In A Trapper’s Bivouac
The American West of the 19th century was a vast and untamed land, attracting individuals of unparalleled resilience and resourcefulness. Among these were the trappers and scouts, men who carved a living from the wilderness, their lives interwoven with the rhythms of nature and the lore of the frontier. Their existence was one of constant challenge, demanding an intimate knowledge of the land, its creatures, and the indigenous populations who also called it home. When the day’s labor subsided, these hardy individuals often gathered around crackling campfires, sharing stories and forging bonds in the heart of the wilderness.
This glimpse into the trapper’s world, as described by Henry Inman and William "Buffalo Bill" Cody in their 1898 work, The Great Salt Lake Trail, paints a vivid picture of life In A Trapper’s Bivouac. It offers a peek into the camaraderie, the hardships, and the unique brand of storytelling that characterized these gatherings. Their narratives, often embellished with a touch of the fantastical, provided entertainment, solace, and a shared sense of identity in the face of isolation and danger.
The nightly ritual in In A Trapper’s Bivouac commenced after the demanding tasks of the day were completed. Traps were checked, beaver skinned, and precious pelts carefully hung to dry, representing the fruits of their labor and the foundation of their livelihood. With supper consumed, the men would settle comfortably around a blazing fire, the flames casting dancing shadows against the backdrop of the vast wilderness. This was a time for relaxation, reflection, and the sharing of experiences.
The act of smoking served as a prelude to the evening’s storytelling, a moment of personal indulgence before the communal sharing of tales. Preferences varied; some adhered to the traditional clay pipe, while others favored the more refined meerschaum. Many, however, were content with a simple cigarette crafted from corn husk. Even the famed Kit Carson, known for his ruggedness and experience, was said to favor this humble method of enjoying tobacco.
The availability of tobacco was often uncertain. If supplies dwindled or traders failed to deliver sufficient quantities, the trappers turned to the resources of the land, adopting the practices of the Native Americans. The bark of the red willow, dried and bruised, served as a substitute for some tribes, while others, particularly those in the mountainous regions, smoked kin-nik-i-nick, a small evergreen vine found at high altitudes. This resourcefulness highlights the trappers’ adaptability and their willingness to learn from and incorporate the knowledge of the indigenous populations.
The arrival of a visitor at one of these solitary camps was a cause for celebration. Hospitality was paramount, and the trappers readily shared whatever provisions they possessed. This generosity was a reflection of the harsh realities of their lives, where mutual support and cooperation were essential for survival. However, the true highlight of the visit came at night, when stories were shared under the starlit sky, the campfire providing warmth and a focal point for the gathered company.
Inman and Cody invite the reader to imagine such a scene: a secluded camp nestled within a canyon of the Continental Divide. As night descends, casting long shadows across the mountains, the reader is encouraged to join the circle, to listen to the wondrous tales that are shared. The only sounds that break the silence are the gentle rustling of the wind through the pines and the soothing murmur of a nearby stream. The environment itself is imbued with a sense of magic, creating an experience that etches itself into the memory as a cherished moment. This is the heart of In A Trapper’s Bivouac.
One of the most celebrated storytellers was Old Hatcher, a renowned trapper from the 1840s. He embodied the spirit of the West, with his distinctive mannerisms, dialect, and inexhaustible repertoire of amusing and often improbable stories. Hatcher was typically persuaded to share his experiences with the encouragement of a generous quantity of whiskey, an indulgence he was known to enjoy.
Hatcher’s storytelling style was as captivating as the tales themselves. He would invariably keep his pipe in his mouth, meticulously replenishing it with tobacco from a solid plug. His gaze would fix upon an unseen point within the fire’s glow, his face reflecting a deep concentration as if summoning the story from the depths of the past, its appeal perhaps enhanced by its sheer implausibility.
One of Hatcher’s most memorable claims was that he had once ventured into the realm of Pluto, a belief that no one could ever dissuade him from. His account of this supposed journey, while undoubtedly embellished, offers a fascinating glimpse into the mindset of these rugged individuals, their willingness to embrace the extraordinary, and their unique interpretation of the world around them.
Hatcher’s tale begins with a journey to Bent’s Fort, a vital trading post on the Santa Fe Trail, to acquire essential supplies such as powder and lead. The prices were exorbitant, reflecting the scarcity of goods in the remote frontier. A single beaver skin could be exchanged for a plug of tobacco, while a cup of powder required three. Jim Finch, a fellow trapper, had informed Hatcher of abundant beaver populations on the Purgatoire River, a secret unknown to others who believed the creeks had been depleted.
Hatcher ventured into the canyon, setting his traps in anticipation of a successful hunt. However, his solitude was soon shattered by the arrival of ten Indians, who drove off his animals into the open prairie. Though enraged, Hatcher remained hidden, waiting for an opportunity to reclaim his property. He later found his mule, but the Indians had frightened the beaver away.
Discovering a hidden cache of Taos lightning (whiskey), Hatcher imbibed generously and set off towards the headwaters of the Purgatoire in search of meat. The landscape appeared strangely altered, with scorched bushes, blackened rocks, and a dried-up riverbed. Despite a growing sense of unease, Hatcher pressed on, compelled by an unseen force.
As he approached the twin peaks of "Wa-te-yah," his mule, Blue, began to act erratically, snorting, rearing, and squealing. Hatcher found himself unable to dismount or even draw his knife. Two black-tailed figures in red coats, "not human," approached him, greeting him by name and claiming to have awaited his arrival.
The creatures led Hatcher and Blue into a canyon with smooth stone walls, a dark, roofed space with little light. Stopped by a dead end, Hatcher resigned himself to his fate, remembering his past exploits. Suddenly, the canyon filled with light, revealing a room filled with people, music, and laughter.
The creatures instructed Hatcher to dismount, but he found himself stuck to the saddle. After some persuasion, he managed to free himself, and a hunchbacked boy led Blue away. Hatcher, now unarmed, was introduced to a "big fellow with hair frizzled out," who announced him as "Mr. Hatcher, formerly of Wapakonnetta, latterly of the Rocky Mountains."
A "smallish old gentleman" with a black coat and spectacles greeted Hatcher warmly, inviting him to sit. Hatcher, uncomfortable with the chair, opted to sit cross-legged on the floor. When offered a cigar, he impulsively grabbed a handful, prompting a disapproving look from the old man.
The old man then revealed his true identity, declaring himself to be the devil. He offered Hatcher a tour of his "establishment," leading him through a stone door that opened without being touched. The place was hot and smelled of brimstone. Hatcher saw Jake Beloo, a fellow trapper, being tormented by demons.
The devil led Hatcher to another room with a table, bottles, and glasses. They sat and smoked, and the devil offered to release Jake Beloo from Purgatory. The door shut on its own accord, and the devil led Hatcher down a long flight of stairs, deep beneath the mountains.
In a dimly lit passage, Hatcher heard cries and moans. He entered a room where he was confronted by snakes, chained animals, and a horde of devils who yelled, laughed, and tormented him. Hatcher, overwhelmed by the spectacle, cried out in terror.
The devil gave Hatcher a cordial, which calmed his nerves. He found himself riding a giant snake, leading the devils in a wild procession. The devil, amused by the scene, eventually called a halt and instructed Hatcher to amuse himself until he returned.
Hatcher, guided by an imp, stumbled upon a fiery blaze and a group of devils playing cards. He joined the game but was quickly outmatched. One of the devils revealed that a preacher, old Cormon from Wapakonnetta, was being tormented nearby for his hypocrisy. Hatcher confronted Cormon, who begged for water.
Hatcher, now thoroughly frightened, attempted to escape. He was pursued by devils, snakes, and dogs. He ran through the dark, narrow passages, dodging lizards and owls. Just as he was about to be captured, he remembered a prayer from his childhood, which caused the devils to hold back.
The devil reappeared, his face fixed in a steady, calm, and devilish gaze. A dog caught hold of Hatcher’s shirt, and devils attacked him. He fell, overwhelmed by the creatures, and lost consciousness.
When he awoke, he was back on the Purgatoire, surrounded by fellow trappers who had found him kicking, tearing, and yelling. They dismissed his story as the result of delirium tremens, but Hatcher remained convinced that he had indeed visited the realms of Pluto.
The story of Old Hatcher provides a fascinating glimpse into the world of In A Trapper’s Bivouac, showcasing the ruggedness, the superstition, and the unique brand of humor that characterized these men of the frontier. It is a tale of adventure, hardship, and the enduring power of storytelling in the face of isolation and danger.