Wagons, Gold and Conflict

Preview: Wagons, Gold, and Conflict: Capt. Alfred Davenport’s Adventures in the Trans-Mississippi West, 1843–1880 Early in the morning of September 14, Alfred and three friends departed on foot, leaving Fort Hall for Fort Boise. The men passed Bannock-Shoshone Indian villages located on the shores of Bannock Creek. Indian squaws, half-naked children, and many dogs were present. Squaws carried bundles of cottonwood sticks on their backs, following trails from the creek to their settlements. Mules and horses fed on cottonwood bark, replacing corn and oats. Indian villages were home to many dogs, mixed breeds of all sizes and shapes. They were known to interbreed with prairie wolves (coyotes). Dogs pulled loaded travois during tribal migrations. The four travelers continued south and west, following a well-worn trail along the top of basalt rocks two hundred feet above the Snake River. They stopped to view the American Falls, where the river plunged fifty feet, roaring over cascades, to a lower level. An emigrant campsite north of the falls was reached at dusk where the four ended their day. Night came quickly on their campsite. Soon after the sun dropped behind tall mountains, a chill in the air descended on their camp. Stars filled the vast space of the heavens with a brilliance that the travelers had not seen since they left the Platte River. Morning saw another hot, dry day. The trail continued along a high plateau running parallel to the Snake. Every step taken produced a cloud of fine particles of dust and sand. Wind racing down from mountaintops met thermals rising from heated earth, creating whirlwinds of dust covering the men’s clothes, getting into their hair and eyes. Alfred needed water and could hear the Snake River racing over cataracts and through deep gorges but could not safely climb down steep cliffs lining the river’s canyon walls to reach the river. Noon found the four dusty, tired travelers stopped at the edge of a small mostly dry creek, drinking stagnant water, the only available to meet their needs. They stopped for the night at a tributary of the Snake, the Raft River, where the trail split. Travelers called it Parting of the Ways. The Oregon Trail continued west; the California trail headed south. The dry, barren plain continued to face Alfred and his friends as they followed the river for several days, reaching a point overlooking the river. The trail took the men across two islands to the river’s north shore. Shoshone Indians camping at the crossing wanted to trade, offering fresh salmon and cakes filled with berries in exchange for gunpowder, knives, or clothes. They were a friendly but sorry-looking lot, mostly naked, wearing a brief loincloth made of rabbit fur. Their diet seemed meager—fish; insects, mostly crickets and grasshoppers; berries; and roots. Alfred traded fishhooks for fresh salmon. After the river, the trail turned left, rambling through a rattlesnake-infested sagebrush desert, skirting the foothills of the Salmon River Mountains. It was the most challenging part of Alfred Davenport’s trip West. “We walked about two hundred miles when we discovered our little stock of provisions bought from the wagons and acquired from Indians was about used up. It took us three more days to reach Ft Boise. Those days were the hardest I ever experienced in my life, as we nearly starved.” In the end, the four travelers—weak and exhausted—arrived at the fort, where they feasted on dried salmon and fresh milk, which Alf described as “the sweetest meal I ever ate.” Davenport filled his knapsack with supplies from the fort, “to last to Dr. Whitman’s Mission distant two hundred miles on the west side of the Blue Mountains.” Two of his companions decided to wait for wagons, complaining they were too tired to continue walking. Alfred and Doty resumed their westward journey, crossing the Snake River south of the fort. The Oregon Trail west of the Snake River crossing was rough and challenging. Diaries of James Clyman and E. E. Parrish described this section as the most difficult part of their western journey. Dry, dusty, and steep, it traversed mountains of granite and slate, barren and sparsely sprinkled with sagebrush. Clyman wrote that certain groups of Plateau Indians detested strangers in their territory, demonstrating their hostility by starting grass fires to destroy forage for emigrant animals in an attempt to drive visitors from their lands. Alfred and Doty found the Burnt River Valley smoke filled. Smoke was an irritant, causing the men to suffer through several smoke-filled days. They came to a twenty-mile-wide green oasis, the Grande Round Valley. Climbing to the mountain’s summit, they located a trail leading to Whitman’s mission. After a stop at Whitman’s, they proceeded to Fort Walla Walla, where a trail west followed the south shore of the Columbia. We got along very well on the Columbia until we were beset upon by about twenty Indians. We had only one gun, so we could not give then a good fight. They surrounded us, and a scuffle commenced. Three or four got a hold of Doty who was wearing his knapsack and was not able to do much. I attempted to get to him, threw off my Knapsack, preparing for a fight. They surrounded me drawing their bows. One tried to take my gun, but being stronger, I threw him head over heels. After a great deal of trouble, we succeeded in getting away from them. In the scuffle my knapsack disappeared, the Indians stole it, taking it across the Columbia. I lost my blanket, coat, shirts, extra shoes, food and other items. We thought we were through with hostile Indians after we finished crossing the Blue Mountains, but we were mistaken. The worst lived along the Columbia. Several Indian Villages lay ahead, and no whites were in sight. We were compelled to endure the Indians. More appeared indicating they would give us another tussle. I turned and sighted my gun on one of them. Had he taken another step further, I would have shot him, but luckily he retreated.