goldfields

A portion of an 1822 map of North America by Henry S. Tanner

“Our ignorance of the route was complete. We knew that California lay west, and that was the extent of our knowledge. Some of the maps consulted, supposed of course to be correct, showed a lake in the vicinity of where Salt Lake now is; it was represented as a long lake, three or four hundred miles in extent, narrow and with two outlets, both running into the Pacific Ocean, either apparently larger than the Mississippi River.” (Echoes of the Past, p. 111)

The map shown above (which can be examined in its entirety at the University of Tulsa website) doesn’t correspond exactly to Bidwell’s description, but it does show two large rivers flowing from the Rocky Mountains unimpeded to the Pacific Ocean. One is labeled R. Timpanogos, and the other R. S. Buenaventura. Other maps of the period are similar.

The legend of these non-existent rivers had a fairly long life in American cartography. Explorers and settlers wanted a river that would link the Rockies to the West Coast, and make trade and transportation possible. They fastened on reports of much smaller rivers in Utah, like Green River, to create these waterways to the Pacific. You can see from the map that the distance from the Rockies to the Pacific is underestimated, and the Sierra Nevada range is not shown at all. The distance north to south, from the Columbia River to San Francisco Bay (labeled Port Sir Francis Drake) is also much less than it actually is.

With what feelings of dismay and alarm did Bidwell and his companions face the Nevada desert and the looming Sierras? By this point they knew the maps were wrong, and they were alone. Entirely dependent on their own resourcefulness, they traveled onward, with no way of knowing how far they had yet to go.

“Thursday, 23rd.  We could see no termination of the valley, nor any signs of Mary’s river. We therefore concluded that we were too far south, and passed over the mountains to the north, where we struck a small stream running toward the NW. On this we encamped and found plenty of grass, a few fish were caught, some of which were trout, which led us to the conclusion that this was a branch of Mary’s river. Distance 18 miles.”

Back on September 9th Captain Bartleson and another man had returned from a scouting trip with the news that the head of Mary’s River (the Humboldt River) was only 5 days travel away.  Two weeks later the company still hasn’t reached the river, and Bidwell makes no mention of Bartleson’s exploration. Were they following the trail forged by Bartleson? It doesn’t seem so. Instead, the men were questioning the four who had gone to Fort Hall for instructions.  What was the advice?

“If you go too far south you will get into a desert country and your animals will perish; there will be no water or grass.” Well, they had seen some of that, which is why they turned northward. But it wouldn’t be long before they would be quizzing the men again, because the other half of the instructions said:

“You must not go too far north; if you do you will get into difficult canyons that lead towards the Columbia River, where you may become bewildered and wander about and perish.” A difficult canyon was exactly what they soon found themselves in.

What a dilemma! North, south, desert, canyon, was there no end to the search for Mary’s River?

“Wednesday, 22nd.  This morning 80 or 90 Indians were seen coming full speed from the W. Many had horses–one was sent about a half a mile in advance from the rest–so we ought also to have done, but Capt. B. was perfectly ignorant of Indian customs, and the whole band of savages were suffered to come directly up to us, and almost surround our camp, when Mr. B. Kelsey showed by forcible gestures they would be allowed to proceed no farther. The Indians were well armed with guns and bows and arrows. The only words I recollect hearing Capt. Bartleson say were “let them gratify their curiosity!!”

This incident further sunk Bartleson’s reputation in John Bidwell’s eyes. The custom on the plains was for parties meeting for the first time to send out “ambassadors” to check each other out and find out what the other party’s intentions were. Did they want to trade? Did they need help? Or were they looking for trouble? Bartleson, by carelessly ignoring this custom, was endangering the entire company.

The Indians, as it turned out, were Shoshones, and friendly, although obviously capable of inflicting damage if they so chose. “Besides,” says Bidwell, “they were not a little acquainted with warfare, for they undoubtedly visited the Buffalo Country (having many robes) which requires much bravery to contend with the Blackfeet and Chiennes, who continually guard their buffalo in the region of the Rocky mountains.”

The Indians did want to trade, and offered a dressed buckskin for a handful of ammunition. They then rode on either side of the Bidwell-Bartleson Party for several hours, until they gradually dropped off and went their way.

“Tuesday, 21st.  Hunters returned; many antelope were seen and 2 or 3 killed. About 10 o’clock a.m. as we were coasting along the mountain in a W. direction, we came to some hot springs, which were to me a great curiosity. Within the circumference of a mile there were perhaps 20 springs, the most of which were extremely beautiful, the water being so transparent we could see the smallest thing 20 or 30 feet deep. The rocks which walled the springs, and the beautifully white sediment lodged among them, reflected the sun’s rays in such a manner as to exhibit the most splendid combination of colors, blue, green, red, etc. I ever witnessed. The water in most of them was boiling hot. There was one, however, more beautiful than the rest; it really appeared more like a work of art than nature. It was about 4 feet in diameter, round as a circle, and deeper than we could see–the cavity looked like a well cut in a solid rock, its walls being smooth and perpendicular. Just as I was viewing this curiosity, some hunters came up with some meat. We all partook, putting it into the hot spring, where it cooked perfectly done in 10 minutes—this is no fish story!”

George R. Stewart, in The California Trail, writes: “One sure point is marked by the hot springs which they passed on September 21 and which Bidwell described in some detail. These beautiful springs still bubble out near the base of the Ruby Mountains, just as they did when Bidwell saw them.”

If I can find any more information about where these springs are, or any pictures of them, I’ll add that in a subsequent post.

“Saturday, 18th. Morning found us on the east side of a mountain not far from its base but there were no signs of water; the lost oxen not having come up, I, in company with another young man, went in search of them while the company went on, promising to stop as soon as they found water. I went back about 10 miles, but found nothing of their trail–the sun was in a melting mood–the young man became discouraged and in spite of all my entreaties returned to the company.”

The young man who went with John Bidwell to search for the oxen was “Cheyenne” Dawson. Under the hot summer sun he gave up, saying that there were plenty of cattle in California. Which was true, but Bidwell had to go on, since the oxen were carrying everything he possessed.

Water in the company was in very short supply. Before they left on their search they were given about a half cup (4 oz.) of water each. This was all they had until the next day.

“About an hour after [Dawson departed] I found the trail of the oxen which bore directly north. After pursuing it some distance, I discovered fresh moccasin tracks upon the trail, and there began to be high grass, which made me mistrust the Indians had got the oxen. But my horse was good and my rifle ready. . . . But what made me most anxious to find the oxen was the prospect of our wanting them for beef. We had already killed 4 oxen and there were but 13 remaining, including the lost ones, and the Co. was now killing an ox every two or three days.”

After 10 miles of following their tracks, Bidwell found the oxen where they had stopped to lay down in the grass. He got them up and moving, hastening to rejoin the company. They had promised to stop and wait for him when they found water.

“I traveled all night,and at early dawn came to where there was plenty of water and where the company had taken their dinner the day before, but they had failed to stop for me according to promise.” (Bidwell was decidedly miffed at this.) He searched in ever widening circles until he saw three men who were coming to find him.

“It was a great relief. I felt indignant that they party had not stopped for me–not the less so when I learned that Captain Bartleson had said, when they started back to find me, that they “would be in better business to go ahead and look for a road.” He had not forgotten certain comments of mine of his qualities as a student of Indian character.”

Obviously there was no love lost between those two. Bidwell, who considered himself a good judge of character and a man of “self-possession,” considered Bartleson to be a hot-headed ignoramus. Certainly it is true that Bartleson would do nothing in the future to distinguish himself.

I’m still playing catch-up with John Bidwell.  When last we saw our intrepid band of 32 men, 1 woman, and a baby, the Kelseys had abandoned their wagons and packed everything on horses. On the 15th, after “two or three fatiguing days,” the rest of the company decided to do the same.

“Thursday, 16th. All hands were busy making pack saddles and getting ready to pack.”

In “Echoes of the Past” Bidwell describes the process. “On Green River we had seen the style of packing saddles used by the trapping party, and had learned a little about how to use them. Packing is an art, and something only an experienced mountaineer can do well so as to save his animal and keep his pack from falling off. We were unaccustomed to it, and the difficulties we had at first were simply indescribable. It is much more difficult to fasten a pack on an ox than a mule or a horse.

The trouble began the very first day. But we started, most of us on foot, for nearly all the animals, including several of the oxen, had to carry packs. It was but a few minutes before the packs began to turn; horses became scared, mules kicked, oxen jumped and bellowed, and articles were scattered in all directions.”

It was a scene both comic and desperate. As they went along those who had their packs tied securely got ahead, while others lagged behind to pick up the items that fell by the wayside and repack their animals. On the 17th they traveled throughout the day and into the night. They crossed a dry plain, where the salt on the grass in the moonlight, and the cool evening nighttime temperature, gave the impression of a winter scene. During that night Bidwell’s two oxen went astray.

“Two of the oxen that were carrying packs got lost from the Company in the night, about 8 miles from where we encamped, but it was supposed they would follow on.” But they didn’t, and Bidwell had to go in search of them.