The Life and Adventures of Kit Carson, the Nestor of the Rocky Mountains, from Facts Narrated | Page 8

Missouri
home. The almost miraculous hyperbole which flavored the narratives
were not long in awakening in his breast a strong desire to share in such
stirring events. The venturesome mind at last became inspired. He
determined to go; and, giving his restless spirit full sway, in 1826,
joined a party bound for his boyish fancy-pictures of the Elysian Fields.
The leader of this expedition required no second request from young
Carson before enrolling his name on the company-list. The hardy
woodsman saw stamped upon the frank and open countenance of the
boy who stood before him those sterling qualities which have since
made his name a household word. These formed a passport which, on
the spot, awakened the respect and unlocked the hearts of those whose
companionship he sought.
The work of preparation was now commenced by the different parties
to the expedition. All of the arrangements having been finally
completed, the bold and hardy band soon started upon their journey.
Their route lay over the vast, and then unexplored territory, bounded by
the Rocky Mountains on the one side, and the Missouri River on the
other. Before them lay, stretched out in almost never-ending space,
those great prairies, the half of which are still unknown to the white
man. Crossing the plains in 1826 was an entirely different feat from
what it is at this day. Where, then, were the published guides? Where
were the charts indicating the eligible camping grounds with their
springs of pure water? These oases of the American Sahara were not
yet acquainted with the white man's foot. The herds of buffaloes, the
droves of wild horses, knew not the crack of the white man's rifle. They
had fled only at the approach of the native Indian warrior and the yearly
fires of the prairie. It was a difficult task to find a man who had gazed
on the lofty peaks of the mountain ranges which formed a serpentine
division of the vast American Territories, or who had drank the waters
at the camping places on the prairies. The traveller at that day was, in
every force of meaning which the word extends, literally, an explorer,
whose chosen object was the task of a hero. The Indians themselves
could give no information of the route beyond the confined limits of
their hunting ranges. The path which this pioneer party entered was

existent only in the imagination of the book-making geographer, about
as accurate and useful from its detail, as the route of Baron
Munchausen to the icelands of the North Pole on the back of his eagle.
The whole expanse of the rolling prairie, to those brave hearts, was one
boundless uncertainty. This language may possibly be pronounced
redundant. It may be in phrase; it is not in fact. The carpet-knight, the
holiday ranger, the book-worm explorer, knows but little of the
herculean work which has furnished for the world a practical
knowledge of the western half of the North American continent. We
shall see in the progress of this work whether the adventures of Kit
Carson entitle him to a place in the heart of the American nation on the
same shelf with his compeers.
In that day, the fierce red-man chief scoured the broad prairies, a petty
king in his tribe, a ruler of his wild domain. Bold, haughty, cautious,
wily, unrelenting, revengeful, he led his impassioned warriors in the
chase and to battle. Even to-day, the lurking Indian foeman is no mean
adversary to be laughed and brushed out of the way, notwithstanding
disease, war, assassination and necessary chastisement have united
rapidly to decimate his race, thereby gradually lessening its power.
Thirty years ago the rolling plains were alive with them, and their
numbers alone made them formidable. It is not strange that the
untutored savages of the prairie, like those of their race who hailed with
ungovernable curiosity the landing of the Pilgrims on Plymouth Rock,
should have been attracted by the wonderful inventions of the
white-man intruder. A very short period of time served to turn this
ungovernable curiosity into troublesome thieving. Knowing no law but
their wild traditionary rules, they wrested from the adventurous pioneer,
his rifle, knife, axe, wagon, harness, horse, powder, ball, flint, watch,
compass, cooking utensils, and so forth. The result was, sanguinary
engagements ensued, which led to bitter hostility between the two races.
Doubtless the opinion may be controverted, but it nevertheless shall be
hazarded, that, until the weaker party shall be exterminated by the
stronger, the wild war-whoop, with its keen-edged knife and
death-dealing rifle accompaniments, will continue, from time to time,
to palsy the nerve, and arouse the courage of the pioneer white man.
The Indian, in his attack, no longer showers cloth-yard arrows upon his

foe. He has learned to kill his adversary with