Thrilling Adventures by Land and Sea - James O. Brayman
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RUNNING THE CANON.
Col. Fremont, in his narrative, gives the following account of a
perilous adventure of himself and party, in attempting to run a canon,
on the river Platte. They had previously passed three cataracts:
We reembarked at nine o'clock, and, in about twenty minutes, reached the
next canon. Landing on a rocky shore at its commencement, we ascended
the ridge to reconnoiter. Portage was out of the question. So far as we
could see, the jagged rocks pointed out the course of the canon, on a
winding line of seven or eight miles. It was simply a narrow, dark chasm
in the rock; and here the perpendicular faces were much higher than in
the previous pass, being at this end two to three hundred, and further
down, as we afterward ascertained, five hundred feet in vertical height.
Our previous success had made us bold, and we determined again to run
the canon. Every thing was secured as firmly as possible; and, having
divested ourselves of the greater part of our clothing, we pushed into
the stream. To save our chronometer from accident, Mr. Preuss took it,
and attempted to proceed along the shore on the masses of rock, which,
in places, were piled up on either side; but, after he had walked about
five minutes, every thing like shore disappeared, and the vertical wall
came squarely down into the water. He therefore waited until we came up.
An ugly pass lay before us. We had made fast to the stern of the boat a
strong rope about fifty feet long; and three of the men clambered along
among the rocks, and, with this rope, let her slowly through the pass.
In several places, high rocks lay scattered about in the channel; and,
in the narrows, it required all our strength and skill to avoid staving
the boat on the sharp points. In one of these, the boat proved a little
too broad, and stuck fast for an instant, while the water flew over us;
fortunately, it was but for an instant, as our united strength forced
her immediately through. The water swept overboard only a sextant and a
pair of saddle-bags. I caught the sextant as it passed by me; but the
saddle-bags became the prey of the whirlpools. We reached the place
where Mr. Preuss was standing, took him on board, and, with the aid of
the boat, put the men with the rope on the succeeding pile of rocks.
We found this passage much worse than the previous one, and our
position was rather a bad one. To go back was impossible; before us, the
cataract was a sheet of foam; and, shut up in the chasm by the rocks,
which, in some places, seemed almost to meet overhead, the roar of the
water was deafening, We pushed off again; but, after making a little
distance, the force of the current became too great for the men on
shore, and two of them let go the rope. Lajeunesse, the third man, hung
on, and was jerked headforemost into the river, from a rock about twelve
feet high; and down the boat shot, like an arrow, Bazil following us in
the rapid current, and exerting all his strength to keep in mid
channel--his head only seen occasionally like a black spot in the white
foam. How far we went, I do not exactly know; but we succeeded in
turning the boat into an eddy below. "_'Cre Dieu,_" said Bazil
Lajeunesse, as he arrived immediately after us, "_Je crois bien que j'ai
nage un demi mile._" He had owed his life to his skill as a swimmer, and
I determined to take him and two others on board, and trust to skill and
fortune to reach the other end in safety. We placed ourselves on our
knees, with the short paddles in our hands, the most skillful boatman
being at the bow; and again we commenced our rapid descent. We cleared
rock after rock, and shot past fall after fall, our little boat seeming
to play with the cataract. We became flushed with success, and familiar
with danger; and, yielding to the excitement of the occasion, broke
forth into a Canadian boat-song. Singing, or rather shouting, we dashed
along, and were, I believe, in the midst of the chorus, when the boat
struck a concealed rock immediately at the foot of a fall, which whirled
her over in an instant. Three of my men could not swim, and my first
feeling was to assist them, and save some of our effects; but a sharp
concussion or two convinced me that I had not yet saved myself. A few
strokes brought me into an eddy, and I landed on a pile of rocks on the
left side. Looking around, I saw that Mr. Preuss had gained the shore on
the same side, about twenty yards below; and a little climbing and
swimming soon brought him to my side. On the opposite side, against the
wall, lay the boat, bottom up; and Lambert was in the act of saving
Descoteaux, whom he had grasped by the hair, and who could not swim.
For a hundred yards below, the current was covered with floating books
and boxes, bales and blankets, and scattered articles of clothing; and
so strong and boiling was the stream, that even our heavy instruments,
which were all in cases, kept on the surface, and the sextant, circle,
and the long, black box of the telescope, were in view at once. For a
moment, I felt somewhat disheartened. All our books--almost every record
of the journey--our journals and registers of astronomical and
barometrical observations--had been lost in a moment, But it was no time
to indulge in regrets; and I immediately set about endeavoring to save
something from the wreck. Making ourselves understood as well as
possible by signs, (for nothing could be heard in the roar of the
waters,) we commenced our operations. Of every thing on board, the only
article that had been saved was my double-barreled gun, which Descoteaux
had caught and clung to with drowning tenacity. The men continued down
the river on the left bank. Mr. Preuss and myself descended on the side
we were on; and Lajeunesse, with a paddle in his hand, jumped on the
boat alone, and continued down the canon. She was now light, and cleared
every bad place with much less difficulty. In a short time he was joined
by Lambert and the search was continued for about a mile and a half,
which was as far as the boat could proceed in the pass.
Here the walls were about five hundred feet high, and the fragments of
rocks from above had choked the river into a hollow pass, but one or two
feet above the surface. Through this, and the interstices of the rock,
the water found its way. Favored beyond our expectations, all our
registers had been recovered, with the exception of one of my journals,
which contained the notes and incidents of travel, and topographical
descriptions, a number of scattered astronomical observations,
principally meridian altitudes of the sun, and our barometrical register
west of Laramie. Fortunately, our other journals contained duplicates of
the most important barometrical observations. In addition to these, we
saved the circle; and these, with a few blankets, constituted every
thing that had been rescued from the waters.
THE RESCUE.
A young girl has been captured at her father's hut, when all the males
of the household are absent hunting wolves. She is seized by the
Indians, and borne swiftly away to the encampment of a war party of the
Osages. She is then placed in a "land canoe" and hurried rapidly forward
toward their villages. Among the party she recognizes one whose life she
had been instrumental in saving, when a prisoner. He recognizes her, and
promises to assist her escape. At this point the following narrative
commences:
At a late and solemn hour, the Indian who had been the captive the night
before, suddenly ceased his snoring, which had been heard without
intermission for a great length of time; and when Mary instinctively
cast her eyes toward him, she was surprised to see him gently and slowly
raise his head. He enjoined silence by placing his hand upon his mouth.
After carefully disengaging himself from his comrades, he crept quietly
away, and soon vanished entirely from sight on the northern side of the
spreading beech. Mary expected he would soon return and assist her to
escape. Although she was aware of the hardships and perils that would
attend her flight, yet the thought of again meeting her friends was
enough to nerve her for the undertaking, and she waited with anxious
impatience the coming of her rescuer. But he came not. She could
attribute no other design in his conduct but that of effecting her
escape, and yet he neither came for her, nor beckoned her away. She had
reposed confidence in his promise, for she knew that the Indian, savage
as he was, rarely forfeited his word; but when gratitude inspired a
pledge, she could not believe that he would use deceit. The fire was now
burning quite low, and its waning light scarce cast a beam upon the
branches overhead. It was evidently not far from morning, and every hope
of present escape entirely fled from her bosom. But just as she was
yielding to despair, she saw the Indian returning in a stealthy pace,
bearing some dark object in his arms. He glided to her side, and
motioned to her to leave the snow-canoe, and also to take with her all
her robes with which she had been enveloped. She did his bidding, and
then he carefully deposited the burden he bore in the place she had just
occupied. A portion of the object becoming unwrapped, Mary discovered it
to be a huge mass of snow, resembling in some respects a human form, and
the Indian's stratagem was at once apparent to her. Relinquishing
herself to his guidance, she was led noiselessly through the bushes
about a hundred paces distant from the fire, to a large fallen tree that
had yielded to some furious storm, when her conductor paused. He pointed
to a spot where a curve caused the huge trunk to rise about a foot from
the surface of the snow, under which was a round hole cut through the
drifted snow down to the earth, and in which were deposited several
buffalo robes, and so arranged that a person could repose within,
without coming in contact with the frozen element around. Mary looked
down, and then at her companion to ascertain his intentions. He spoke to
her in a low tone, enough of which she comprehended to understand that
he desired her to descend into the pit without delay. She obeyed, and
when he had carefully folded the robes and divers furs about her body,
he stepped a few paces to one side, and gently lifting up a round lid of
snow-crust, placed it over the aperture. It had been so smoothly cut,
and fitted with such precision when replaced, that no one would have
been able to discover that an incision had been made. He then bid Mary a
"dud by" in bad English, and set off on a run in a northern direction
for the purpose of joining the whites.
With the first light of morning, the war-party sprang to their feet, and
hastily despatching a slight repast, they set out on their journey with
renewed animation and increased rapidity. Before starting, the chief
called to Mary, and again offered some food; but no reply being
returned, or motion discovered under the robe which he imagined
enveloped her, he supposed she was sleeping, and directed the party to
select the most even route when they emerged in the prairie, that she
might as much as possible enjoy her repose.
The Indian who had planned and executed the escape of Mary, with the
well-devised cunning for which the race is proverbial, had told his
companions that he would rise before day and pursue the same direction
in advance of them, and endeavor to kill a deer for their next night's
meal. Thus his absence created no suspicion, and the party continued
their precipitate retreat.
But, about noon, after casting many glances back at the supposed form of
the captive reclining peacefully in the snow-canoe, the chief, with much
excitement, betrayed by his looks, which seemed to be mingled with an
apprehension that she was dead, abruptly ordered the party to halt. He
sprang to the canoe, and convulsively tearing away the skins, discovered
only the roll of snow! He at first compressed his lips in momentary
rage, and then burst into a fit of irrepressible laughter. But the rest
raved and stamped, and uttered direful imprecations and threats of
vengeance. Immediately they were aware of the treachery of the absent
Indian, and resolved with one voice that his blood should be an
atonement for the act.
The snow was quickly thrown out, and the war-party adjusted their
weapons, with the expectation of encountering the whites; and then
whirling about they retraced their steps far more swiftly than they had
been advancing. Just as the night was setting in, they came in sight of
the grove where they had encamped. They slackened their pace, and
looking eagerly forward, seemed to think it not improbable that the
whites had arrived in the vicinity, and might be lying in ambush
awaiting their return in search of the maid. They then abandoned the
canoe, after having concealed it under some low bushes, and entered the
grove in a stooping and watchful posture. Ere long the chief attained
the immediate neighbor of the spreading tree, and with an arrow drawn to
its head, crept within a few paces of the spot where he had lain the
preceding night. His party were mostly a few feet in the rear, while a
few were approaching in the same manner from the opposite direction.
Hearing no sound whatever, he rose up slowly, and with an "ugh" of
disappointment, strode carelessly across the silent and untenanted place
of encampment.
Vexation and anger were expressed by the savages in being thus
disappointed. They hoped to wreak their vengeance on the whites, and
resolved to recapture the maiden. Where they expected to find them, the
scene was silent and desolate. And they now sauntered about under the
trees in the partial light of the moon that struggled through the matted
branches, threatening in the most horrid manner, the one who had thus
baffled them. Some struck their tomahawks into the trunks of trees,
while others brandished their knives, and uttered direful threats. The
young chief stood in silence, with his arms folded on his breast. A
small ray of light that fell upon his face exhibited a meditative brow,
and features expressing both firmness and determination. He had said
that the captive should be regained, and his followers ever and anon
regarded his thoughtful attitude with the confidence that his decision
would hasten the accomplishment of their desires. Long he remained thus,
motionless and dignified, and no one dared to address him.
The young chief called one of the oldest of the party, who was standing
a few paces distant absorbed in thought, to his side, and after a short
conference the old savage prostrated himself on the snow, and
endeavored, like a hound, to scent the tracks of his recreant brother.
At first he met with no success, but when making a wide circuit round
the premises, still applying his nose to the ground occasionally, and
minutely examining the bushes, he paused abruptly, and announced to the
party that he had found the precise direction taken by the maid and her
deliverer. Instantly they all clustered round him, evincing the most
intense interest. Some smelt the surface of the snow, and others
examined the bushes. Small twigs, not larger than pins, were picked up
and closely scrutinized. They well knew that anyone passing through the
frozen and clustered bushes must inevitably sever some of the twigs and
buds Their progress was slow, but unerring. The course they pursued was
the direction taken by Mary and her rescuer. It was not long before they
arrived within a few feet of the place of the maiden's concealment. But
now they were at fault. There were no bushes immediately around the
fallen tree. They paused, the chief in the van, with their bows and
arrows and tomahawks in readiness for instant use. They knew that the
maiden could not return to her friends on foot, or the treacherous
savage be able to bear her far on his shoulder. They thought that one or
both must be concealed somewhere in the neighborhood, and the fallen
tree, were it hollow, was the place most likely to be selected for that
purpose. After scanning the fallen trunk a few minutes in silence, and
discovering nothing to realize their hopes, they uttered a terrific
yell, and commenced striking their tomahawks in the wood, and ripping up
the bark in quest of some hiding-place. But their search was in vain.
The fallen trunk was sound and solid throughout, and the young chief sat
down on it within three paces of Mary! Others, in passing about,
frequently trod on the very verge of the concealed pit.
Mary was awakened by the yell, but knew not that the sound came from her
enemies. The Indian had told her that he would soon return, and her
heart now fluttered with the hope that her father and her friends were
at hand. Yet she prudently determined not to rush from her concealment
until she was better assured of the fact. She did not think that the
savages would ever suspect that she was hid under the snow, but yet she
thought it very strange that her father did not come to her at once.
Several minutes had elapsed since she had been startled by the sounds in
the immediate vicinity. She heard the tramp of men almost directly over
her head, and the strokes against the fallen trunk. She was several
times on the eve of rising up, but was as often withheld by some
mysterious impulse. She endeavored to reflect calmly, but still she
could not, by any mode of conjecture, realize the probability of her
foes having returned and traced her thither. Yet an undefinable fear
still possessed her, and she endeavored with patience to await the
pleasure of her friends. But when the chief seated himself in her
vicinity, and fell into one of his fits of abstraction, and the whole
party became comparatively still and hushed, the poor girl's suspense
was almost insufferable. She knew that human beings were all around her,
and yet her situation was truly pitiable and lonely. She felt assured
that if the war-party had returned in pursuit of her, the means which
enabled them to trace their victim to the fallen trunk would likewise
have sufficed to indicate her hiding place. Then why should they
hesitate? The yells that awakened her were not heard distinctly, and
under the circumstances she could not believe that she was surrounded by
savages. On the other hand, if they were her friends, why did they not
relieve her? Now a sudden, but, alas! erroneous thought occurred to her.
She was persuaded that they were her friends, but that the friendly
Indian was not with them--he had perhaps directed them where she could
be found, and then returned to his home. Might not her friends, at that
moment, be anxiously searching for her? Would not one word suffice to
dispel their solicitude, and restore the lost one to their arms? She
resolved to speak. Bowing down her head slightly, so that her precise
location might not instantly be ascertained, she uttered in a soft voice
the word "FATHER!" The chief sprang from his seat, and the party was
instantly in commotion. Some of the savages looked above, among the
twining branches, and some shot their arrows in the snow, but
fortunately not in the direction of Mary while others ran about in every
direction, examining all the large trees in the vicinity. The chief was
amazed and utterly confounded. He drew not forth an arrow, nor
brandished a tomahawk. While he thus stood, and the rest of the party
were moving hurriedly about, a few paces distant, Mary again repeated
the word "FATHER!" As suddenly as if by enchantment every savage was
paralyzed. Each stood as devoid of animation as a statue. For many
moments an intense silence reigned, as if naught existed there but the
cheerless forest trees. Slowly at length, the tomahawk was returned to
the belt, and the arrow to the quiver. No longer was a desire to spill
blood manifested. The dusky children of the forest attributed to the
mysterious sound a supernatural agency. They believed it was a voice
from the perennial hunting grounds. Humbly they bowed their heads, and
whispered devotions to the Great Spirit. The young chief alone stood
erect. He gazed at the round moon above him, and sighs burst from his
breast, and burning tears ran down his stained cheek. Impatiently, by a
motion of the hand, he directed the savages to leave him, and when they
withdrew he resumed his seat on the fallen trunk, and reclined his brow
upon his hand. One of the long feathers that decked his head waved
forward, after he had been seated thus a few minutes, and when his eye
rested upon it he started up wildly, and tearing it away, trampled it
under his feet. At that instant the same "FATHER!" was again heard. The
young chief fell upon his knees, and, while he panted convulsively,
said, in English, "Father! Mother! I'm your poor William--you loved me
much--where are you? Oh tell me--I will come to you--I want to see you!"
He then fell prostrate and groaned piteously. "Father! Oh! where
are you?"
"Whose voice was that?" said Mary, breaking through the slight
incrustation that obscured her, and leaping from her covert.
The young chief sprang from the earth--gazed a moment at the maid--spoke
rapidly and loudly in the language of his tribe to his party, who were
now at the place of encampment, seated by the fire they had kindled--and
then, seizing his tomahawk, was in the act of hurling it at Mary, when
the yells of the war-party and the ringing discharges of fire-arms
arrested his steel when brandished in the air. The white men had
arrived! The young chief seized Mary by her long, flowing hair--again
prepared to strike the fatal blow--when she turned her face upward, and
he again hesitated. Discharges in quick succession, and nearer than
before, still rang in his ears. Mary strove not to escape. Nor did the
Indian strike. The whites were heard rushing through the bushes--the
chief seized the trembling girl in his arms--a bullet whizzed by his
head---but, unmindful of danger, he vanished among the dark bushes with
his burden.
"She's gone! she's gone!" exclaimed Roughgrove, looking aghast at the
vacated pit under the fallen trunk.
"But we will have her yet," said Boone, as he heard Glenn discharge a
pistol a few paces apart in the bushes. The report was followed by a
yell, not from the chief, but Sneak, and the next moment the rifle of
the latter was likewise heard. Still the Indian was not dispatched, for
the instant afterward his tomahawk, which had been hurled without
effect, came sailing over the bushes, and penetrated a tree hard by,
some fifteen or twenty feet above the earth, where it entered the wood
with such a force that it remained firmly fixed. Now succeeded a
struggle--a violent blow was heard--the fall of the Indian, and all was
still. A minute afterward Sneak emerged from the thicket, bearing Mary
in his arms, and followed by Glenn.
"Is she dead? Oh, she's dead!" cried Roughgrove, snatching her from the
arms of Sneak.
"She has only fainted!" exclaimed Glenn, examining the body of the girl,
and finding no wounds.
"She's recovering!" said Boone, feeling her pulse.
"God be praised!" exclaimed Roughgrove, when returning animation was
manifest.
"Oh, I know you won't kill me! for pity's sake, spare me!" said Mary.
"It is your father, my poor child!" said Roughgrove, pressing the girl
to his heart.
"It is! it is!" cried the happy girl, clinging rapturously to the old
man's neck, and then, seizing the hands of the rest, she seemed to be
half wild with delight.
SHIPWRECK OF THE MEDUSA.
On the 17th of June, 1816, the Medusa, French frigate, commanded by
Captain Chaumareys, and accompanied by three smaller vessels, sailed
from the island of Aix, for the coast of Africa, in order to take
possession of some colonies. On the 1st of July, they entered the
tropics; and there, with a childish disregard to danger, and knowing
that she was surrounded by all the unseen perils of the ocean, her crew
performed the ceremony usual to the occasion, while the vessel was
running headlong on destruction. The captain, presided over the
disgraceful scene of merriment, leaving the ship to the command of an M.
Richefort, who had passed the ten preceding years of his life in an
English prison--a few persons on board remonstrated in vain; though it
was ascertained that they were on the banks of Arguise, she continued
her course, and heaved the lead, without slackening the sail. Every
thing denoted shallow water, but M. Richefort persisted in saying that
they were in one hundred fathoms. At that very moment only six fathoms
were found; and the vessel struck three times, being in about sixteen
feet water, and the tide full flood. At ebb-tide, there remained but
twelve feet water; and after some bungling manoeuvres, all hope of
getting the ship off was abandoned.
When the frigate struck, she had on board six boats, of various
capacities, all of which could not contain the crew and passengers; and
a raft was constructed. A dreadful scene ensued. All scrambled out of
the wreck without order or precaution. The first who reached the boats
refused to admit any of their fellow-sufferers into them, though there
was ample room for more. Some, apprehending that a plot had been formed
to abandon them in the vessel, flew to arms. No one assisted his
companions; and Captain Chaumareys stole out of a port-hole into his own
boat, leaving a great part of the crew to shift for themselves. At
length they put off to sea, intending to steer for the sandy coast of
the desert, there to land, and thence to proceed with a caravan to the
island of St. Louis.