright, and ran off from their point of outbreak to the river we had just crossed, leaving a white deposit of sulphur. The water is pretty strongly impregnated with this mineral, and is supposed to have a beneficial effect in bilious complaints. The scenery in the vicinity of the spring is highly picturesque, and the place is capable of being made a delightful resort.

Five miles more brought us to the banks of the Maramec river, where we arrived at dark, and prevailed with the ferryman to take us across, notwithstanding the darkness of the night, and the rain, which, after having threatened a shower all the afternoon, now began to fall. The Maramec is the principal stream of the mine country, and is the recipient of affluents, spreading over a large area. The aboriginal name of this stream, Mr. Austin informed me, should be written "Marameg." The ferryman seemed in no hurry to put us over this wide river, at so late an hour, and with so portentous a sky as hung over us, threatening every moment to pour down floods upon us. By the time we had descended from his house into the valley, and he had put us across to the opposite shore, it was dark. We took his directions for finding the house at which we expected to lodge; but it soon became so intensely dark, that we pursued a wrong track, which led us away from the shelter we sought. Satisfied at length that we had erred, we knew not what to do. It then began to pour down rain. We groped about a while, but finally stood still. In this position, we had not remained long, when the faint tinkling of a cow-bell, repeated leisurely, as if the animal were housed, fell on our ears. The direction of the sound was contrary to that we had been taking; but we determined to grope our way cautiously toward it, guided at intervals by flashes of lightning which lit up the woods, and standing still in the meanwhile to listen. At length we came to a fence. This was a guide, and by keeping along one side of it, it led us to the house of which we were in search. We found that, deducting our misadventure in the morning, we had advanced on our way, directly, but about fifteen miles.

July 27th. We were again on our path at a seasonable hour, and soon passed out of the fertile and heavily timbered valley of the Maramec. There now commenced a gentle ridge, running parallel to the Mississippi river for twelve miles. In this distance there was not a single house, nor any trace that man had bestowed any permanent labor. It was sparsely covered with oaks, standing at long distances apart, with the intervening spaces profusely covered with prairie grass and flowers. We frequently saw the deer bounding before us; and the views, in which we sometimes caught glimpses of the river, were of a highly sylvan character. But the heat of the day was intense, and we sweltered beneath it. About half-way, we encountered a standing spring, in a sort of open cavern at the foot of a hill, and stooped down and drank. We then went on, still "faint and wearily," to the old French village of Carondelet, which bears the soubriquet of Vede-pouche (empty sack). It contains about sixty wooden buildings, arranged mostly in a single street. Here we took breakfast.

Being now within six miles of the place of our destination, and recruited and refreshed, we pushed on with more alacrity. The first three miles led through a kind of brushy heath, which had the appearance of having once been covered with large trees that had all been cut away for firing, with here and there a dry trunk, denuded and white, looking like ghosts of a departed forest. Patches of cultivation, with a few buildings, then supervened. These tokens of a better state of things increased in frequency and value till we reached the skirts of the town, which we entered about four o'clock in the afternoon.

St. Louis impressed me as a geographical position of superlative advantages for a city. It now contains about five hundred and fifty houses, and five thousand inhabitants. It has forty stores, a post-office, a land-office, two chartered banks, a court-house, jail, theatre, three churches, one brewery, two distilleries, two water-mills, a steam flouring-mill, and other improvements. These elements of prosperity are but indications of what it is destined to become. The site is unsurpassed for its beauty and permanency; a limestone formation rising from the shores of the Mississippi, and extending gradually to the upper plain. It is in north latitude 38° 36', nearly equidistant from the Alleghany and the Rocky mountains. It is twelve hundred miles above New Orleans, and about one thousand below St. Anthony's falls.

No place in the world, situated so far from the ocean, can at all compare with St. Louis for commercial advantages. It is so situated with regard to the surrounding country, as to become the key to its commerce, and the storehouse of its wealth; and if the whole western region be surveyed with a geographical eye, it must rest with unequalled interest on that peninsula of land formed by the junction of the Missouri with the Mississippi—a point occupied by the town of St. Louis. Standing near the confluence of two such mighty streams, an almost immeasurable extent of back country must flow to it with its produce, and be supplied from it with merchandise. The main branch of the Missouri is navigable two thousand five hundred miles, and the most inconsiderable of its tributary streams will vie with the largest rivers of the Atlantic States. The Mississippi, on the other hand, is navigable without interruption for one thousand miles above St. Louis. Its affluents, the De Corbeau, Iowa, Wisconsin, St. Pierre, Rock river, Salt river, and Desmoines, are all streams of the first magnitude, and navigable for many hundred miles. The Illinois is navigable three hundred miles; and when the communication between it and the lakes, and between the Mississippi and lake Superior, and the lake of the Woods—between the Missouri and the Columbia valley—shall be effected; communications not only pointed out, but, in some instances, almost completed by nature; what a chain of connected navigation shall we behold! And by looking upon the map, we shall find St. Louis the focus where all these streams are destined to be discharged—the point where all this vast commerce must centre, and where the wealth flowing from these prolific sources must pre-eminently crown her the queen of the west.

My attention was called to two large mounds, on the western bank of the Mississippi, a short distance above St. Louis. I have no hesitation in expressing the opinion that they are geological, and not artificial. Indian bodies have been buried in their sides, precisely as they are often buried by the natives in other elevated grounds, for which they have a preference. But the mounds themselves consist of sand, boulders, pebbles, and other drift materials, such as are common to undisturbed positions in the Mississippi valley generally.

Another subject in the physical geography of the country attracted my notice, the moment the river fell low enough to expose its inferior shores, spits, and sand-bars. It is the progressive diffusion of its detritus from superior to inferior positions in its length. Among this transported material I observed numerous small fragments of those agates, and other silicious minerals of the quartz family, which characterize the broad diluvial tracts about its sources and upper portions.

FOOTNOTE:

[5] I found fifty steamers of all sizes on the Mississippi and its tributaries, of which a list is published in the Appendix.

CHAPTER III.

RESOLVE TO PROCEED FURTHER WEST—NIGHT VOYAGE ON THE MISSISSIPPI IN A SKIFF—AN ADVENTURE—PROCEED ON FOOT WEST TO THE MISSOURI MINES—INCIDENTS BY THE WAY—MINERS' VILLAGE OF SHIBBOLETH—COMPELLED BY A STORM TO PASS THE NIGHT AT OLD MINES—REACH POTOSI—FAVORABLE RECEPTION BY THE MINING GENTRY—PASS SEVERAL MONTHS IN EXAMINING THE MINES—ORGANIZE AN EXPEDITION TO EXPLORE WESTWARD—ITS COMPOSITION—DISCOURAGEMENTS ON SETTING OUT—PROCEED, NOTWITHSTANDING—INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY TO THE VALLEY OF LEAVES.

I was kindly received by some persons I had before known, particularly by a professional gentleman with whom I had descended the Alleghany river in the preceding month of March, who invited me to remain at his house. I had now proceeded about seventeen hundred miles from my starting-point in Western New York; and after passing a few days in examining the vicinity, and comparing facts, I resolved on the course it would be proper to pursue, in extending my journey further west and south-west. I had felt, for many years, an interest in the character and resources of the mineralogy of this part of what I better knew as Upper Louisiana, and its reported mines of lead, silver, copper, salt, and other natural productions. I had a desire to see the country which De Soto had visited, west of the Mississippi, and I wished to trace its connection with the true Cordillera of the United States—the Stony or Rocky mountains. My means for undertaking this were rather slender. I had already drawn heavily on these in my outward trip. But I felt (I believe from early reading) an irrepressible desire to explore this region. I was a good draughtsman, mapper, and geographer, a ready penman, a rapid sketcher, and a naturalist devoted to mineralogy and geology, with some readiness as an assayer and experimental chemist; and I relied on these as both aids and recommendations—as, in short, the incipient means of success.

When ready to embark on the Mississippi, I was joined by my two former companions in the ascent from the mouth of the Ohio. It was late in the afternoon of one of the hottest summer days, when we took our seats together in a light skiff at St. Louis, and pushed out into the Mississippi, which was still in flood, but rapidly falling, intending to reach Cahokia that night. But the atmosphere soon became overcast, and, when night came on, it was so intensely dark that we could not discriminate objects at much distance. Floating, in a light pine skiff, in the centre of such a stream, on a very dark night, our fate seemed suspended by a thread. The downward pressure of the current was such, that we needed not to move an oar; and every eye was strained, by holding it down parallel to the water, to discover contiguous snags, or floating bodies. It became, at the same time, quite cold. We at length made a shoal covered with willows, or a low sandy islet, on the left, or Illinois shore. Here, one of my Youghioghany friends, who had not yet got over his penchant for grizzly bears, returned from reconnoitering the bushes, with the cry of this prairie monster with a cub. It was too dark to scrutinize, and, as we had no arms, we pushed on hurriedly about a mile further, and laid down, rather than slept, on the shore, without victuals or fire. At daylight, for which we waited anxiously, we found ourselves nearly opposite Carondelet, to which we rowed, and where we obtained a warm breakfast. Before we had finished eating, our French landlady called for pay. Whether anything on our part had awakened her suspicions, or the deception of others had rendered the precaution necessary, I cannot say. Recruited in spirits by this meal, and by the opening of a fine, clear day, we pursued our way, without further misadventure, about eighteen miles, and landed at Herculaneum.

The next day, which was the last of July, I set out on foot for the mines, having directed my trunks to follow me by the first returning lead-teams. My course led through an open, rolling country, covered with grass, shrubs, and prairie flowers, and having but few trees. There was consequently little or no shade, and, the weather being sultry, I suffered much from heat and thirst. For the space of about twelve miles, the road ran over an elevated ridge, destitute of streams or springs. I did not meet an individual, nor see anything of the animal creation larger than a solitary wild turkey, which, during the hottest part of the day, came to contest with me for, or rather had previously reached, some water standing in a wagon-rut. I gained the head of the Joachim creek before nightfall, and, having taken lodgings, hastened down to a sheltered part of the channel to bathe, after which I enjoyed a refreshing night's sleep. The aboriginal name of this stream was "Zwashau," meaning pin-oak, as I was told by an old hunter whom I met.

The next day I was early on my way; and I soon began to discover, in the face of the country, evidences of its metalliferous character. Twelve miles brought me to the valley of Grand or Big river, one of the principal tributaries of the Maramec. In descending the high grounds, I observed numerous specimens of the brown oxide of iron; and after crossing the ferry, the mineral locally called mineral blossom, (radiated quartz,) of which I had noticed slight traces before, developed itself in fine specimens. The first mining village I came to, bore the name of Shibboleth. At this place there was a smelting furnace, of the kind called a log-furnace. Here I first saw heaps of the ore of lead commonly found. It is the sulphuret, of a broad glittering grain, and cubical fracture. It is readily smelted, being piled on logs of equal length, and adjusted in the before-named furnace, where it is roasted till the sulphur is driven off; when desulphurated, it melts, and the metal is received on an inclined plane and conducted into an orifice, from which it is ladled into moulds. From fifty to sixty per cent, is obtained in this way. Shibboleth is the property of John Smith T.; a man whose saturnine temper and disposition have brought him into collision with many persons, and given him a wide-spread notoriety both in Missouri and Tennessee.

I lingered along so leisurely, and stopped so often to examine objects by the way, that my progress was not rapid. I obtained some corn-bread and milk at a house, and pursued my journey to Old Mines, where a heavy storm of rain arose. I took shelter at a neighboring house, where I remained during the night. The next morning I walked into Potosi, and took lodgings at Mr. William Ficklin's. This gentleman was a native of Kentucky, where most of his life had been passed in the perils and adventures attending the early settlement of that State. His conversation was replete with anecdotes of perilous adventures which he had experienced; and I was indebted to him for some necessary practical points of knowledge in forest life, and precautions in travelling in an Indian country.

The day after my arrival was a local election day, for a representative from the county in the territorial legislature, to which Mr. Austin the younger was returned. This brought together the principal mining and agricultural gentlemen of the region, and was a circumstance of some advantage to me, in extending my acquaintance, and making known the objects of my visit. In this, the Austins, father and son, were most kind and obliging. Indeed, the spirit with which I was received by the landed proprietors of the country generally, and the frankness and urbanity of their manners and sentiments, inspired me with high hopes of success in making a mineralogical survey of the country.

I found the geological structure of the country, embracing the mines, to be very uniform. It consists of a metalliferous limestone, in horizontal strata, which have not been lifted up or disturbed from their horizontality by volcanic forces; but they have been exposed to the laws of disintegration and elemental action in a very singular manner. By this action, the surface of the formation has been divided into ridges, valleys, and hills, producing inequalities of the most striking and picturesque character.

There are some forty principal mines, in an area of about seventy miles by thirty or forty in breadth. The chief ore of lead smelted is galena. The associated minerals of most prominence are sulphate of barytes, sulphuret of zinc, calcareous spar, and crystallized quartz, chiefly in radiated crystals. I spent upwards of three months in a survey of the mines of chief consequence, noting their peculiarities and geological features. By far the most remarkable feature in the general structure of the country, consists of the existence of a granitical tract at the sources of the river St. Francis. This I particularly examined. The principal elevations consist of red sienite and greenstone, lying in their usual forms of mountain masses. The geological upheavals which have brought these masses to their present elevations, appear to have been of the most ancient character; for the limestones and crystalline sandstones have been deposited, in perfectly horizontal beds, against their sides.

Feeling a desire to compare this formation with the structure of the country west and south of it, extending to the Rocky mountains, and satisfied at the same time that these primary peaks constituted the mineral region of De Soto's most northerly explorations, I determined to extend my explorations south-westwardly. The term "Ozark mountains" is popularly applied to the broad and elevated highlands which stretch in this direction, reaching from the Maramec to the Arkansas. Having obtained the best information accessible from hunters and others who had gone farthest in that direction, I determined to proceed, as early as I could complete my arrangements for that purpose, to explore those elevations.

Colonel W. H. Ashley, who had penetrated into this region, together with several enterprising hunters and woodsmen, represented it as metalliferous, and abounding in scenes of varied interest. It had been the ancient hunting-ground of the Osages, a wild and predatory tribe, who yet infested its fastnesses; and it was represented as subject to severe risks from this cause. Two or three of the woodsmen, who were best acquainted with this tract, expressed a willingness to accompany me on a tour of exploration. I therefore, in the month of October, revisited St. Louis and Illinois, for the purpose of making final arrangements for the tour, and obtained the consent of Mr. Brigham and Mr. Pettibone, previously mentioned, to accompany me. A day was appointed for our assembling at Potosi. I then returned to complete my arrangements. I purchased a stout, low-priced horse, to carry such supplies as were requisite, made his pack-saddle with my own hands, and had it properly riveted by a smith. A pair of blankets for sleeping; a small, short-handled frying-pan; a new axe, a tin coffeepot, three tin cups, and the same number of tin plates; a couple of hunting-knives; a supply of lead, shot, ball, powder, and flints; a small smith's hammer, and nails for setting a horse-shoe; a horse-bell and strap; a pocket compass; a gun, shot-pouch, and appendages, containing a space for my diary; a mineral-hammer, constructed under my own directions, so as to embrace a small mortar on one face, and capable of unscrewing at the handle, which could be used as a pestle; a supply of stout clothing, a bearskin and oilcloth, some bacon, tea, sugar, salt, hard bread, &c., constituted the chief articles of outfit. The man of whom I purchased the horse called him by the unpoetic name of "Butcher."

It was the beginning of November before my friends arrived, and on the sixth of that month we packed the horse, and took our way over the mineral hills that surround Potosi, making our first encampment in a little valley, on the margin of a stream called Bates's creek.

It was fine autumn weather; the leaves of the forest were mostly sere, and the winds scattered them about us with an agreeable movement, as we wound among the hills. We were evidently following an old Indian trail, and, finding a rather tenable old wigwam, constructed of poles and bark, we pitched upon it as our first place of encampment. My kind host from Kentucky, with whom I had been staying, accompanied us thus far, to see us safely in the woods, and taught me the art of hobbling a horse, and tying on his night-bell. The hunters, who had talked rather vaingloriously of their prowess among wild animals and Osages, one by one found obstacles to impede their going. Finally, one of my companions was compelled to return, owing to a continued attack of fever and ague. I determined, nevertheless, to proceed, thinking that a hunter could be found to join us before quitting the verge of civilization. Having unpacked Butcher, prepared him for the night, stowed away the baggage, and built a fire, I took my gun and sallied out into the forest, while my companion prepared things for our supper. I found the greatest abundance of large black and grey squirrels in a neighboring wood, and returned with a number of the finest of them in season to add to our evening's meal.

A man's first night in the wilderness is impressive. Our friends had left us, and returned to Potosi. Gradually all sounds of animated nature ceased. When darkness closed around us, the civilized world seemed to have drawn its curtains, and excluded us. We put fresh sticks on the fire, which threw a rich flash of light on our camp, and finally wrapped ourselves in our blankets, and, amidst ruminations on the peculiarities of our position, our hopes, and our dangers, we sank to sleep.

Nov. 7th. The first thing listened for this morning was the tinkle of our horse's bell. But Butcher was gone. All my precautions had been in vain. The poor beast appeared to have had a presentiment of the hard fare that was before him, and, although his fore-feet were tethered, and he must lift up both together to jump, yet, having a strong recollection of the corn-fodder and juicy blades left behind him, he had made his way back to the mines. I immediately went in pursuit of him. He was easily tracked until he got to a space of rank herbage, where I lost the track, and hearing, at the same moment, a bell to the left, I pursued the sound over hill and through dale, till I came out at a farm-yard on Mine creek, four miles below Potosi, where I found the bell whose sound I had followed attached to the neck of a stately penned ox. The owner told me that Butcher had reached the mines, and been sent back to my camp by his former owner. I had nothing left but to retrace my steps, which, luckily, were but the shorter line of an acute triangle. I found him at the camp. It was, however, ten o'clock before our breakfast was despatched, and the horse repacked ready for starting. We took the labor of leading the horse, and carrying the compass and guiding, day about, so as to equalize these duties, and leave no cause for dissatisfaction. Our trail carried us across the succession of elevated and arid ridges called the Pinery. Not a habitation of any kind, nor the vestiges of one, was passed; neither did we observe any animal, or even bird. The soil was sterile, hard, and flinty, bearing yellow pines, with some oaks. Our general course was west-south-west. The day was mild and pleasant for the season. For a computed distance of fourteen miles, we encountered a succession of ascents and descents, which made us rejoice, as evening approached, to see a tilled valley before us. It proved to be the location of a small branch of the Maramec river, called by its original French name of Fourche â Courtois. The sun sank below the hills as we entered this valley. Some woodcock flew up as we reached the low ground; but as we had a cabin in view, and the day was far gone, we moved on toward our principal object. Presently the loud barking of dogs announced our approach; they seemed, by their clamor, as pertinacious as if two wolves or panthers were stealing on the tenement, till they were silenced by the loud commands of their master. It was a small log building, of the usual construction on the frontiers, and afforded the usual hospitality, and ready accommodations. They gave us warm cakes of corn-bread, and fine rich milk; and, spreading our blankets before the fire, we enjoyed sound slumbers. Butcher, here, had his last meal of corn, and made no attempt to escape.

Nov. 8th. With the earliest streaks of daylight we adjusted our pack for the horse, and again set forward on the trail. In the course of two miles' travel, we forded a stream called Law's Fork, and also the branch of the Maramec on which we had lodged the previous night. We soon after descried a hunter's cabin, a small and newly erected hut in the midst of the forest, occupied by a man named Alexander Roberts. This proved the last house we encountered, and was estimated to be twenty miles from Potosi. Some trees had been felled and laid around, partially burned; but not a spot of ground was in cultivation. Dogs, lean and hungry, heralded our approach, as in the former instance; and they barked loud and long. On reaching the cabin, we found that the man was not at home, having left it, his wife said, with his rifle, at an early hour, in search of game. She thought he would be back before noon, and that he would accompany us. We decided to await his return, and in the meanwhile prepared our frugal breakfast. In a short time, Roberts returned; he was a chunky, sinister-looking fellow, and reminded me of Ali Baba, in the "Forty Thieves." He had a short, greasy buckskin frock, and a pointed old hat. His wife, who peeped out of the door, looked queer, and had at least one resemblance to Cogia, which seemed to be "starvation." The hunter had killed nothing, and agreed to accompany us, immediately beginning his preparations. He at the same time informed us of the fear entertained of the Osages, and other matters connected with our journey in the contemplated direction. About ten o'clock he was ready, and, leading a stout little compact horse from a pen, he clapped a saddle on, seized his rifle, announced himself as ready, and led off. The trail led up a long ridge, which appeared to be the dividing ground between the two principal forks of the Maramec. It consisted of a stiff loam, filled with geological drift, which, having been burned over for ages by the Indians, to fit it for hunting in the fall of the year, had little carbonaceous soil left, and exhibited a hard and arid surface. Our general course was still west-south-west. After proceeding about four miles, our path came to the summit of an eminence, from which we descried the valley of the Ozau, or Ozark fork. This valley consisted entirely of prairie. Scarcely a tree was visible in it. The path wound down the declivity, and across the valley. The soil appeared to be fertile. Occupying one bank of the stream, nearly in the centre of the valley, we passed a cluster of Indian wigwams, inhabited alone by the old men, women, and children; the young men being absent, hunting. We found them to be Lenno-Lenapees, or, in other words, Delawares; being descendants of the Indians whom William Penn found, in 1682, in the pleasant forest village of Coacquannok, where Philadelphia now stands. Strange, but not extraordinary history! They have been shoved back by civilization, in the course of a hundred and thirty-six years' mutations, over the Alleghanies—over the Mississippi—into the spurs of these mountains. Where they will be after the lapse of a similar period, no one can say. But this can be said—that the hunting of deer will give out; and if they do not betake themselves to some other means of subsistence, they will be numbered among the nations that were.

Roberts informed me that four or five miles lower down the valley was a village of Shawnees, and, higher up, another village of Delawares.

On reaching the uplands on the west side of the valley, we pursued the trail up its banks about four or five miles, and encamped by daylight near a clump of bushes at a spring. As I was expert in striking and kindling a fire, this became a duty to which I devoted myself during the entire journey, while my companion busied himself in preparations for our repast. Roberts reconnoitred the vicinity, and came in with a report that we had reached a game country.

We were now fairly beyond the line of all settlements, even the most remote, and had entered on that broad highland tract to which, for geographical distinction, the name of Ozark mountains is applied. This tract reaches through Missouri and Arkansas, from the Maramec to the Wachita, and embraces the middle high lands between the plains at the foot of the Rocky mountains, and the rapids of the Maramec, St. Francis, Osage, White, Arkansas, and other principal streams; these traverse a belt of about two hundred miles east and west, by seven hundred miles north and south. It is a sort of Rheingau, through which the rivers burst.

Nov. 9th. Early in the morning, Roberts brought in the carcase of a fine deer; and we made our first meal on wild venison, cut fresh smoking from the tenderest parts, and roasted on sticks to suit our tastes. This put every one in the best of spirits, and we packed a supply of the meat for our evening's repast. Seeing that Roberts was more at home among the game, and that he had but a sorry knife for the business, I loaned him a fine new belt and knife, with its sheath, for the day. We now travelled up the Ozark fork about eighteen miles. The weather was exhilarating, and the winds were careering with the leaves of the forest, and casting them in profusion in our track. As we came near the sources of the river, we entered a wide prairie, perfectly covered for miles with these leaves, brought from neighboring forests. At every step the light masses were kicked or brushed away before us. This plain, or rather level vale, was crowned in the distance by elevations fringed with tall trees which still held some of their leafy honors, giving a very picturesque character to the landscape. I booked the scene at night, in my diary, as Cliola, or the Valley of Leaves. We held our way over the distant eminences, and at length found a spring by which we encamped, at a rather late hour. It had been a hazy and smoky day, like the Indian summer in Atlantic latitudes. We were in a region teeming with the deer and elk, which frequently bounded across our path. The crack of Roberts's rifle, also, added to the animation of the day's travel; though we might have known, from his unsteady bandit-eye, that he meditated something to our damage.

CHAPTER IV.

HORSES ELOPE—DESERTION OF OUR GUIDE—ENCAMP ON ONE OF THE SOURCES OF BLACK RIVER—HEAD-WATERS OF THE RIVER CURRENTS—ENTER A ROMANTIC SUB-VALLEY—SALTPETRE CAVES—DESCRIPTION OF ASHLEY'S CAVE—ENCAMPMENT THERE—ENTER AN ELEVATED SUMMIT—CALAMARCA, AN UNKNOWN STREAM—ENCOUNTER FOUR BEARS—NORTH FORK OF WHITE RIVER.

Nov. 10th. While we laid on our pallets last night, the trampling of hoofs was frequently heard; but at length the practised ear of the hunter detected that these were the sounds of wild animals' hoofs, and not of our horses. This man's eye had shown an unwonted degree of restlessness and uneasiness during the afternoon of the preceding day, while witnessing the abundant signs of deer and elk in the country; but this excited no suspicions. He was restless during the night, and was disturbed at a very early hour, long before light, by this trampling of animals. These sounds, he said to me, did not proceed from the horses, which were hobbled. He got up, and found both animals missing. Butcher's memory of corn and corn-fodder, at his old master's at Potosi, had not yet deserted him, and he carried the hunter's horse along with him. I immediately jumped up, and accompanied him in their pursuit. There was some moonlight, with clouds rapidly passing. We pursued our back-track, anxiously looking from every eminence, and stopping to listen for the sound of the bells. Roberts occasionally took up a handful of leaves, which were thickly strewn around, and held them up in the moonlight, to see whether the corks of the horses' shoes had not penetrated them. When he finally found this sign, he was sure we were in the right way. At length, when we had gone several miles, and reached an eminence that overlooked the broad plain of the Valley of Leaves, we plainly descried the fugitives, jumping on as fast as possible on the way back. We soon overhauled them, and brought them to camp by daybreak, before my companion had yet awaked.

Roberts now sallied out, and in a few minutes fired at and killed a fat doe, which he brought in, and we made a breakfast by roasting steaks. Roberts had expressed no dissatisfaction or desire to return, but, sallying out again among the deer on horseback, said he would rejoin us presently, at a future point. We travelled on, expecting at every turn to see him reappear. But we saw no more of him. The rascal had not only deserted us at a difficult point, but he carried off my best new hunting-knife—a loss not to be repaired in such a place.

We at length came to a point where the trail forked. This put us to a stand. Which to take, we knew not; and the result was of immense consequence to our journey, as we afterwards found; for, had we taken the right-hand fork, we should have been conducted in a more direct line to the portions of country we sought to explore. We took the left-hand fork, which we followed diligently, crossing several streams running to the north-west, which were probably tributary to the Missouri through the Gasconade. It was after dark before we came to a spot having the requisites for an encampment, particularly water. It was an opening on the margin of a small lake, having an outlet south-east, which we finally determined to be either one of the sources of the Black river, or of the river Currents.

We had now travelled about twenty miles from our last camp, in a southerly direction. We did not entirely relinquish the idea of being rejoined by Roberts, nor become fully satisfied of his treachery, till late in the evening. We had relied on his guidance till we should be able to reach some hunters' camps on the White or Arkansas rivers; but this idea was henceforth abandoned. Left thus, on the commencement of our journey, in the wilderness, without a guide or hunter, we were consigned to a doubtful fate; our extrication from which depended wholly upon a decision and self-reliance, which he only knows how to value, who is first called to grapple with the hardships of western life.

It was the edge of a prairie where we had halted. Wood was rather scarce; but we made shift to build a good fire, and went to sleep with no object near us, to excite sympathy, but our horse, who was securely belled and tethered. When we awoke in the morning, the fire was out, and a pack of wolves were howling within a few hundred yards of our camp. Whether the horse feared them, I know not; but he had taken his position near the embers of the fire, where he stood quite still.

Nov. 11th. In passing two miles, we crossed a small stream running south-east, which evidently had its source in the little lake at our last night's encampment. The trail beyond this was often faint; in the course of eight or ten miles, we began to ascend elevations covered with pines, but of so sterile and hard a soil, that we lost all trace of it. We wound about among these desolate pine ridges a mile or two, till, from one of the higher points, we descried a river in a deep valley, having a dense forest of hard wood, and every indication of animal life. Overjoyed at this, we mended our pace, and, by dint of great caution, led our pack-horse into it. It proved to be the river Currents, a fine stream, with fertile banks, and clear sparkling waters. The grey-squirrel was seen sporting on its shady margin, and, as night approached, the wild turkey came in from the plains to drink, and make its nightly abode. After fording the river, we soon found our lost trail, which we followed a while up the stream, then across a high ridge which constituted its southern banks, and through dense thickets to the summits of a narrow, deep, and dark limestone valley, which appeared to be an abyss. Daylight left us as we wound down a gorge into its dreary precincts; and we no sooner found it traversed by a clear brook, than we determined to encamp. As the fire flashed up, it revealed on either side steep and frowning cliffs, which might gratify the wildest spirit of romance. This stream, with its impending cavernous cliffs, I designated the Wall-cave or Onónda valley.

We had advanced this day about eighteen or twenty miles. We had an opportunity, while on the skirts of the high prairie lands, to fire at some elk, and to observe their stately motions; but, being still supplied with venison, we were not willing to waste the time in pursuing them. Our course varied from south to south-west.

Nov. 12th. Daylight fully revealed our position. We were in a valley, often not more than six hundred feet wide, with walls of high precipitous limestone rock. These cliffs were remarkable for nothing so much as their caverns, seated uniformly at a height of forty or fifty feet above the ground, in inaccessible positions. I do not know the number of these caves, as we did not count them; but they existed on either side of the valley as far as we explored it. Most of them were too high to reach. A tree had fallen against the cliff near one of them, by climbing which I reached a small ledge of the rock that afforded a little footing, and, by cautiously groping along, the orifice was finally reached and entered. It proved interesting, although of no great extent; but it contained stalactites depending in clusters from the walls. Of these, I secured a number which were translucent. Slender crystals of nitrate of potash, of perfect whiteness and crystalline beauty, were found in some of the crevices. Having secured specimens of these, I again got out on the ledge of rock, and, reaching the tree, descended in safety.

About half a mile higher up the valley, on its south side, we discovered a cavern of gigantic dimensions. The opening in the face of the rock appeared to be about eighty or ninety feet wide, and about thirty high. A projection of rock on one side enabled us to enter it. A vast and gloomy rotundo opened before us. It very soon, after the entry, increases in height to sixty or seventy feet, and in width to one hundred and fifty or two hundred feet, forming an immense hall. This hall has another opening or corridor, leading to a precipitous part of the cliff. It extends into the rock, southerly, an unexplored distance, branching off in lateral avenues from the main trunk. We explored the main gallery five or six hundred yards, when we found obstructions. The roof has been blackened by the carbonaceous effect of fires, kindled by Indians or white men, who have visited it, in former years, in search of nitrous earth. In some parts of it, compact bodies of pebbles and reddish clay, very similar to that found on the cliffs, are seen, which creates an idea that the cavern must have been an open orifice at the geological era of the diluvial deposits. This earth, by being lixiviated with common house-ashes, produces a liquid which, on evaporation, yields saltpetre. The cave, I was informed at Potosi, has been visited for this purpose by Colonel Ashley, and it appropriately bears his name. Finding it a perfect "rock-house," and being dry, and affording advantages for some necessary repairs to our gear, and arrangements for the further continuation of our explorations, we, about four o'clock in the afternoon, removed our camp up the valley, and encamped within it. We could shelter ourselves completely in its capacious chambers in case of rain, of which there were indications, and take a calm view of the course it seemed now expedient to pursue. Thus far, we had had a trail, however slight, to follow; but from this point there was none—we were to plunge into the pathless woods, and to trust ourselves alone to the compass, and the best judgment we could form of courses, distances, and probabilities. A wilderness lay before us, behind us, and around us. We had "taken our lives in our hands," and we were well satisfied that our success must depend on our vigilance, energy, and determination. In addition to the exertion of providing food, and repairing our clothing, which, as we urged our way, was paying tribute to every sharp bush we pressed through, we had to exercise a constant vigilance to prevent Indian surprises; for experience had already taught us that, in the wilderness, where there is no law to impose restraint but the moral law of the heart, man is the greatest enemy of man.

Nov. 13th. The threatening appearance of the atmosphere induced us to remain most of the day in our rock-house, which was devoted to devising a more safe and compact mode of carrying specimens, to repairs of our pack-saddles, a reconstruction of the mode of packing, &c. We then made a further reconnoissance of the cavern, and its vicinity and productions. I had paid particular attention to the subject of the occurrence of animal bones in our western caves, as those of Europe had recently excited attention; but never found any, in a single instance, except the species of existing weasels, and other very small quadrupeds, which are to be traced about these castellated and cavernous cliffs. As evening approached, a flock of turkeys, coming in from the plain to the top of the cliff above the cavern, flew down on to the trees directly in front of us, sheltered as we were from their sight, and afforded a fine opportunity for the exercise of our sportsmanship.

Nov. 14th. The rain which had threatened to fall yesterday, poured down this morning, and continued with more or less violence all day. Our packages, clothing, arms and accoutrements, were thoroughly overhauled and examined. We had still supplies of everything essential to our comfort. Our bacon had not been seriously trenched on, while the forest had amply supplied us with venison, and our groceries bade fair to last us till we should strike some of the main southern streams, or till our increasing powers of endurance and forest skill should enable us to do without them.

Nov. 15th. This morning, the sky being clear and bright, we left our rock abode in the Wall-cave valley. We ascended this valley a short distance, but, as it led us too far west, and the brush proved so thick as to retard our progress, we soon left it. With some ado, the horse was led to the top of the cliff. A number of lateral valleys, covered with thick brush, made this a labor by no means light. The surface of the ground was rough, vegetation sere and dry, and every thicket which spread before us presented an obstacle which was to be overcome. We could have penetrated many of these, which the horse could not be forced through. Such parts of our clothing as did not consist of buckskin, paid frequent tribute to these brambles.

At length we got clear of these spurs, and entered on a high table-land, where travelling became comparatively easy. The first view of this vista of highland plains was magnificent. It was covered with moderate-sized sere grass and dry seed-pods, which rustled as we passed. There was scarcely an object deserving the name of a tree, except now and then a solitary trunk of a dead pine or oak, which had been scathed by the lightning. The bleached bones of an elk, a deer, or a bison, were sometimes met. Occasionally we passed a copse of oak, or cluster of saplings. The deer often bounded before us, and we sometimes disturbed the hare from its sheltering bush, or put to flight the quail and the prairie-hen. There was no prominent feature in the distance for the eye to rest on. The unvaried prospect at length produced satiety. We felt, in a peculiar manner, the solitariness of the wilderness. We travelled silently and diligently. It was a dry and wave-like prairie. From morning till sunset, we did not encounter a drop of water. This became the absorbing object. Hill after hill, and vale after vale, were patiently ascended, and diligently footed, without bringing the expected boon. At last we came, suddenly and unexpectedly, to a small running stream in the plain, where we gladly encamped. I quickly struck up a cheerful fire, and we soon had a cup of tea with our evening's repast. Nor was Butcher neglected. There was a patch of short green grass on the margin of the brook, to which he did ample justice. We were not long after supper in yielding ourselves to a sound sleep.

While we were in the act of encamping, I had placed my powder-flask on the ground, and, on lighting the fire, neglected to remove it. As the plain was covered with dry leaves, they soon took fire, and burned over a considerable space, including the spot occupied by myself and the flask. The latter was a brass-mounted shooting-flask, of translucent horn, having a flaw through which grains of powder sometimes escaped. Yet no explosion took place. I looked and beheld the flask, which the fire had thus run over, very near me, with amazement.

Nov. 16th. We were now on an elevated summit of table-land or water-shed, which threw its waters off alternately to the Missouri and Mississippi. It was covered with high, coarse, prairie grass, and its occasional nodding clusters of prairie flowers run to seed. In depressed places, the greenbriar occasionally became entangled with the horse's feet, and required time to extricate him. We very frequently passed the head and thigh-bones of the buffalo, proving that the animal had been freely hunted on these plains. In the course of about eight miles' travel, we passed two small streams running to the north-west, which led us to think that we were diverging too far towards the Missouri side of this vast highland plateau. It was still some hours to sunset, and we had gone about four miles farther when we reached a large, broad stream, also flowing towards the north-west. It had a rapid and deep current, on each side of which was a wide space of shallow water, and boulders of limestone and sandstone. It required some skill to cross this river, as it was too deep to ford. The horse was led into the edge of the stream and driven over, coming out with his pack safely on the other side. The shallow parts offered no obstacle; and we bridged the deeper portion of the channel with limbs and trunks of trees, which had been brought down by the stream when in flood and left upon its banks, and, being denuded of their bark, were light and dry, and as white as bleached bones.

I had crossed the channel safely, after my companion; but he disturbed the bridge on stepping from it, and caused me to slip from the stick. Having my gun in my right hand, I naturally extended it, to break my fall. Each end of it, as it reached the stream, rested on a stone, and, my whole weight being in the centre, the barrel was slightly sprung. This bridge, for the purpose of reference, I called Calamarca. After crossing the stream, we came to a stand, and, on consultation, explored it downward, to determine its general course; but, finding it to incline toward the north-west, we returned up its southern bank two or three miles above our rustic bridge, and encamped.

Nov. 17th. In the morning we proceeded in a south-south-westerly direction, which, after keeping up the valley from the camp of Calamarca for a few miles, carried us up an elevated range of hills, covered with large oaks bearing acorns. We had reached the top of a ridge which commanded a view of a valley beyond it, when we observed, far below us in the valley, four bears on an oak, eating sweet acorns. The descent was steep and rough, with loose stones, which made it impossible to lead the horse down without disturbing them. We therefore tied him to a staddle, and, after looking to our priming, we began to descend the height. But, as the leaves had all fallen, concealment was impossible; and when the animals became alarmed, and began to come down the tree, we ran at our utmost speed to reach its foot first. In this effort, my companion fell on the loose stones, and sprained his ankle; I kept on, but did not reach the foot of the tree in time to prevent their escape, and I followed them some distance. When my companion's absence led me back to him, I found him badly hurt; he limped along with the utmost difficulty. I soon mounted him on the pack-horse, and led up the little valley; but the pain of his ankle became so intense, that he could not bear the motion, and, after proceeding a mile or two, we determined to halt and encamp. We had not travelled from our morning's encampment more than five or six miles. I accordingly unpacked the horse, prepared a pallet for my companion, and built a fire. I then bathed his ankle with salt and warm water. This done, I took my gun, and sauntered along the thickets in the hope of starting some game. Nothing, however, was found. The shrill and unmusical cry of the bluejay, which was the largest bird I saw, reminded me of other latitudes. Thoughtful, and full of apprehension at this untoward accident, I returned to our little camp, and diligently renewed my antalgic applications.

Nov. 18th. A night's rest, and the little remedies in my power to employ, had so far abated the pain of my companion's ankle, that he again consented to mount the pack-horse, and we pursued our way up the little valley in which we had encamped. We had not, however, travelled far, when we saw two large black bears playing in the grass before us, and so intently engaged in their sport that they did not observe us. My companion, with my aid, quickly dismounted. We examined our arms, tied the horse, and, having determined to fire together, had reached our several stations before the animals noticed our approach. They at first ran a few yards, but then turned and sat up in the high, sere grass, to see what had disturbed them. We fired at the same moment, each having singled out his mark. Both animals fled, but on reaching the spot where the one I fired at had sat, blood was copiously found on the grass. I pursued him and his mate over an adjoining ridge, where I lost sight of them; but discovering, on crossing the ridge, a hollow oak, into which I judged they had crept, I went back for the axe to fell it. While engaged at this, my companion hobbled up, and relieved me at the axe. The tree at length came down with a thundering crash, partially splitting in its fall, and I stood ready with my gun to receive the discomfited inmates; but, after gazing intently for a time, none appeared. It was now evident they had eluded us, and that we had lost the track. The excitement had almost cured my companion's lameness; but it returned when the pursuit was over, and, resuming his position on the horse, we proceeded over a succession of high, oak-covered ridges. In crossing one of these, a large and stately elk offered another object for our notice. He had an enormous pair of horns, which it seemed he must find it difficult to balance in browsing; but the moment he became aware of our propinquity, he lifted his head, and, throwing back the antlers, they seemed to form shields for his shoulders and sides while plunging forward through the thickets. We stood a moment to admire his splendid leaps.

These incidents had carried us a few miles out of our course. We were on high broken summits, which resembled, in their surface, what may be conceived of the tossing waves of a sea suddenly congealed. On descending from these towards the south, we came to clumps of bushes, with gravelly areas between, and an occasional standing pool of pure water. It was very evident to our minds, as we advanced, that these pools must communicate with each other through the gravel, and that there were seasons when there was more water washed from the hills. On following down this formation about six miles, the connection became more evident, and the sources of an important river developed themselves. We were, in fact, on the extreme head-waters of the Great North Fork of White river; the Unica of the Cherokees, and the Riviere au Blanc of the French. The manner in which the waters develop themselves on descending the southern slope of these highlands, is remarkable. They proceed in plateaux or steps, on each of which the stream deploys in a kind of lake, or elongated basin, connected with the next succeeding one by a narrow rapid. The rock is a grey sandstone in the lower situations, capped with limestone. In some places the water wholly disappears, and seems to permeate the rock. We came to a place where the river, being some four feet deep, is entirely absorbed by the rock, and does not again appear till a mile below, where it suddenly issues from the rock, in its original volume.

CHAPTER V.

DESCEND THE VALLEY—ITS DIFFICULTIES—HORSE ROLLS DOWN A PRECIPICE—PURITY OF THE WATER—ACCIDENT CAUSED THEREBY—ELKHORN SPRING—TOWER CREEK—HORSE PLUNGES OVER HIS DEPTH IN FORDING, AND DESTROYS WHATEVER IS DELIQUESCENT IN HIS PACK—ABSENCE OF ANTIQUITIES, OR EVIDENCES OF ANCIENT HABITATION—A REMARKABLE CAVERN—PINCHED FOR FOOD—OLD INDIAN LODGES—THE BEAVER—A DESERTED PIONEER'S CAMP—INCIDENT OF THE PUMPKIN.

Nov. 19th. Daylight put us in motion. It was determined to follow the valley down in its involutions, which led us, generally, south. We passed over some fertile, heavily timbered bottoms, where I observed the elm, oak, beech, maple, ash, and sycamore. We had not left our camp more than a mile, when we came to the first appearance of the C. arundinacea, or cane, and we soon after reached the locality of the greenbriar. Travelling in these rich forests is attended with great fatigue and exertion from the underbrush, particularly from the thick growth of cane and greenbriar; the latter of which often binds masses of the fields of cane together, and makes it next to impossible to force a horse through the matted vegetation. Our horse, indeed, while he relieved us from the burden of carrying packs, became the greatest impediment to our getting forward, while in this valley. To find an easier path, we took one of the summit ranges of the valley. But a horse, it seems, must have no climbing to do, when he is under a pack-saddle. We had not gone far on this ridge, when the animal slipped, or stumbled. The impetus of his load was more than he could resist. The declivity was steep, but not precipitous. He rolled over and over for perhaps two hundred feet, until he reached the foot of the ridge. We looked with dismay as he went, and thought that every bone in his body must have been broken. When we reached him, however, he was not dead, but, with our aid, got up. How he escaped we could not divine, but he looked pleased when he saw us come to his relief, and busy ourselves in extricating him. We unloosed his pack, and did all we could to restore him. We could not find any outward bruise; there was no cut, and no blood was started. Even a horse loves sympathy. After a time, we repacked him, and slowly continued our route. The delay caused by this accident, made this a short day's journey; we did not suppose ourselves to have advanced, in a direct line, over twelve miles. The valley is very serpentine, redoubling on itself.

Nov. 20th. We found the stream made up entirely of pure springs, gushing from the gravel, or rocks. Nothing can exceed the crystal purity of its waters. These springs are often very large. We came to one, in the course of this day, which we judged to be fifty feet wide. It rushes out of an aperture in the rock, and joins the main branch of the river about six hundred yards below, in a volume quite equal to that of the main fork. I found an enormous pair of elk's horns lying on one side of the spring, which I lifted up and hung in the forks of a young oak, and from this incident named it the Elkhorn Spring.

In forcing my way through the rank vines, weeds, and brush, which encumber the valley below this point, I lost my small farrier's hammer from my belt; a loss which was irreparable, as it was the only means we had of setting a shoe on our horse, and had also served on ordinary occasions as a mineral-hammer, instead of the heavier implement in the pack.

We often disturbed the black bear from his lair in the thick canebrakes, but travelled with too much noise to overtake him. The deer frequently bounded across the valley, while turkey, squirrel, duck, and smaller game, were also abundant.

Nov. 21st. The bottom-lands continued to improve in extent and fertility as we descended. The stream, as it wears its way into deeper levels of the stratification of the country, presents, on either side, high cliffs of rock. These cliffs, which consist of horizontal limestone, resting on sandstone, frequently present prominent pinnacles, resembling ruinous castellated walls. In some places they rise to an astonishing height, and they are uniformly crowned with yellow pines. A remarkable formation of this description appeared to-day, at the entrance of a tributary stream through these walled cliffs, on the left bank, which I called Tower Creek; it impressed one with the idea of the high walls of a ruined battlement.

The purity and transparency of the water are so remarkable, that it is often difficult to estimate its depth in the river. A striking instance of this occurred after passing this point. I was leading the horse. In crossing from the east to the west bank, I had led Butcher to a spot which I thought he could easily ford, without reaching above his knees. He plunged in, however, over his depth, and, swimming across with his pack, came to elevated shores on the other side, which kept him so long in the water, and we were detained so long in searching for a suitable point for him to mount, that almost everything of a soluble character in his pack was either lost or damaged. Our salt and sugar were mostly spoiled; our tea and Indian meal damaged; our skins, blankets, and clothing, saturated. This mishap caused us a world of trouble. Though early in the day, we at once encamped. I immediately built a fire, the horse was speedily unpacked, and each particular article was examined, and such as permitted it, carefully dried. This labor occupied us till a late hour in the night.

Nov. 22d. Up to this point we had seen no Osages, of whose predatory acts we had heard so much at Potosi, and on the sources of the Maramec; nor any signs of their having been in this section of the country during a twelvemonth, certainly not since spring. All the deserted camps, and the evidences of encampment, were old. The bones of animals eaten, found on the high plains east of Calamarca, and at the Elkhorn spring, were bleached and dry. Not a vestige had appeared, since leaving the Wall-cliffs, of a human being having recently visited the country. The silence and desolateness of the wilderness reigned around. And when we looked for evidences of an ancient permanent occupation of the region by man, there were none—not a hillock raised by human hands, nor the smallest object that could be deemed antiquarian. The only evidences of ancient action were those of a geological kind—caverns, valleys of denudation, beds of drift, boulders, water-lines and markings on the faces of cliffs, which betokened oceanic overflow at very antique or primary periods.

The difficulties attending our progress down the valley, induced us to strike out into the open prairie, where travelling was free, and unimpeded by shrubbery or vines. Nothing but illimitable fields of grass, with clumps of trees here and there, met the eye. We travelled steadily, without diverging to the right or left. We sometimes disturbed covies of prairie birds; the rabbit started from his sheltering bush, or the deer enlivened the prospect. We had laid our course south-south-west, and travelled about twenty miles. As evening approached, we searched in vain for water, to encamp. In quest of it, we finally entered a desolate gorge, which seemed, at some seasons, to have been traversed by floods, as it disclosed boulders and piles of rubbish. Daylight departed as we wound our way down this dry gorge, which was found to be flanked, as we descended, with towering cliffs. In the meantime, the heavens became overcast with dense black clouds, and rain soon began to fall. We scanned these lofty cliffs closely, as we were in a cavernous limestone country, for evidences of some practicable opening which might give us shelter for the night. At length, after daylight had gone, the dark mouth of a large cavern appeared on our left, at some twenty or thirty feet elevation. The horse could not be led up this steep, but, by unpacking him, we carried the baggage up, and then hobbled and belled the poor beast, and left him to pick a meal as best he could in this desolate valley. It was the best, and indeed the only thing, we could do for him.

It was not long before I had a fire in the cave, which threw its red rays upon the outlines of the cavern, in a manner which would have formed a study for Michael Angelo. It seemed that internal waters had flowed out of this cavern for ages, carrying particle by particle of the yielding rock, by which vast masses had been scooped out, or hung still in threatening pendants. Its width was some forty feet, its height perhaps double that space, and its depth illimitable. A small stream of pure water glided along its bottom, and went trickling down the cliff.

The accident in crossing the stream had saturated, but not ruined our tea; and we soon had an infusion of it, to accompany our evening's frugal repast—for frugal indeed it became, in meats and bread, after our irreparable loss of the day previous. Nothing is more refreshing than a draught of tea in the wilderness, and one soon experiences that this effect is due neither to milk nor sugar. The next thing to be done after supper, was to light a torch and explore the recesses of the cave, lest it should be occupied by some carnivorous beasts, who might fancy a sleeping traveller for a night's meal. Sallying into its dark recesses, gun and torch in hand, we passed up a steep ascent, which made it difficult to keep our feet. This passage, at first, turned to the right, then narrowed, and finally terminated in a low gallery, growing smaller and smaller towards its apparent close. This passage became too low to admit walking, but by the light of our torch, which threw its rays far into its recesses, there appeared no possibility of our proceeding further. We then retraced our steps to our fire in the front of the cave, where there were evidences of Indian camp-fires. We then replenished our fire with fuel, and spread down our pallets for the night. My companion soon adjusted himself in a concave part of the rock, and went to sleep. I looked out from the front of the cave to endeavor to see the horse; but although I caught a sound of his bell, nothing could be seen but intense darkness. The rain had been slight, and had abated; but the cliffs in front, and the clouds above the narrow valley, rendered it impossible to see anything beyond the reach of the flickering rays of our fire. To its precincts I returned, and entered up my journal of the events of the day. Our situation, and the peculiarities of the scenery around us, led me to reflect on that mysterious fate which, in every hazard, attends human actions, and, by the light of the fire, I pencilled the annexed lines, and clapt down the cavern in my journal as the Cave of Tula.[6]

LINES WRITTEN IN A CAVE IN THE WILDERNESS OF ARKANSAS.

O! thou, who, clothed in magic spell,
Delight'st in lonely wilds to dwell,
Resting in rift, or wrapped in air,
Remote from mortal ken, or care:
Genius of caverns drear and wild,
Hear a suppliant wandering child—
One, who nor a wanton calls,
Or intruder in thy walls:
One, who spills not on the plain,
Blood for sport, or worldly gain,
Like his red barbarian kin,
Deep in murder—foul in sin;
Or, with high, horrific yells,
Rends thy dark and silent cells;
But, a devious traveller nigh,
Weary, hungry, parched, and dry;
One, who seeks thy shelter blest,
Not to riot, but to rest.
Grant me, from thy crystal rill,
Oft my glittering cup to fill;
Let thy dwelling, rude and high,
Make my nightly canopy,
And, by superhuman walls,
Ward the dew that nightly falls.
Guard me from the ills that creep
On the houseless traveller's sleep—
From the ravenous panther's spring,
From the scorpion's poisoned sting,
From the serpent—reptile curst—
And the Indian's midnight thrust.
Grant me this, aerial sprite,
And a balmy rest by night,
Blest by visions of delight!
Let me dream of friendship true,
And that human ills are few;
Let me dream that boyhood's schemes
Are not, what I've found them, dreams;
And his hopes, however gay,
Have not flitted fast away.
Let me dream, I ne'er have felt,
Ease that pleases, joys that melt;
Or that I shall ever find
Honor fair, or fortune kind;
Dream that time shall sweetly fling,
In my path, perpetual spring.
Let me dream my bosom never
Felt the pang from friends to sever;
Or that life is not replete,
Or with loss, pain, wo, deceit.
Let me dream, misfortune's smart
Ne'er hath wrung my bleeding heart;
Nor its potent, galling sway,
Forced me far, O! far away;
Let me dream it—for I know,
When I wake, it is not so![7]

Nov. 23d. My first care this morning was to find Butcher, who had been left, last night, with a sorry prospect. He was not to be found. I followed our back track to the plains, whither he had gone for his night's meal. By the time I returned with him, the forenoon was wellnigh gone. We then travelled to the south-east. This brought us, in due time, again into the valley of the North Fork. We found it less encumbered with vines and thickets, and very much widened in its expansion between bluff and bluff. We forded it, and found, on its eastern margin, extensive open oak plains. On one of the most conspicuous trees were marks and letters, which proved that it had been visited and singled out for settlement by some enterprising pioneer. From the open character of the country, we could not get near to large game; and we now found that our supply of ball and shot was near its close. We passed down the valley about ten miles, and encamped. Since the loss of our corn-meal, we had had nothing in the shape of bread, and our provisions were now reduced to a very small quantity of dried meat. We had expected, for some days, to have reached either Indian or white hunters' camps. Our anxiety on this head now became intense. Prudence required, however, that, small as our stores were, they should be divided with strict reference to the probability of our not meeting with hunters, or getting relief, for two or three days.

Nov. 24th. The stick frames, without bark, of several Indian lodges, were passed to-day, denoting that they had not been recently occupied. Travelling down the opposite side of the vale from that taken by my companion, who had charge of the horse, I came to a point on the bank of the river, where I discovered two grown beavers sporting in the stream. The tail of this animal, which appears clumsy and unwieldy in the dead specimen, gives the animal a graceful appearance in the water, where it makes him appear to have a very elongated body. After diving about for some time, they came to the shore, and sat in front of their wauzh, as it is termed by the Algonquins, or lodge, which in this case was a fissure in the rock. I was perfectly screened by a point of the rock from their view, and sat with my gun cocked, reserving my fire, a few moments, the more perfectly to observe them, when both animals, at the same instant, darted into their holes.

Under the influence of a keen appetite, and a tolerably open forest, we pressed on, this day, about fifteen miles; the horse being, as usual, our chief hindrance.

Nov. 25th. I took the horse's bridle over my arm this morning, and had proceeded through open woods about ten miles, when we descried, from a little summit, a hut in the distance, which had some traits of the labor of white men. This gave animation to our steps, in the hope of finding it occupied. But, as we approached, we could discern no smoke rising up as the sign of occupancy, and were disappointed to find it an abortive effort of some pioneer, and, at the moment, called it Camp No. We afterwards learned that it had been constructed by one Martin, who, as there was not a foot of land in cultivation, had probably aimed to subsist by the chase alone. The location was well chosen. A large canebrake flanked the river, sufficient to give range to horses and cattle. A little tributary stream bounded a fertile piece of upland, east of this. The hut was built of puncheons, supported on one side by a rude ridge-pole, leaving the front of it open, forming a shed which had a roof and floor. But the stream had now dried up. We found a plant of cotton, bolled out, among the adjacent weeds, which proved the soil and climate suitable to its culture. We were now well within the probable limits of Arkansas.

It was determined to encamp at this spot, turn the horse into the adjacent canebrake, where the leaves were green, to deposit our baggage and camp apparatus in one corner of the hut, and, after making light packs, to take our arms, and proceed in search of settlements. This required a little time. To reach a point where civilization had once tried to get a foothold, however, was something; and we consoled ourselves with the reflection that we could not be remote from its skirts.

The next day (26th) I made an excursion west of the river, from our position, about five miles, to determine satisfactorily our situation. I found, on the opposite side of the valley, a little higher up, at the foot of the cliff, another small (white man's) hut, which had also been abandoned. In a small patch of ground, which had once been cleared, there grew a pumpkin vine, which then had three pumpkins. This was a treasure, which I at once secured. I found that one of them had been partially eaten by some wild animal, and determined to give it to my horse, but could not resist the inclination first to cut off a few slices, which I ate raw with the greatest appetite. The taste seemed delicious. I had not before been aware that my appetite had become so keen by fasting; for we had had but little to eat for many days. Between the horse and myself, we finished it, and had quite a sociable time of it. With the other two, which were the largest, I rode back to camp, where, having a small camp-kettle, we boiled and despatched them, without meat or bread, for supper. It does not require much to make one happy; for, in this instance, our little luck put us in the best of humor.

FOOTNOTES:

[6] De Soto.

[7] These lines were published in the Belles-Lettres Repository in 1821, and shortly after, with a commendation, in the New York Statesman.

CHAPTER VI.

ABANDON OUR CAMP AND HORSE IN SEARCH OF SETTLEMENTS—INCIDENTS OF THE FIRST DAY—HEAR A SHOT—CAMP IN AN OLD INDIAN LODGE—ACORNS FOR SUPPER—KILL A WOODPECKER—INCIDENTS OF THE SECOND DAY—STERILE RIDGES—WANT OF WATER—CAMP AT NIGHT IN A DEEP GORGE—INCIDENTS OF THE THIRD DAY—FIND A HORSE-PATH, AND PURSUE IT—DISCOVER A MAN ON HORSEBACK—REACH A HUNTER'S CABIN—INCIDENTS THERE—HE CONDUCTS US BACK TO OUR OLD CAMP—DESERTED THERE WITHOUT PROVISIONS—DEPLORABLE STATE—SHIFTS—TAKING OF A TURKEY.

Nov. 27th. Action is the price of safety in the woods. Neither dreams nor poetic visions kept us on our pallets a moment longer than it was light enough to see the grey tints of morning. Each of us prepared a compact knapsack, containing a blanket and a few absolute necessaries, and gave our belts an extra jerk before lifting our guns to our shoulders; then, secretly wishing our friend Butcher a good time in the canebrake, we set out with a light pace towards the south. My companion Bonee[8] was much attached to tea, and, as the article of a small tin pot was indispensable to the enjoyment of this beverage, he burthened himself with this appendage by strapping it on his back with a green sash. This was not a very military sort of accoutrement; but as he did not pride himself in that way, and had not, in fact, the least notion of the ridiculous figure he cut with it, I was alone in my unexpressed sense of the Fridayishness of his looks on the march, day by day, across the prairies and through the woods, with this not very glittering culinary appendage dangling at his back.

Hope gave animation to our steps. We struck out from the valley southerly, which brought us to an elevated open tract, partially wooded, in which the walking was good. After travelling about six miles, we heard the report of a gun on our left. Supposing it to proceed from some white hunter, we tried to get into communication with him, and hallooed stoutly. This was answered. I withdrew the ball from my gun, and fired. We then followed the course of the shot and halloo. But, although a whoop was once heard, which seemed from its intonation to be Indian, we were unsuccessful in gaining an interview, and, after losing a good deal of time in the effort, were obliged to give it up, and proceed. We had now lost some hours.

Much of our way lay through open oak forests, with a thick bed of fallen leaves, and we several times searched under these for sweet acorns; but we uniformly found that the wild turkeys had been too quick for us—every sweet acorn had been scratched up and eaten, and none remained but such as were bitter and distasteful. On descending an eminence, we found the sassafras plentifully, and, breaking off branches of it, chewed them, which took away the astringent and bad taste of the acorns.

As night approached, we searched in vain for water on the elevated grounds, and were compelled to seek the river valley, where we encamped in an old Indian wigwam of bark, and found the night chilly and cold. We turned restlessly on our pallets, waiting for day.

Nov. 28th. Daylight was most welcome. I built a fire against the stump of a dead tree, which had been broken off by lightning at a height of some thirty or forty feet from the ground. We here boiled our tea, and accurately divided about half an ounce of dried meat, being the last morsel we had. While thus engaged, a red-headed woodpecker lit on the tree, some fifteen or twenty feet above our heads, and began pecking. The visit was a most untimely one for the bird. In a few more moments, he lay dead at the foot of the tree, and, being plucked, roasted, and divided, furnished out our repast. We then gave the straps of our accoutrements a tight jerk, by way of preventing a flaccid stomach—an Indian habit—and set forward with renewed strength and hope. We travelled this day over a rolling country of hill and dale, with little to relieve the eye or demand observation, and laid down at night, fatigued, in the edge of a canebrake.

Nov. 29th. A dense fog, which overhung the whole valley, prevented our quitting camp at a very early hour. When it arose, and the atmosphere became sufficiently clear to discern our way, we ascended the hills to our left, and took a west-south-west course.

Nothing can exceed the roughness and sterility of the country we have to-day traversed, and the endless succession of steep declivities, and broken, rocky precipices, surmounted. Our line of march, as soon as we left the low grounds of the river valley, led over moderately elevated ridges of oak-openings. We came at length to some hickory trees. Beneath one of them, the nuts laid in quantities on the ground. We sat down, and diligently commenced cracking them; but this was soon determined to be too slow a process to satisfy hungry men, and, gathering a quantity for our night's encampment, we pushed forward diligently. Tramp! tramp! tramp! we walked resolutely on, in a straight line, over hill and dale. Trees, rocks, prairie-grass, the jumping squirrel, the whirring quail—we gave them a glance, and passed on. We finally saw the sun set; evening threw its shades around; night presented its sombre hue; and, as it grew dark, it became cloudy and cold. Still, no water to encamp by was found, and it finally became so dark that we were forced to grope our way. By groping in the darkness, we at length stood on the brink of a precipice, and could distinctly hear the gurgling sound of running water in the gulf below. It was a pleasing sound; for we had not tasted a drop since early dawn. Had we still had our horse, we should not have been able to get him down in the darkness; but, by seizing hold of bushes, and feeling our way continually, we reached the bottom, and encamped immediately by the stream. It was a small run of pure mountain water. Soon a fire arose on its banks. We cracked a few of the nuts. We drank our accustomed tin-cup of tea. We wrapped ourselves in our blankets upon its immediate margin, and knew no more till early daylight, when a cold air had quite chilled us.

Nov. 30th. We were happy to get out of this gulf at the earliest dawn. After travelling a couple of miles, we stepped suddenly into a well-beaten horse-path, running transversely to our course, with fresh horse-tracks leading both ways. We stopped to deliberate which end of the path to take. I thought the right-hand would conduct us to the mouth of the river which we had been pursuing down, where it could hardly fail there should be hunters or pioneer settlers located. My companion thought the left hand should be taken, without offering any satisfactory reason for it. I determined, in an instant, to rise above him mentally, by yielding the point, and set out with a firm and ready pace to the left. We travelled diligently about three miles without meeting anything to note, but were evidently going back into the wilderness we had just left, by a wider circuit, when my companion relented, and we turned about on our tracks toward the mouth of the river. We had not gone far, and had not yet reached the point of our original issue from the forest, when we descried a man on horseback, coming toward us. Joy flashed in our eyes. When he came up, he told us that there was a hunter located at the mouth of the river, and another, named Wells, nearly equidistant on the path he was pursuing; and that, if we would follow him, he would guide us to the latter. This we immediately determined to do, and, after travelling about seven miles, came in sight of the cabin.

Our approach was announced by a loud and long-continued barking of dogs, who required frequent bidding from their master before they could be pacified. The first object worthy of remark that presented itself on our emerging from the forest, was a number of deer, bear, and other skins, fastened to a kind of rude frame, supported by poles, which occupied the area about the house. These trophies of skill in the chase were regarded with great complacency by our conductor, as he pointed them out, and he remarked that Wells was "a great hunter, and a forehanded man." There were a number of acres of ground, from which he had gathered a crop of corn. The house was a substantial, new-built log tenement, of one room. The family consisted of the hunter and his wife, and four or five children, two of whom were men grown, and the youngest a boy of about sixteen. All, males and females, were dressed in leather prepared from deerskins. The host himself was a middle-sized, light-limbed, sharp-faced man. Around the walls of the room hung horns of the deer and buffalo, with a rifle, shot-pouches, leather coats, dried meats, and other articles, giving unmistakeable signs of the vocation of our host. The furniture was of his own fabrication. On one side hung a deerskin, sewed up in somewhat the shape of the living animal, containing bears' oil. In another place hung a similar vessel, filled with wild honey.

All the members of the family seemed erudite in the knowledge of woodcraft, the ranges and signs of animals, and their food and habits; and while the wife busied herself in preparing our meal, she occasionally stopped to interrogate us, or take part in the conversation. When she had finished her preparations, she invited us to sit down to a delicious meal of warm corn-bread and butter, honey and milk, to which we did ample justice. A more satisfactory meal I never made.

It was late in the afternoon when our supper was prepared, and we spent the evening in giving and receiving information of the highest practical interest to each party. Wells recited a number of anecdotes of hunting, and of his domestic life. We repaid him with full accounts of our adventures. What appeared to interest him most, was the accounts of the bears and other wild animals we had seen. When the hour for rest arrived, we opened our sacks, and, spreading our blankets on a bearskin which he furnished, laid down before the fire, and enjoyed a sound night's repose.

Dec. 1st. We were up with the earliest dawning of light, and determined to regain our position at Camp No, on the Great North Fork, with all possible despatch, and pursue our tour westward. We had understood from the conversation of the hunters among themselves, that they designed forthwith to proceed on a hunting excursion into the region we had passed, on the Great North Fork, and determined to avail ourselves of their guidance to our deposits and horse. We understood that our course from that point had been circuitous, and that the place could be reached by a direct line of twenty miles' travel due north-west. We purchased from our host a dressed deerskin for moccasins, a small quantity of Indian corn, some wild honey, and a little lead. The corn required pounding to convert it into meal. This we accomplished by a pestle, fixed to a loaded swing-pole, playing into a mortar burned into an oak stump. The payment for these articles, being made in money, excited the man's cupidity; for, although he had previously determined on going in that direction, he now refused to guide us to Camp No, unless paid for it. This was also assented to, with the agreement to furnish us with the carcase of a deer.

By eleven o'clock, A. M., all was ready, and, shouldering our knapsacks and guns, we set forward, accompanied by our host, his three sons, and a neighbor, making our party to consist of seven men, all mounted on horses but ourselves, and followed by a pack of hungry, yelping dogs. Our course was due north-west. As we were heavily laden and sore-footed, our shoes being literally worn from our feet by the stony tracts we had passed over, the cavalcade were occasionally obliged to halt till we came up. This proved such a cause of delay to them, that they finally agreed to let us ride and walk, alternately, with the young men. In this way we passed over an undulating tract, not heavily timbered, until about ten o'clock at night, when we reached our abandoned camp, where we found our baggage safe. A couple of the men had been detached from the party, early in the morning, to hunt the stipulated deer; but they did not succeed in finding any, and came in long before us, with a pair of turkeys. One of these we despatched for supper, and then all betook themselves to repose.

Dec. 2d. One of the first objects that presented itself this morning was our horse Butcher, from the neighboring canebrake, who did not seem to have well relished his fare on cane leaves, and stood doggedly in front of our cabin, with a pertinacity which seemed to say, "Give me my portion of corn." Poor animal! he had not thriven on the sere grass and scanty water of the Ozarks, where he had once tumbled down the sides of a cliff with a pack on, been once plunged in the river beyond his depth, and often struggled with the tangled greenbriar of the valleys, which held him by the foot. With every attention, he had fallen away; and he seemed to anticipate that he was yet destined to become wolf's-meat on the prairies.

The hunters were up with the earliest dawn, and several of them went out in quest of game, recollecting their promise to us on that head; but they all returned after an absence of a couple of hours, unsuccessful. By this time we had cooked the other turkey for breakfast, which just sufficed for the occasion. The five men passed a few moments about the fire, then suddenly caught and saddled their horses, and, mounting together, bid us good morning, and rode off. We were taken quite aback by this movement, supposing that they would have felt under obligation, as they had been paid for it, to furnish us some provisions. We looked intently after them, as they rode up the long sloping eminence to the north of us. They brought forcibly to my mind the theatrical representation, in the background, of the march of the Forty Thieves, as they wind down the mountain, before they present themselves at the front of the cave, with its charmed gates. But there was no "open sesame!" for us. Cast once more on our own resources in the wilderness, the alternative seemed to be pressed upon our minds, very forcibly, "hunt or starve." Serious as the circumstances appeared, yet, when we reflected upon their manners and conversation, their obtuseness to just obligation, their avarice, and their insensibility to our actual wants, we could not help rejoicing that they were gone.

Dec. 3d. Left alone, we began to reflect closely on our situation, and the means of extricating ourselves from this position. If we had called it camp "No" from our disappointment at not finding it inhabited on our first arrival, it was now again appropriately camp "No," from not obtaining adequate relief from the hunters. We had procured a dressed buckskin for making moccasins. We had a little pounded corn, in a shape to make hunters' bread. We had not a mouthful of meat. I devoted part of the day to making a pair of Indian shoes. We had not a single charge of shot left. We had procured lead enough to mould just five bullets. This I carefully did. I then sallied out in search of game, scanning cautiously the neighboring canebrake, and fired, at different times, three balls, unsuccessfully, at turkeys. It was evident, as I had the birds within range, that my gun had been sprung in the heavy fall I had had, as before related, in the crossing Calamarca. My companion then took his gun, and also made an unsuccessful shot. When evening approached, a flock of turkeys came to roost near by. We had now just one ball left; everything depended on that. I took it to the large and firm stump of an oak, and cut it into exactly thirty-two pieces, with geometrical precision. I then beat the angular edges of each, until they assumed a sufficiently globular shape to admit of their being rolled on a hard surface, under a pressure. This completed their globular form. I then cleansed my companion's gun, and carefully loaded it with the thirty-two shot. We then proceeded to the roost, which was on some large oaks, in a contiguous valley. I carried a torch, which I had carefully made at the camp. My companion took the loaded gun, and I, holding the torch near the sights at the same time, so that its rays fell directly on the birds, he selected one, and fired. It proved to be one of the largest and heaviest, and fell to the earth with a sound. We now returned to camp, and prepared a part of it for supper, determining to husband the remainder so as to last till we should reach settlements by holding a due west course.

Dec. 4th. We had prepared ourselves to start west this day; but it rained from early dawn to dark, which confined us closely to our cabin. Rain is one of the greatest annoyances to the woodsman. Generally, he has no shelter against it, and must sit in it, ride in it, or walk in it. Where there is no shelter, the two latter are preferable. But, as we had a split-board roof, we kept close, and busied ourselves with more perfect preparations for our next sally. I had some minerals that admitted of being more closely and securely packed, and gladly availed myself of the opportunity to accomplish it. Our foot and leg gear, also, required renovating. Experience had been our best teacher from the first; and hunger and danger kept us perpetually on the qui vive, and made us wise in little expedients.

FOOTNOTE:

[8] Elision of Pettibone.

CHAPTER VII.

PROCEED WEST—BOG OUR HORSE—CROSS THE KNIFE HILLS—REACH THE UNICA, OR WHITE RIVER—ABANDON THE HORSE AT A HUNTER'S, AND PROCEED WITH PACKS—OBJECTS OF PITY—SUGAR-LOAF PRAIRIE—CAMP UNDER A CLIFF—FORD THE UNICA TWICE—DESCEND INTO A CAVERN—REACH BEAVER RIVER, THE HIGHEST POINT OF OCCUPANCY BY A HUNTER POPULATION.

Dec. 5th. The rain ceased during the night, and left us a clear atmosphere in the morning. At an early hour we completed the package of the horse, and, taking the reins, I led him to the brink of the river, and with difficulty effected a passage. The cliffs which formed the western side of the valley, presented an obstacle not easily surmounted. By leading the animal in a zigzag course, however, this height was finally attained. The prospect, as far as the eye could reach, was discouraging. Hill on hill rose before us, with little timber, it is true, to impede us, but implying a continual necessity of crossing steeps and depressions. After encountering this rough surface about two miles, we came into a valley having a stream tributary to the Great North Fork of White river, which we had quitted that morning, but at a higher point. In this sub-valley we found our way impeded by another difficulty—namely, the brush and small canes that grew near the brook. To avoid this impediment, I took the horse across a low piece of ground, having a thicket, but which appeared to be firm. In this I was mistaken; for the animal's feet soon began to sink, and ere long he stuck fast. The effort to extricate him but served to sink him deeper, and, by pawing to get out, he continually widened the slough in which he had sunk. We then obtained poles, and endeavored to pry him up; but our own footing was continually giving way, and we at length beheld him in a perfect slough of soft black mud. After getting his pack off, we decided to leave him to his fate. We carried the pack to dry ground, on one side of the valley, and spread the articles out, not without deeply regretting the poor beast's plight. But then it occurred to us that, if the horse were abandoned, we must also abandon our camp-kettle, large axe, beds, and most of our camp apparatus; and another and concentrated effort was finally resolved on. To begin, we cut down two tall saplings, by means of which the horse was pried up from the bottom of the slough. He was then grasped by the legs and turned over, which brought his feet in contact with the more solid part of the ground. A determined effort, both of horse and help, now brought him to his feet. He raised himself up, and, by pulling with all our might, we brought him on dry ground. I then led him gently to our place of deposit, and, by means of bunches of sere grass, we both busied ourselves first to rub off the mud and wet, and afterwards to groom him, and rub him dry. When he was properly restored, it was found that he was able to carry his pack-saddle and pack; and he was led slowly up the valley about three miles, where we encamped. The grass in this little valley was of a nourishing quality, and by stopping early we allowed him to recruit himself. We did not estimate our whole distance this day at more than nine miles.

Dec. 6th. Butcher had improved his time well in the tender grass during the night, and presented a more spirited appearance in the morning. We were now near the head of Bogbrook, which we had been following; and as we quitted its sides, long to be remembered for our mishap, we began to ascend an elevated and bleak tract of the Mocama or Knife hills, so called, over which the winds rushed strongly as we urged our way. Few large trees were seen on these eminences, which were often bare, with a hard cherty footing, replaced sometimes by clusters of brambles and thickets. In one of these, a valuable couteau de chasse was swept from its sheath at my side, and lost. I was now reduced to a single knife, of the kind fabricated for the Indians, under the name of scalper. For a distance of sixteen miles we held on our way, in a west-south-west course, turning neither to the right nor left. As night approached, we found ourselves descending into a considerable valley, caused by a river. The shrubbery and grass of its banks had been swept by fire in the fall, and a new crop of grass was just rising. We formed our encampment in this fire-swept area, which afforded Butcher another benefit, and made some amends for his scanty fare among the bleak eminences of the Ozarks. This stream proved to be the Little North Fork of White river. We here despatched the last morsel of our turkey.

Dec. 7th. The ascent of the hills which bounded the valley on the south-west was found to be very difficult; and when the summit was reached, there spread before us an extensive prairie, of varied surface. Trees occasionally appeared, but were in no place so thickly diffused as to prevent the growth of a beautiful carpet of prairie grass. When we had gone about six miles, a bold mound-like hill rose on our left, which seemed a favorable spot for getting a view of the surrounding country. We had been told by the hunters that in travelling fifteen miles about west, we should reach a settlement at Sugar-loaf Prairie, on the main channel of the Unica or White river. But on reaching the summit of this natural look-out, we could descry nothing that betokened human habitation. As far as the eye could reach, prairies and groves filled the undulating vista. On reaching its foot again, where our horse was tied, we changed our course to the south, believing that our directions had been vague. We had gone about a mile in this direction, when we entered a faint and old horse-path. This gave animation to our steps. We pursued it about three miles, when it fell into another and plainer path, having the fresh tracks of horses. We were now on elevated ground, which commanded views of the country all around. Suddenly the opposite side of a wide valley appeared to open far beneath us, and, stepping forward the better to scan it, the river of which we were in search presented its bright, broad, and placid surface to our view, at several hundred feet below. We stood admiringly on the top of a high, rocky, and precipitous cliff. Instinctively to shout, was my first impulse. My companion, as he came up, also shouted. We had reached the object of our search.

Pursuing the brow of the precipice about a mile, a log building and some fields were discovered on the opposite bank. On descending the path whose traces we had followed, it brought us to a ford. We at once prepared to cross the river, which was four or five hundred yards wide, reaching, in some places, half-leg high. On ascending the opposite bank, we came to the house of a Mr. M'Garey, who received us with an air of hospitality, and made us welcome to his abode. He had several grown sons, who were present, and who, as we found by their costume and conversation, were hunters. Mrs. M'G. was engaged in trying bears' fat, and in due time she invited us to sit down to a meal of these scraps, with excellent corn-bread and sassafras tea, with sugar and milk, served in cups.

M'Garey had a bluff frankness of manner, with an air of independence in the means of living, and an individuality of character, which impressed us favorably. He told us that we were eight hundred miles west of the Mississippi by the stream, that White river was navigable by keel-boats for this distance, and that there were several settlements on its banks. He had several acres in cultivation in Indian corn, possessed horses, cows, and hogs, and, as we observed at the door, a hand-mill. At a convenient distance was a smokehouse, where meats were preserved. I observed a couple of odd volumes of books on a shelf. He was evidently a pioneer on the Indian land. He said that the Cherokees had been improperly located along the western bank of White river, extending to the Arkansas, and that the effect was to retard and prevent the purchase and settlement of the country by the United States. He complained of this, as adverse to the scattered hunters, who were anxious to get titles for their lands. He did not represent the Cherokees as being hostile, or as having committed any depredations. But he depicted the Osages as the scourge and terror of the country. They roamed from the Arkansas to the Missouri frontier, and pillaged whoever fell in their way. He detailed the particulars of a robbery committed in the very house we were sitting in, when they took away horses, clothes, and whatever they fancied. They had visited him in this way twice, and recently stole from him eight beaver-skins; and during their last foray in the valley, they had robbed one of his neighbors, called Teen Friend, of all his arms, traps, and skins, and detained him a prisoner. This tribe felt hostile to all the settlers on the outskirts of Missouri and Arkansas, and were open robbers and plunderers of all the whites who fell defenceless into their hands. They were, he thought, particularly to be dreaded in the region which we proposed to explore. He also said that the Osages were hostile to the newly-arrived Cherokees, who had migrated from the east side of the Mississippi, and had settled in the country between the Red river and Arkansas, and that these tribes were daily committing trespasses upon each other. Having myself, but a short time before, noticed the conclusion of a peace between the western Cherokees and Osages at St. Louis, before General Clark, I was surprised to hear this; but he added, as an illustration of this want of faith, that when the Cherokees returned from that treaty, they pursued a party of Osages near the banks of White river, and stole twenty horses from them.

Dec. 8th. On comparing opinions, for which purpose we had an interview outside the premises, it seemed that these statements were to be received with some grains of allowance. They were natural enough for a victim of Indian robberies, and doubtless true; but the events had not been recent, and they were not deemed sufficient to deter us from proceeding in our contemplated tour to the higher Ozarks at the sources of the river. It was evident that we had erred a good deal from our stick bridge at Calamarca, from the proper track; but we were nevertheless determined not to relinquish our object.

Having obtained the necessary information, we determined to pursue our way, for which purpose we turned the horse to graze with M'Garey's, rid ourselves of all our heavy baggage by depositing it with him, and prepared our knapsacks for this new essay. When ready, our host refused to take any pay for his hospitalities, but, conducting us to his smokehouse, opened the door, and then, drawing his knife from its sheath, placed it, with an air of pomposity, in my hand, offering the handle-end, and said, "Go in and cut." I did so, taking what appeared to be sufficient to last us to our next expected point of meeting hunters. The place was well filled with buffalo and bear meat, both smoked and fresh, hanging on cross-bars.

At nine o'clock we bade our kind entertainer adieu, and, taking directions to reach Sugar-loaf Prairie, crossed over the river by the same ford which we had taken in our outward track from Camp No, in the valley of the Great North Fork. Relieved from the toilsome task of leading the horse, we ascended the opposite cliffs with alacrity, and vigorously pursued our course, over elevated ground, for about sixteen miles. The path then became obscure; the ground was so flinty and hard, that it was in vain we searched for tracks of horses' feet. Some time was lost in this search, and we finally encamped in a cane bottom in the river valley.

My companion had again charged himself with the coffeepot, which he carried in a similar manner at his back; and when I came to open my pack, told me he thought I had not cut deep enough into the dried bear's meat of M'Garey's smokehouse. To a man who refused all pay, and had been invariably kind, I felt that moderation, in this respect, was due. I was, besides, myself to be the carrier of it; and we, indeed, never had cause to regret the carefulness of my selection.

Dec. 9th. Finding ourselves in the river's bottom, we forced our way, with no small effort, through the thick growth of cane and vines. We had, perhaps, advanced seven miles through this dense vegetation, when we suddenly burst into a small cleared space. Here, in a little, incomplete shanty, we found a woman and her young child. She had not a morsel to eat, and looked half famished. Her husband had gone into the forest to hunt something to eat. The child looked feeble. We were touched at the sight, and did all we could to relieve them. They had been in that position of new-comers about two weeks, having come up from the lower parts of the river.

From this point, we ascended the river hills eastwardly, and pursued our journey along an elevated range to the Sugar-loaf Prairie—a name which is derived from the striking effects of denudation on the limestone cliffs, which occupy the most elevated positions along this valley. We were received with blunt hospitality by a tall man in leather, called Coker, whose manner appears to be characteristic of the hunter. Our approach was heralded by the usual loud and long barking of dogs, and we found the premises surrounded by the invariable indications of a successful hunter—skins of the bear and other animals, stretched out on frames to dry.

We were no sooner at home with our entertainer, than he began to corroborate what we had before heard of the hostility of the Osages. He considered the journey at this season hazardous, as he thought they had not yet broke up their fall hunting-camps, and retired to their villages on the Grand Osaw (Osage). He also thought it a poor season for game, and presented a rather discouraging prospect to our view. My gun having proved useless, we tried to obtain a rifle which he possessed, and seemed willing to part with, but not at a reasonable price.

Mr. Coker represented the settlers of Sugar-loaf Prairie to consist of four families, situated within the distance of eight miles, including both banks of the river. This was exclusive of two families living at Beaver creek, the highest point yet occupied.

Dec. 10th. It was noon before we were prepared to depart from Coker's. The old man refused to take anything for our meals and lodging; and we bade him adieu, after taking his directions as to the best route to pursue to reach Beaver creek, our next point. We travelled through a lightly-timbered, hilly, barren country, about eight miles, when the skies became overcast, and some rain fell. It was still an early hour to encamp, but we came at this time into a small ravine, with running water, which had on one bank a shelving cave in the limestone rock, forming a protection from the rain. We built a fire from red cedar, which emitted a strong aromatic odor. The weather begins to assume a wintry character; this is the first day we have been troubled with cold fingers.

Dec. 11th. We left our camp at the cave on Cedar brook, and resumed our march at an early hour, and found the face of the country still rough and undulating, but covered, to a great extent, with brush. My companion thought we had gone far enough to have struck the waters of the Beaver, and, as he carried the compass this day, he deviated westward from the intended course. This brought us to the banks of a river, which he insisted, contrary to my opinion, must be the Beaver. To me this did not seem probable, but, yielding the point to him, we forded the stream at waist deep. We then ascended a lofty and difficult range of river hills, and, finding ourselves now at the level of the country, we held on in a westerly course, till it became clearly evident, even to my companion, that we were considerably west of the White river. We then retraced our steps, descended the river hills to the bank of the stream, and followed up its immediate margin, in search of a convenient spot for encampment; for, by this time, night approached rapidly. We were soon arrested by a precipitous cliff, against the base of which the river washed. As the sun sank lower, we felt a keen and cold wind, but could not find a stick of wood on the western bank with which to kindle a fire. The alternative presented to us was, either to remain here all night without a fire, exposed to the chilling blast, or cross a deep stream to the opposite shore, where there was an extensive alluvial plain, covered with trees and the cane plant, and promising an abundance of fuel.

Night had already closed around us, when we decided to cross the river. We found it to be four or five feet deep, and some two hundred yards wide. When we got over, it was with great difficulty that we succeeded in collecting a sufficiency of dry materials to kindle a fire; and by the time we had accomplished it, our wet clothes had become stiff and cold, the wind at the same time blowing very fiercely. Our utmost efforts were required to dry and warm ourselves, nor did we attain these points in a sufficient degree to secure a comfortable night's rest.

Dec. 12th. The ground this morning was covered with white hoar-frost, with a keen and cold air, and a wintry sky. Early daylight found us treading our way across the low grounds to the cliffs. We soon ascended on an elevated rocky shore, bordering the river, which was completely denuded of trees and shrubbery. It was early, the sun not having yet risen, when we beheld before us, rising out of the ground, a column of air which appeared to be of a warmer temperature. Its appearance was like that of smoke from a chimney on a frosty morning. On reaching it, the phenomenon was found to be caused by a small orifice in the earth, from which rarefied air issued. On looking down intently, and partially excluding the light, it was seen to be a fissure in the limestone rock, with jagged, narrow sides, leading down into a cavern. I determined to try the descent, and found the opening large enough to admit my body. Feeling for a protuberance on which to rest my feet, and closely pressing the sides of the orifice, I slowly descended. My fear was that the crevice would suddenly enlarge, and let me drop. But I descended in safety. I thus let myself down directly about twenty feet, and came to the level floor of a gallery which led in several directions. The light from above was sufficient to reveal the dark outlines of a ramified cavern, and to guide my footsteps for a distance. I went as far in the largest gallery as the light cast any direct rays, but found nothing at all on the floor or walls to reward my adventure. It was a notable fissure in a carbonate of lime, entirely dry, and without stalactites. What I most feared in these dim recesses, was some carnivorous animal, for whose residence it appeared to be well adapted. Having explored it as far as I could command any light to retrace my steps, I returned to the foot of the original orifice. I found no difficulty, by pressing on each side, in ascending to the surface, bringing along a fragment of the limestone rock. I afterwards observed, while descending the river, that this cavern was in a high, precipitous part of the coast, of calcareous rock, the foot of which was washed by the main channel of White river.

We now resumed our march, and, at the distance of about six miles, reached Beaver creek, a mile or two above its mouth. It is a beautiful, clear stream, of sixty yards wide, with a depth of two feet, and a hard, gravelly bottom. We forded it, and, keeping down the bank, soon fell into a horse-path, which led us, in following it about a mile and a half, to a hunter's dwelling, occupied by a man named Fisher. He received us in a friendly manner, and we took up our abode with him. Six or eight hundred yards higher, there was another cabin, occupied by a man named Holt. Both had been but a short time located at this place; they had not cleared any ground, nor even finished the log houses they occupied. Both buildings were on the bank of the river, on the edge of a large and very fertile bottom, well wooded, and with a very picturesque coast of limestone opposite, whose denuded pinnacles had received the name of the Little Tower.

CHAPTER VIII.

OBSTACLE PRODUCED BY THE FEAR OF OSAGE HOSTILITY—MEANS PURSUED TO OVERCOME IT—NATURAL MONUMENTS OF DENUDATION IN THE LIMESTONE CLIFFS—PURITY OF THE WATER—PEBBLES OF YELLOW JASPER—COMPLETE THE HUNTERS' CABINS—A JOB IN JEWELLERY—CONSTRUCT A BLOWPIPE FROM CANE—WHAT IS THOUGHT OF RELIGION.

Dec. 13th. Holt and Fisher were the highest occupants of the White river valley. They had reached this spot about four months before, and had brought their effects partly on pack-horses, and partly in canoes. The site was judiciously chosen. A finer tract of rich river bottom could not have been found, while the site commanded an illimitable region, above and around it, for hunting the deer, buffalo, elk, and other species, besides the beaver, otter, and small furred animals, which are taken in traps. We tried, at first vainly, to persuade them to accompany us in our further explorations. To this they replied that it was Osage hunting-ground, and that tribe never failed to plunder and rob all who fell in their power, particularly hunters and trappers. And besides, they were but recent settlers, and had not yet completed their houses and improvements.

As we were neither hunters nor trappers, we had no fears of Osage hostility; for this was, in a measure, the just retribution of that tribe for an intrusion on their lands, and the destruction of its game, which constituted its chief value to them. Nor did we anticipate encountering them at all, at this season, as they must have withdrawn, long ere this, to their villages on the river Osage.

Dec. 14th. There appears no other way to induce the hunters to go with us, but to aid them in completing their cottages and improvements. This we resolved to do. Holt then agreed to accompany us as a guide and huntsman, with the further stipulation that he was to have the horse which had been left at M'Garey's, and a small sum of money, with liberty also to undertake a journey to the settlements below for corn. Hereupon, Fisher also consented to accompany us.

Dec. 15th. This obstacle to our movements being overcome, we busied ourselves in rendering to the hunters all the assistance in our power, and made it an object to show them that we could do this effectively. We began by taking hold of the frow and axe, and aiding Holt to split boards for covering a portion of the roof of his house. I doubt whether my companion had ever done the like work before; I am sure I never had; but having thrown myself on this adventure, I most cheerfully submitted to all its adverse incidents.

Dec. 16th. This morning, Holt and Fisher—the latter accompanied by his son, with three horses—set out on their journey to purchase corn, leaving us, in the interim, to provide fuel for their families; a labor by no means light, as the cold was now severe, and was daily growing more intense. To-day, for the first time, we observed floating ice in the river; and, even within the cabins, water exposed in vessels for a few moments, acquired a thin coating of ice.

Dec. 17th. At daybreak we built a substantial, rousing fire in the cabin, of logs several feet long; we then pounded the quantity of corn necessary for the family's daily use. This process brings the article into the condition of coarse grits, which are boiled soft, and it then bears the name of homony. Of this nutritious dish our meals generally consist, with boiled or fried bear's bacon, and a decoction of sassafras tea. The fat of the bear is very white and delicate, and appears to be more digestible than fresh pork, which is apt to cloy in the stomach. After breakfast, wishing to give the hunters evidence of our capacity of being useful, we took our axes and sallied out into the adjoining wood, and began to fell the trees, cut them into proper lengths for firewood, and pile the brush. About five o'clock, we were summoned to our second meal, which is made to serve as dinner and supper. We then carried up the quantity of firewood necessary for the night. This consumed the remainder of the short December day; and, before lying down for the night, we replenished the ample fire. This sketch may serve as an outline of our daily industry, during the eleven days we tarried with the hunters.

Dec. 18th. I have mentioned the fondness of my companion for tea. This afternoon he thought to produce an agreeable surprise in our hostess's mind, by preparing a dish of young hyson. But she sipped it as she would have done the decoction of some bitter herb, and frankly confessed that she did not like it as well as the forest substitutes, namely, sassafras, dittany, and spicewood. And the manner in which she alluded to it as "store tea," plainly denoted the article not to be numbered among the wants of a hunter's life.

Dec. 19th. The river having been closed with ice within the last two days, we crossed it this afternoon to visit the two pyramidal monuments of geological denudation which mark the limestone range of the opposite shore. I determined, if possible, to ascend one of them. The ascent lies through a defile of rocks. By means of projections, which could sometimes be reached by cedar roots, and now and then a leap or a scramble, I succeeded in ascending one of them to near its apex, which gave me a fine view of the windings of the river. The monuments consist of stratified limestone, which has, all but these existing peaks, crumbled under the effects of disintegration. I observed no traces of organic remains. It appeared to be of the same general character with the metalliferous beds of Missouri, and is, viewed in extenso, like that, based on grey or cream-colored sand-rock. I found this limestone rock cavernous, about seven miles below.

In crossing the river, I was impressed with the extreme purity of the water. The ice near the cliffs having been formed during a calm night, presented the crystalline purity of glass, through which every inequality, pebble, and stone in its bed, could be plainly perceived. The surface on which we stood was about an inch thick, bending as we walked. The depth of water appeared to be five or six feet; but I was told that it was fully twenty. The pebbles at this place are often a small, pear-shaped, opaque, yellow jasper. They appear to have been disengaged from some mineral bed at a higher point on the stream.

Dec. 20th. Observed as a day of rest, it being the Sabbath. The atmosphere is sensibly milder, and attended with haziness, which appears to betoken rain.

Dec. 21st. We employed ourselves till three o'clock in hewing and splitting planks for Holt's cabin floor, when rain compelled us to desist.

The following circumstance recently occurred here: Two hunters had a dispute about a horse, which it was alleged one had stolen from the other; the person aggrieved, meeting the other some days after in the woods, shot him dead. He immediately fled, keeping the woods for several weeks; when the neighboring hunters, aroused by so glaring an outrage, assembled and set out in quest of him. Being an expert woodsman, the offender eluded them for some time; but at last they obtained a glimpse of him as he passed through a thicket, when one of his pursuers shot him through the shoulder, but did not kill him. This event happened a few days before our arrival in this region. It will probably be the cause of several murders, before the feud is ended.

Dec. 22d. The rain having ceased, we resumed and completed our job of yesterday at Holt's. The atmosphere is hazy, damp, and warm.

My medical skill had not been called on since the affair at the Four Bear creek, where my companion sprained his ankle. The child of Mrs. Holt was taken ill with a complaint so manifestly bilious, that I gave it relief by administering a few grains of calomel. This success led to an application from her neighbor, Mrs. F., whose delicate situation made the responsibility of a prescription greater. This also proved favorable, and I soon had other applicants.

Dec. 23d. About ten o'clock this morning, Holt and Fisher returned, laden with corn. The day was mild and pleasant, the severity of the atmosphere having moderated, and the sky become clear and bright. They appeared to be pleased with the evidences of our thrift and industry during their absence, and we now anticipated with pleasure an early resumption of our journey. To this end, we were resolved that nothing should be wanting on our part. We had already faithfully devoted seven days to every species of labor that was necessary to advance their improvements.

Dec. 24th. I had yesterday commenced hewing out a table for Holt's domicile, from a fine, solid block of white-ash. I finished the task to-day, to the entire admiration of all. We now removed our lodgings from Fisher's to Holt's, and employed the remainder of the day in chinking and daubing his log house.

Of these two men, who had pushed themselves to the very verge of western civilization, it will be pertinent to say, that their characters were quite different. Holt was the better hunter, and more social and ready man. He was quick with the rifle, and suffered no animal to escape him. Fisher was of a more deliberative temperament, and more inclined to surround himself with the reliances of agriculture. He was also the better mechanic, and more inclined to labor. Holt hated labor like an Indian, and, like an Indian, relied for subsistence on the chase exclusively. Fisher was very superstitious, and a believer in witchcraft. Holt was scarcely a believer in anything, but was ever ready for action. He could talk a little Chickasaw, and had several of their chansons, which he sung. Both men had kept for years moving along on the outer frontiers, ever ready for a new remove; and it was plain enough, to the listener to their tales of wild adventure, that they had not been impelled, thus far, on the ever advancing line of border life, from the observance of any of the sterner virtues or qualities of civilized society. There were occasions in their career, if we may venture an opinion, when to shoot a deer, or to shoot a man, were operations that could be performed "agreeably to circumstances." To us, however, they were uniformly kind, frank, friendly; for, indeed, there was no possible light in which our interests were brought in conflict. We were no professed hunters, and our journey into the Ozark hunting-grounds was an advantage to them, by making them better acquainted with the geography of their position.

They could not quit home on such a journey, however, without leaving some meat for their families; and they both set out to-day for this purpose. It appeared that they had, some days before, killed on a river bottom, about twelve miles above this point in the river valley, a buffalo, a bear, and a panther; but, not having horses with them, had scaffolded the carcases of the two former. Notwithstanding this precaution, the wolves had succeeded in reaching the buffalo meat, and had partly destroyed it. The carcase of the bear was safe. They returned in the afternoon with their trophies. They also brought down some of the leg-bones of the buffalo, for the sake of their marrow. They are boiled in water, to cook the marrow, and then cracked open. The quantity of marrow is immense. It is eaten while hot, with salt. We thought it delicious.

We learn by conversing with the hunters that a high value is set upon the dog, and that they are sought with great avidity. We heard of one instance where a cow was given for a good hunting dog.

Dec. 25th, Christmas day. At our suggestion, the hunters went out to shoot some turkeys for a Christmas dinner, and, after a couple of hours' absence, returned with fourteen. In the meantime, we continued our labors in completing the house.

I prevailed on our hostess, to-day, to undertake a turkey-pie, with a crust of Indian meal; and, the weather being mild, we partook of it under the shade of a tree, on the banks of the river.

Dec. 26th. Having now obviated every objection, and convinced the hunters that no dangers were to be apprehended at this late season from the Osages, and having completed the preparations for the tour, to-morrow is fixed on as the time of starting.

Our hostess mentioned to me that she had a brass ring, which she had worn for many years, and declared it to be an infallible remedy for the cramp, with which she had been much afflicted before putting it on, but had not had the slightest return of it since. She was now much distressed on account of having lately broken it; and, observing the care I bestowed on my mineralogical packages, she thought I must possess skill in such affairs, and solicited me to mend it. It was in vain that I represented that I had no blowpipe or other necessary apparatus for the purpose. She was convinced I could do it, and I was unwilling to show a disobliging disposition by refusing to make the attempt. I therefore contrived to make a blowpipe by cutting several small pieces of cane, and fitting one into the other until the aperture was drawn down to the required degree of fineness. A hollow cut in a billet of wood, and filled with live hickory coals, answered instead of a lamp; and with a small bit of silver money, and a little borax applied to the broken ring, with my wooden blowpipe, I soon soldered it, and afterwards filed off the redundant silver with a small file. I must remark that the little file and bit of borax, without which the job could not have been accomplished, was produced from the miscellaneous housewife of my hostess.

Dec. 27th. Rain, which began at night, rendered it impossible to think of starting to-day. It was the Sabbath, and was improved as a time of rest and reflection. I took the occasion to make some allusions, in a gentle and unobtrusive way, to the subject, and, in connection with some remarks which one of my entertainers had made a few days previously, on the subject of religion generally, condense the following observations:—He said that while living on the banks of the Mississippi, a few years ago, he occasionally attended religious meetings, and thought them a very good thing; but he had found one of the preachers guilty of a gross fraud, and determined never to go again. He thought that a man might be as good without going to church as with it, and that it seemed to him to be a useless expenditure, &c.; very nearly, indeed, the same kind of objections which are made by careless and unbelieving persons everywhere, I fancy, in the woods or out of them.

The hardships of the hunter's life fall heavily on females. Mrs. Holt tells me that she has not lived in a floored cabin for several years—that during this period they have changed their abode many times—and that she has lost four children, who all died under two years.

CHAPTER IX.

PROCEED INTO THE HUNTING-COUNTRY OF THE OSAGES—DILUVIAL HILLS AND PLAINS—BALD HILL—SWAN CREEK—OSAGE ENCAMPMENTS—FORM OF THE OSAGE LODGE—THE HABITS OF THE BEAVER—DISCOVER A REMARKABLE CAVERN IN THE LIMESTONE ROCK, HAVING NATURAL VASES OF PURE WATER—ITS GEOLOGICAL AND METALLIFEROUS CHARACTER—REACH THE SUMMIT OF THE OZARK RANGE, WHICH IS FOUND TO DISPLAY A BROAD REGION OF FERTILE SOIL, OVERLYING A MINERAL DEPOSIT.

My stay, which I regarded in the light of a pilgrimage, at the hunters' cabins, was now drawing to a close. I had originally reached their camps after a fatiguing and devious march through some of the most sterile and rough passages of the Ozarks, guided only by a pocket compass, and had thrown myself on their friendship and hospitality to further my progress. Without their friendly guidance, it was felt that no higher point in this elevation could be reached. Every objection raised by them had now been surmounted. I had waited their preliminary journey for corn for their families, and my companion and myself had made ourselves useful by helping, in the mean time, to complete their cabins and improvements. While thus engaged, I had become tolerably familiar with their character, physical and moral, and may add something more respecting them. Holt, as I have before indicated, was a pure hunter, expert with the rifle, and capable of the periodical exertion and activity which hunting requires, but prone to take his ease when there was meat in the cabin, and averse to all work beside. He was of an easy, good-natured temper, and would submit to a great deal of inconvenience and want, before he would rouse himself. But when out in the woods, or on the prairies, he was quite at home. He knew the habits and range of animals, their time for being out of their coverts, the kind of food they sought, and the places where it was likely to be found. He had a quick eye and a sure aim, and quadruped or bird that escaped him, must be nimble. He was about five feet eight inches in height, stout and full faced, and was particular in his gear and dress, but in nothing so much as the skin wrapper that secured his rifle-lock. This was always in perfect order.

Fisher was two or three inches taller, more slender, lank of features, and sterner. He was a great believer in the bewitching of guns, seemed often to want a good place to fire from, had more deliberation in what he did, and was not so successful a sportsman. He had, too, when in the cabin, more notions of comfort, built a larger dwelling, worked more on it, and had some desires for cultivation. When on the prairie, he dismounted from his horse with some deliberation; but, before he was well on terra firma, Holt had slid off and killed his game. The shots of both were true, and, between them, we ran no danger of wanting a meal.

It was the twenty-eighth day of December before every objection to their guiding us was obviated, and, although neither of them had been relieved from the fear of Osage hostility, they mounted their horses in the morning, and announced themselves ready to proceed. Our course now lay toward the north-west, and the weather was still mild and favorable. We ascended through the heavily-timbered bottom-lands of the valley for a mile or two, and then passed by an easy route through the valley cliffs, to the prairie uplands north of them. After getting fairly out of the gorge we had followed, we entered on a rolling highland prairie, with some clumps of small forest trees, and covered, as far as the eye could reach, with coarse wild grass, and the seed-pods of autumnal flowers, nodding in the breeze. It was a waving surface. Sometimes the elevations assumed a conical shape. Sometimes we crossed a depression with trees. Often the deer bounded before us, and frequently the sharp crack of the rifle was the first intimation to me that game was near. Holt told me that the error of the young or inexperienced hunters was in looking too far for their game. The plan to hunt successfully was, to raise the eye slowly from the spot just before you, for the game is often close by, and not to set it on distant objects at first. We moved on leisurely, with eyes and ears alert for every sight and sound. A bird, a quadruped, a track—these were important themes.

When night approached, we encamped near the foot of an eminence, called, from its appearance, the Bald Hill. An incident occurred early in our march, which gave us no little concern. A fine young horse of one of the neighboring hunters, which had been turned out to range, followed our track from White river valley, and, notwithstanding all the efforts of our guides, could not be driven back. At length they fired the dry prairie-grass behind us, the wind serving, deeming this the most effectual way of driving him back. The expedient did not, however, prove eventually successful; for, after a while, the animal again made his appearance. We lost some time in these efforts. It was thought better, at length, that I should ride him, which was accomplished by placing a deerskin upon his back by way of saddle, with a kind of bridle, &c. The animal was spirited, and, thus mounted, I kept up with the foremost.

We travelled to-day about ten miles. The day was clear, but chilly, with a north-westerly wind, which we had to face. Holt had killed a young doe during the day, which was quickly skinned, and he took along the choice parts of it for our evening's repast. Part of the carcase was left behind as wolf's-meat.

Dec. 29th. Little change appeared in the country. For about six miles we travelled over hill and dale, meeting nothing new, but constantly expecting something. We then descended into the valley of Swan creek—a clear stream of thirty yards wide, a tributary of White river. Its banks present a rich alluvial bottom, well wooded with maple, hickory, ash, hag-berry, elm, and sycamore. We followed up this valley about five miles, when it commenced raining, and we were compelled to encamp. Protection from the rain, however, was impossible. We gained some little shelter under the broad roots of a clump of fallen trees and limbs, and passed a most comfortless night, being wet, and without a fire.

The next morning, (Dec. 30th,) at the earliest dawn, we were in motion. After ascending the Swan creek valley about nine miles, through a most fertile tract, we fell into the Osage trail, a well-beaten horse-path, and passed successively three of their deserted camps, which had apparently been unoccupied for a month or more. The poles and frames of each lodge were left standing, and made a most formidable show. The paths, hacked trees, and old stumps of firebrands, showed that they had been deserted in the fall. The fear of this tribe now appeared to have left the minds of our guides. These encampments were all very large, and could probably each have accommodated several hundred persons.

The form of the Osage lodge may be compared to a hemisphere, or an inverted bird's-nest, with a small aperture left in the top for the escape of smoke, and an elongated opening at the side, by way of door, to pass and repass. It is constructed by cutting a number of flexible green poles, sharpened at one end, and stuck firmly in the ground. The corresponding tops are then bent over and tied, and the framework covered with linden bark. These wigwams are arranged in circles, one line of lodges within another. In the centre is a scaffolding for meat. The chief's tent is conspicuously situated at the head of each encampment. It is different from the rest, resembling an inverted half cylinder. The whole is arranged with much order and neatness, and evinces that they move in large parties, that the chiefs exercise a good deal of authority.

The Osages are a tribe who have from early times been prominent in the south-west, between the Arkansas and Missouri. The term Osage is of French origin; it seems to be a translation of the Algonquin term Assengigun, or Bone Indians. Why? They call themselves Was-ba-shaw, and have a curious allegory of their having originated from a beaver and a snail. They are divided into two bands, the Little and Great Osages, the latter of whom make their permanent encampments on the river Osage of the Missouri. The Ozarks appear from early days to have been their hunting-grounds for the valuable furred animals, and its deep glens and gorges have served as nurseries for the bear. They are one of the great prairie stock of tribes, who call God Wacondah. They are physically a fine tribe of men, of good stature and courage, but have had the reputation, among white and red men, of being thieves and plunderers. Certainly, among the hunter population of this quarter, they are regarded as little short of ogres and giants; and they tell most extravagant tales of their doings. Luckily, it was so late in the season that we were not likely to encounter many of them.

In searching the precincts of the old camps, my guides pointed out a place where the Indians had formerly pinioned down Teen Friend, one of the most successful of the white trappers in this quarter, whom they had found trapping their beaver in the Swan creek valley. I thought it was an evidence of some restraining fear of our authorities at St. Louis, that they had not taken the enterprising old fellow's scalp, as well as his beaver packs.

Life in the wilderness is dependent on contingencies, which are equally hard to be foreseen or controlled. We are, at all events, clearly out of the jurisdiction of a justice of the peace. And the maxim that we have carefully conned over in childhood, "No man may put off the law of God," is but a feeble reliance when urged against the Osages or Pawnees.

Deeming themselves now high enough up the Swan creek valley, my guides determined to leave it, and turned their horses' heads up a gorge that led to the open plains. We now steered our course north-west, over an elevated plain, or prairie, covered, as usual, with ripe grass. We followed across this tract for about twenty miles, with no general deviation of our course, but without finding water. In search of this, we pushed on vigorously till night set in, when it became intensely dark, and we were in danger of being precipitated, at every step, into some hole, or down some precipice. Darkness, in a prairie, places the traveller in the position of a ship at sea, without a compass; to go on, or to stop, seems equally perilous. For some two hours we groped our way in this manner, when one of the guides shouted that he had found a standing pool. Meantime, it had become excessively dark. The atmosphere was clouded over, and threatened rain. On reaching the pool, there was no wood to be found, and we were compelled to encamp without a fire, and laid down supperless, tired, and cold.

My guides were hardy, rough fellows, and did not mind these omissions of meals for a day together, and had often, as now, slept without camp-fires at night. As the object seemed to be a trial of endurance, I resolved not to compromit myself by appearing a whit less hardy than they did, and uttered not a word that might even shadow forth complaint. This was, however, a cold and cheerless spot at best, with the wide prairie for a pillow, and black clouds, dropping rain, for a covering.

The next morning, as soon as it was at all light, we followed down the dry gorge in which we had lain, to Findley's Fork—a rich and well-timbered valley, which we descended about five miles. As we rode along through an open forest, soon after entering this valley, we observed the traces of the work of the beaver, and stopped to view a stately tree, of the walnut species, which had been partially gnawed off by these animals. This tree was probably eighteen or twenty inches in diameter, and fifty feet high. The animals had gnawed a ring around it, but abandoned their work. It had afterwards been undermined by the freshets of the stream, and had fallen. Was it too hard a work? If so, it would seem that some instinct akin to reason came to their aid, in leading them to give up their essay.

There was now every appearance of a change of weather. It was cold, and a wintry breeze chilled our limbs. I thought my blood was as warm as that of my guides, however, and rode on cheerfully. At length, Holt and Fisher, of their own motion, stopped to kindle a fire, and take breakfast. We had still plenty of fresh venison, which we roasted, as each liked, on spits. Thus warmed and refreshed, we continued down the valley, evidently in a better philosophical mood; for a man always reasons better, and looks more beneficently about him, this side of starvation.

I observed a small stream of pure water coming in on the north, side, which issued through an opening in the hills; and as this ran in the general direction we were pursuing, the guides led up it. We were soon enclosed in a lateral valley, with high corresponding hills, as if, in remote ages, they had been united. Very soon it became evident that this defile was closed across and in front of us. As we came near this barrier, it was found that it blocked up the whole valley, with the exception of the mouth of a gigantic cave. The great width and height of this cave, and its precipitous face, gave it very much the appearance of some ruinous arch, out of proportion. It stretched from hill to hill. The limpid brook we had been following, ran from its mouth. On entering it, the first feeling was that of being in "a large place." There was no measure for the eye to compute height or width. We seemed suddenly to be beholding some secret of the great works of nature, which had been hid from the foundation of the world. The impulse, on these occasions, is to shout. I called it Winoca.[9] On advancing, we beheld an immense natural vase, filled with pure water. This vase was formed from concretions of carbonate of lime, of the nature of stalagmite, or, rather, stalactite. It was greyish-white and translucent, filling the entire breadth of the cave. But, what was still more imposing, another vase, of similar construction, was formed on the next ascending plateau of the floor of the cave. The water flowed over the lips of this vase into the one below. The calcareous deposit seems to have commenced at the surface of the water, which, continually flowing over the rims of each vase, increases the deposit.

The height of the lower vase is about five feet, which is inferable by our standing by it, and looking over the rim into the limpid basin. The rim is about two and a half inches thick. Etruscan artists could not have formed a more singular set of capacious vases.

The stream of water that supplies these curious tanks, rushes with velocity from the upper part of the cavern. The bottom of the cave is strewed with small and round calcareous concretions, about the size of ounce balls, of the same nature with the vases. They are in the condition of stalagmites. These concretions are opaque, and appear to have been formed from the impregnated waters percolating from the roof of the cavern. There are evidences of nitric salts in small crevices. Geologically, the cavern is in the horizontal limestone, which is evidently metalliferous. It is the same calcareous formation which characterizes the whole Ozark range. Ores of lead (the sulphurets) were found in the stratum in the bed of a stream, at no great distance north of this cave; and its exploration for its mineral wealth is believed to be an object of practical importance.

I had now followed the geological formation of the country far south-westwardly. The relative position of the calcareous, lead-bearing stratum, had everywhere been the same, when not disturbed or displaced. Wide areas on the sources of the Maramec, Gasconade, and Osage, and also of the Currents, Spring river, and Eleven-points and Strawberry, were found covered by heavy drift, which concealed the rock; but wherever valleys had been cut through the formation by the stream, and the strata laid bare, they disclosed the same horizontality of deposit, and the same relative position of limestone and sandstone rock.

FOOTNOTE:

[9] From the Osage word for an underground spirit.