Chapter 46: Beer Springs to the Port Neuf

 

July 31, 1847. Met a company at noon that lost two wagons. They face days of repairs. Bought a cow.

 

Mac looked across the campfire at Jenny, also writing in her journal. She smiled as she wrote. She’d been smiling since he’d bought the cow and agreed to take her baby if she died. He couldn’t care for an infant. He had enough on his hands. But she wouldn’t die. She was healthy.

When Mac had talked to Pershing about the cow, the captain cleared his throat before responding, “I don’t have much silver.” The older man looked at Mac. “I could trade an ox.”

“I have money, sir,” Mac said. “I’ll buy the cow. Your child needs milk.”

“I wouldn’t take charity if it weren’t for the babe,” Pershing said. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’m counting on it,” Mac said, clapping the captain on the back.

What else could he have done? Mac wondered. He couldn’t let the infant starve. But now the captain was beholden to him, and the older man didn’t like it.

Pershing was still drinking. Zeke had found him with a bottle after supper and taken it away.

“I don’t know where he’s getting it,” Zeke said to Mac and Joel. “But if Abercrombie finds out, he’ll take over.”

“Not if we make decisions in your father’s name,” Mac said.

“How?” Joel asked.

“You two have to be his voice. I’ll read Frémont’s maps. Between the three of us, we’ll handle the scouting. Daniel’s a good man, but if we bring him into it, he’d let it slip to his father. It needs to be the three of us.”

“Won’t Doc know Pa’s drinking?” Zeke asked.

“Maybe,” Mac said. “But he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

The next day Zeke got the travelers underway. Mac rode Valiente at the front of the wagons, comparing the Frémont map to the terrain. Pershing remained in his wagon all morning. They should be approaching Beer Spring, Mac thought, but he wasn’t sure. If he read the map correctly, they would reach the spring about noon. Mac beckoned to Joel.

“Ride ahead and see if there’s a spring,” Mac said, showing Joel the map. “Don’t know why it’s called ‘Beer Spring’, but that’s what this says.”

Joel trotted off, and Zeke joined Mac. “Where’d Joel go?”

“I sent him to find a spring.”

“Pa thinks it’s at the north end of this valley.”

“That’s what the map shows,” Mac said. “Let’s try to get there by noon.”

In late morning Joel returned. “Found it,” he said. “No more’n another hour.”

Mac nodded. “All right. We’ll noon there.”

Joel shook his head. “This country’s mighty curious. Water tastes like beer, all right. Animals might not like it.”

The spring water bubbled from the ground like a boiling cauldron. Crusty mounds of white powder surrounded the geyser. Soda, Doc said. And the ground was white clay, dazzling in the sun.

Mac sipped the water. It did taste like beer, but with a bitter sting.

“This whole area used to be a volcano,” Pershing said. He seemed recovered from his dissipation of the night before. “Leastways, that’s what Frémont told me.”

The women collected soda for baking bread. “We’re almost out of flour,” Jenny told Mac. “I hope we can buy more at Fort Hall.”

Children played in the gushing spouts from the spring. One of the Pershing twins sat on the geyser, laughing when the water hit him. The thrust was so strong he couldn’t balance on the spray.

Some emigrants wanted to stop for the day, but Pershing refused. “Folks are short on food, and it’s still several days to Fort Hall. Indians ’round here ain’t as friendly as the plains tribes.”

The company continued along the Bear, though the path now followed a ridge above the river. The wagons could not descend the rocky cliffs that dropped to the water, so they stopped at creeks for the animals to drink. On the far side of the Bear, high hills rose, covered with pine and cedar. The summer heat became more oppressive as they traveled out of the mountains.

They passed more strange springs and geysers through the afternoon. Anyone not tending a wagon frolicked along the way. Mac saddled Poulette for Jenny and took her to see one geyser. They washed their feet and drank fizzy water that prickled their tongues.

The company stopped for the night at a point of rock where the Bear River curved south. “Indians call it Sheep Rock,” Pershing said. “Don’t know why, but that’s what we heard in forty-two. Lots of wars between tribes around here. Skirmishes with the mountain men, too.”

Mac wrote:

 

August 1, 1847. Three and a half months on the trail, but still far from Oregon. The country grows stranger. Springs that taste of bitter ale. Rocks where tribes fought vicious battles. Jenny worries Indians will attack.

In the morning Pershing was alert and rode ahead of the wagons. Zeke and Joel must have kept him away from his whiskey.

They headed west, away from the Bear, across a dry basin dotted with sagebrush. The hills on the far side of the valley beckoned with green grass, but they found little water in the August heat. Once over the first range of hills, they came upon a creek and let the animals drink.

“This’ll take us to the Port Neuf River,” Pershing said. “Then to Fort Hall and the Snake River.”

The travelers moved slowly through the hills in the afternoon and arrived at the Port Neuf late in the day. After the wagons circled, Pershing called a meeting. “It’s about three days to Fort Hall,” he said. “Maybe two if we push it. Do we have enough provisions to make it?”

Some men shook their heads. “Out of flour,” one said. “Only a little dried meat left.”

“I say press on,” Abercrombie said. “Get there in two days.”

“We could send some men ahead to buy food,” Pershing said. “Bring supplies back to the wagons.”

“No need, if we can get there in two days,” Abercrombie argued.

“We can share,” Mac said. “Let’s keep going.”

“Be hard on the teams,” the captain said.

Abercrombie spat his vile tobacco juice. “Don’t you want to get to Oregon, Pershing?”

“I want it, Abercrombie, same as you. But I want us all to get there.” Pershing took off his hat and wiped a hand across his brow, muttering, “Those of us the Lord don’t see fit to take.”

“We can make it, Captain,” Mac said. “How many still have flour or cornmeal?”

About half the men raised their hands.

“How many have meat?”

Fewer men raised their hands.

“Some of us can hunt in the morning, while the wagons keep moving.” Mac realized he sounded like he was taking command. “Will that work, Captain?” he added.

Pershing nodded.

Some men grumbled, but no one dissented aloud.

After supper a shout arose, “Hot springs!” One of the children had found a spring not far from camp. Many travelers rushed to soak their tired feet in the warm water.

Mac chose to rest in camp.

 

August 2, 1847. Reached the Port Neuf. Provisions are low. Can Pershing keep control of the company?