Chapter 49: American Falls

 

Friday, August 6th—We leave Fort Hall this morning, an ugly place with little to recommend it. The Snake lies ahead.

 

Jenny packed up the wagon, and Mac helped her onto Poulette. They headed southwest across the Port Neuf valley toward the Snake, splashing through several swampy streams. Where the land wasn’t marshy, it was dry as a bone and covered with sage.

Jenny rode her mare beside one of the Pershing wagons. Esther spent the days with her younger siblings and evenings with the Abercrombies. Today Esther drove a Pershing wagon, cow tied behind it, while Jonah napped in the back.

“How’s the baby this morning?” Jenny asked.

“Bigger every day.” Esther smiled. “The milk cow is a blessing.”

“Where’s Daniel?” Jenny hadn’t seen him since they left Fort Hall.

“Scouting with Pa and Zeke,” Esther said.

“What’s Mr. Abercrombie say about that?”

“I didn’t hear nothing from him this morning.” Esther shrugged. “Daniel’s his own man.”

“Have you told Daniel you’re expecting?”

Esther nodded. “I couldn’t wait.”

“How’d he take it?” Jenny wondered how a man would react to becoming a father.

Esther grinned. “Busting his buttons. Wanted to tell everyone. I had to forbid him to say anything.” Esther frowned at Jenny. “You haven’t told, have you?”

“Not a soul,” Jenny said.

“You don’t tell your husband everything?”

Jenny shook her head. “You said I shouldn’t.”

The heat became oppressive as the day wore on, until Jenny felt like she was roasting on a spit. The dry air hurt to breathe. As the sun lowered ahead of them, dust dulled the sky and shimmered above the ground.

“Huge falls!” Zeke trotted along the chain of wagons with the news. “On the Snake. Pa says we’ll camp just beyond.”

The trail stayed well back from the cliffs above the river, but Mac took Jenny to see the falls. “Mon Dieu!” she gasped when she saw the furious water tumble down gigantic rock steps, throwing spray across the sky.

“River must drop fifty feet,” Mac said.

“Look,” Jenny pointed. “A rainbow.” A band of colors shone through the mist.

“Pershing says a boat of American trappers went over the falls many years ago. So everyone calls it American Falls.”

“How could anyone live after going over that falls?” Jenny asked.

“Most didn’t. Only one man survived.”

After supper Mac went with other men to bathe in the falls while Jenny washed dishes. Esther came over carrying a towel. “I’m going to wash my hair. Do you want to come?”

Jenny was tempted. A bath would feel wonderful, but she feared the rushing water. “The men are there,” she said.

“We’ll find another spot. Mrs. Tuller’s coming. And Mrs. Abercrombie and Louisa and her girls. And Rachel and Ruthie. It’ll be fine.”

“Who’s watching Jonah?”

“We’ll take him with us.”

“I can’t swim.”

“Don’t worry. I can’t either.”

Jenny found a towel and followed Esther. At the bank, she took off her clothes, except for her shift, and waded in. The water was frigid. Her skin turned to gooseflesh and her teeth chattered. But the cold felt heavenly after the heat of the day. She even ducked under to wash her hair.

That night Jenny listened to the falls as she wrote:

 

Saturday, August 7th—American Falls is a beauteous place in this terrible country. The heat and dust are dreadful, and the black rocks hide more horrors. I hope Oregon is not so hot. No stop for the Sabbath tomorrow.

 

Then she went to bed in the stifling wagon, with the constant rush of the river lulling her to sleep.

The next day the travelers rode along the south side of the Snake, over arid plateaus above the black cliffs. Sometimes Jenny saw the river far below, which foamed into white froth between its rocky banks. Sometimes the trail left the river to meander through steep ravines cleft by dry tributaries of the Snake.

She rode Poulette, trying to stay away from the worst of the dirt. A hot wind blew, adding to the grit stirred up by wheels and hooves. It had done little good to bathe the evening before. By midmorning her clothes were full of dust and grime. She kept her hair braided and coiled under her sunbonnet, but the wind pulled strands loose that whipped at her face as she rode. She had never seen a more alien land.

The Snake was often visible, but unreachable because of the lava walls. The tantalizing ribbon of silver water made Jenny feel the heat of the beating sun all the more. She drank often from the bucket on the wagon and pitied the poor oxen with their faces in the dust all day. Poulette took the steep path through the ravines with relative ease, but the men had to brake the wagons with ropes on the descents and hitch extra oxen or mules to pull on the ascents.

The company stopped for the night at one of the few places with easy access to the river. The cliffs abated for a narrow stretch along the Snake, and the wagons circled for the night on a slope covered with dry grass and sagebrush. The riverbank was full of boulders, but the travelers could clamber down to the water. Jenny wondered how water could move such enormous rocks, many of them larger than the emigrants’ wagons.

“Devil’s Gate Pass,” Mac reported their location as they made camp.

“Why does everything have wicked names?” Jenny asked. Though the name fit the land. “Are there Indians around?”

Mac shrugged. “They were at Fort Hall. We’ve seen their tracks today, so they must travel this route. Pershing says Shoshone have fishing grounds nearby.”

Jenny opened her journal and wrote:

 

Sunday, August 8th—Even the ink bottle has sand in it. I feel I shall never be clean again.