Bill Biddon, Trapper: or, Life in the Northwest

Nat proved his knowledge of the country, for his course toward the Death Rock was direct, and, ere we had traveled many miles it loomed up to view. It seemed a long while to reach it, but before dark we were both conversing with Imogene.

The night was spent within the cave, Nat and I conversing around the fire, while Imogene, wrapped in our blankets, slumbered unconsciously beside it. Nat succeeded in catching several fine trout from a small mountain-stream, and when we resumed our journey, I hardly think three more hopeful people could have been found in the universe.

Our progress was less rapid than usual, as we feared for Imogene, although her life had been such as to make her the very embodiment of health and activity. At night we reached a bend of the Yellowstone, and camped upon its banks. A fire was again kindled, and while Nat kept watch, I concluded to take a little rest. He allowed me to sleep heavily until morning, when I was aroused by one of the most terrific, unearthly shrieks that ever greeted mortal ear.

“God of heaven! what does that mean?” I exclaimed, springing to my feet.

“Sounds like the ‘Snorter,’ the engine that I heard on the Boston road,” answered Nat, rubbing his eyes, and listening.

“Hush!” I admonished, as again that hideous scream burst upon us.

“Wonder if the Pacific Railroad’s built yet?” remarked Nat, with the utmost nonchalance; “or, maybe, some of their engines have run away from them.”

As I stood wondering and waiting, the gray light of morning commenced appearing through the forest, and shortly the day dawned. A moment after, as I was about to awaken Imogene, the awful scream was repeated, seemingly directly across the river. It was different from a human voice, but sounded like the cry of a wild animal in extremity of the direst agony.

As if our terror was still too faint, we now heard the loud ring of a bell, apparently from the very forest.

“What is that?” asked Imogene, pale with horror.

“Heaven knows!” I answered.

“Sounds like the old bell up in Lubec,” remarked Nat; who, singularly enough, was the least agitated.

“Listen!” whispered Imogene, raising her hand.

Now was heard a dead sound like the distant heave of the stormy sea, growing stronger and nearer each second, and at intervals that wild, unearthly shriek reverberated through the forest arches with a horrid power.

Matters were now assuming such an inexplicable form I began to fear I was losing my senses. I looked around upon the faces of others; but no – it was all a terrible reality.

“Look!” spoke Imogene, in a husky whisper, pointing down the river.

I did look and what was seen? There, just rounding the curve of the Yellowstone below us, burst the broad flaming hull of a steamboat.

For a moment I could scarce believe my senses. Nat was the first to recover himself.

“I knowed what it was all the time, by gracious! Hilloa, you!”

The latter exclamation was addressed in vociferous tones to the steamboat; and, fearing lest he might still escape notice, he sprang into the water and waved his plumes excitedly over his head, yelling at the top of his voice all the time. We had been seen, however, and heeded by those on the boat. A small bell tinkled, and instantly the huge wheel of the steamer reversed, plowing the water into foamy waves, and quickly bringing it to a stand still. The captain then stepped from his wheelhouse and hailed us:

“What’s wanted?”

“Supper and lodging,” answered Nat.

“Who are you?”

“White men of course.”

“White men; I see only one, and you’re an Injin, sure as I’m Captain Garbold.”

I now stepped forward from the shelter of the forest, to which I had instinctively retreated with the trembling Imogene, upon the appearance of the boat.

“Ah! who are those?” called the captain, instantly.

“We are whites, as you can readily see, and only ask to be taken to our friends.”

The captain immediately turned and spoke to several beside him. A few minutes afterward a small boat put out from the steamer, and Imogene, [Pg 251][Pg 252][Pg 253]followed by myself, stepped into the boat, but Nat lingered.

“Come, hurry, Nat, don’t keep them waiting,” said I.

“I’m going to remain!” he remarked, quietly.

“What do you mean?” I asked, in astonishment.

He approached, and whispered in my ear:

“I’m going to hunt up Irene Merment!”

“Why – ”

“Don’t say anything,” he interrupted, with a smile. “I will do it. There is no use of trying to persuade me to go with you. My mind is made up, and has been made up a long time.”

Imogene joined her entreaties with mine, but he could not be made to change his resolution. Not wishing to detain our friends, I extended my hand.

“If you are determined to remain, I must now bid you good-by, Nat. Your determination is so new to me that I can hardly realize it. It is a hopeless search upon which you are going, I fear. May the One who has so mercifully watched over all of us, still protect you. If you ever see Biddon, don’t forget me to him. Good-by.”

“Nor me either,” said Imogene, taking his hand. “I long to see him, to pour out my heart’s gratitude to him. I hope we shall see you again.”

“Oh! you will, sure. I shall be down in the States one of these days, and like enough bring a wife with me, and several little Nat Todds, as good-looking as your heirs will be. You mustn’t think this is a last farewell, for I know it isn’t.”

We exchanged farewells once more, and then were rowed out to the steamboat. As we were received on board, Nat swung his plume over his head, and shouted:

“Long life to you! the fust news you will receive from Nat Todd will be a telegraphic dispatch from the Rocky Mountains, ‘that he is making a sensation in that neighborhood.’”

Another and a last farewell, and the eccentric being had vanished in the forest.

Imogene had no suspicion of the true cause of Nat Todd’s erratic course, and I judged it best to let her remain in ignorance until Nat should inform her himself. Whether that time was ever to come or not, no one could tell; but I had strong hope that it would.

As may be supposed, our advent created an infinite amount of questioning and wonderment for our new-found friends. The boat was the steamer “Shooting Star,” which had been sent to trace the Yellowstone, as far as it was navigable, by a company in St. Louis. They proposed opening trade in this section, and knowing well the prodigious resources of the country watered by its tributaries, had sent a skillful captain and crew to ascertain its character and availability. This river had, however, been ascended before.

The “Shooting Star” ascended the Yellowstone several hundred miles further, until brought to a stand still by the rapids in its upper part. Several days were spent in running up Clark’s Fork, the Big Horn, Tongue, Powder, and numerous other streams, many of which, as yet, have received no names though of considerable size. All along the banks of these gathered crowds of wondering Indians, who surveyed us with mingled terror and amazement. On two occasions, when halting to wood, the crew were attacked by them, and one of their number was slain. At other points they manifested a friendly disposition and bartered extensively with us.

Finally the bow of the boat was turned home, and on a glorious morning, in the latter part of June, 1850, we glided into the turbid waters of the mad Missouri, and a few days later “Shooting Star” sunk to rest at the wharves in St. Louis. Accompanied by Imogene, I made my way home as rapidly as possible. As may be supposed, my return was a never-to-be forgotten day to my friends. The caravan which I had joined at Independence, had been attacked, a few days subsequent to my separation from it, by an overwhelming body of Apache Indians. Rumors reached the States that all had fallen in the massacre, and my reappearance was like the dead returning to life. The reader, I trust, can imagine the few remaining incidents. After inducing Imogene to return to the States, I do not think I should have ever forgiven myself had I not offered her all the protection within my power. She was like an exotic at first, taken from a distant clime; but love works wonders. To-day there are few accomplishments of her sex which she does not possess. True there was no great romances or mystery yet to be developed in her history. She had been orphaned when a young child, in the terrible manner described by the trapper at the commencement of this tale. I had gained no princess or wealthy heroine, but simply a wife, in the truest sense of the word.

The history of Nat Todd’s adventures and journey to the Rocky Mountains, together with a further account of Bill Biddon, the Trapper, and of Irene Merment, the lost sister, will be given the reader in another volume.

THE END

1

I may further remark, that the buffalo slain by us when lost upon the prairie, was shot in the side as he wheeled, to run from us, without our suspecting it was the only place in which we could have given him a mortal wound.

2

The Hudson Bay Company, established two hundred years ago, by Prince Rupert, divided its territory into four compartments – the Northern, including all the country of the Far North; the Southern, extending south to Lake Superior; the Montreal, including the country along the northern shore of the Gulf of St. Lawrence; and the Columbia Department, comprehending all the country west of the Rocky Mountains, including Oregon, in which, I believe, they still trade.

3

In the northwestern part of Oregon is a tribe of Indians called Chenooks, who bury their sick, as soon as the Medicine Man pronounces them beyond recovery. This horrid practice is not confined to them alone, for other tribes in the northwest have been known to inflict it upon their captives.

4

The Crow Indians are a numerous tribe, subdivided into the Blackfeet-Sioux, Dacotah, Ouk-pa-pas, Two Kettle, and Minnie, besides several others. Each has its separate village and chief, but all are on friendly relations with each other.

5

Death Rock is composed principally of a vast cave, in which it is said a whole tribe of Indians once perished; choosing death by starvation rather than to fall into the hands of their enemies.

6

In an affray between two parties, belonging respectively to the Hudson Bay and Northwest Fur Companies, the leader of the former, Mr. Semple, was shot by a member of the latter. This happened some years before the date of our story, but for a long time there was ill-feeling and frequent encounters between the members of the companies.

7

Arouse, or get up.