This is a large, deep valley. How the water sparkles in the large river! What a strange, crooked course the river makes for itself! In what beautiful verdure this level, rich valley is clothed! What fine soil is here waiting for the hand of the farmer to cultivate it! A number of immigrants are getting ready for their journey to California. They are resting, taking a breathing-spell after the arduous trip they have already made. We have raised our tent, turned our oxen out and given them liberty to graze where they wish. We shall stay here eight or ten days and try to sell our property. It is about thirty steps from the shore to where we are resting. My nearest scene for observation is the river. It is a great stream of a yellowish color. Its water, if left to settle in a glass, is one-half sediment. However, it is healthful for drinking and cool and refreshing in the hottest season. I do not know how wide the river is at this point (Maryville) but judge it to be about one mile in width. Whole trees are drifting and rolling over in the stream. They dive away out of sight and then shoot up into the air, throwing out their arms like strange monsters. Many of the trees are caught along the shores and some sink to the bottom of the river. Steamboats are often snagged by them and cut in two or otherwise wrecked.
About five hundred paces from the shore some hunters or trappers are waiting for the steamboat. These hunters have come down the river in boats about as large but deeper than those used on the river Vltava (in Bohemia) for carrying wood and eathenware and other cargo. These hunters bring boats full of buffalo and elk hides. They are usually hired by rich merchants (fur traders) for a term of two years or more, depending upon the length of the trip. Steamboats tow them up against the current as far as they can, after that the hunters pull their boats up on the shore and secure them well, then take small boats and go to their chosen places, to hunt, trap and trade with Indians. They take along with them various merchandise, such as beads, colored calico, groceries as sugar, tea, etc., and trade for hides. There are three boat-loads of hides, some tanned but the larger portion untanned, waiting for the steamboat to arrive. The hunters are anxious to unload and get started up the river on their return for more.
After I had looked these hunters and trappers over, they seemed to me to be a wild, Godless people. Their clothing speaks for them. They could not walk through the streets of any European city, nor would they be permitted to do so, without bringing a crowd around them, the members of which would ask each other what sort of comedians are these? It is difficult to judge what their clothes consist of, wool, cotton or linen, from what is left of them. Wherever your eyes rest, in front, behind or on the sides, all you can see is the owner’s natural weather-worn brown skin. The rest of his body is covered with wild-animal skins. His face has evidently not felt the touch of water for many hundreds miles. It looks to me as if its owner never tried the quality of good, fresh water on it. Probably he thought the water too muddy and would make his face dirty. The hunter’s hat is usually made in his own factory and consists of raw buffalo hide, adorned with a fox or wolf tail like a plume. Some have added small antelope or deer horns to the plumes, to make the effect more weird. When one of these people wears out his pants, it does not worry him where to get another suit. He skins a small buffalo calf, cuts the hide through, the mouth, dries it by the smoke of the fire, pulls it on and his pants are made. The hangings serve him as suspenders or straps. He is very fastidious about his shoes, cost what they may, the best are none too good for him. He must have them in the best style, at any price. With these he makes up in some measure for the neglect of the rest of his clothing. They are embroidered in designs and figures with small colored beads and really do look rich. They are fringed with very narrow lacings, which makes the shoe appear like a comet that leaves a streak behind it. They are comfortable to walk in. These Indian shoes or moccasins are made of tanned buffalo and elk skins and many an Indian woman works many a day to make them and embellish them with rich embroidery. From the ankles hang more lacings about a foot long and drag behind on the ground like a broom. To write a history of such a trapper from the day he was born would be too much of an undertaking for me. I will say only that they are the most ignorant and Godforsaken low specimens of men I have seen in America. They usualy come from North America, that is, French Canadians follow this kind: of business. They could save a good deal of money, for wild fur-bearing animals like beaver, elk, antelope, buffalo and bear are very plentiful, but they do not. When a trapper like these comes into company, he gambles away everything, even the last piece of decent clothing he has. Then he goes away again to gather more pelts, but it all comes to the same end again.
A few steps from our tent is the renowned place of St. Mary, consisting of five buildings: one store, post-office, saloon, laundry and two farm houses. The proprietor of the saloon is a German, withal an honest soul. He is a believer (credulous) and has great faith in his wife, who deep in her heart, as we could see, secretly loves another, a young, curly-headed bewhiskered sweatheart. Very respectfully and lovingly the saloonkeeper asks his wife: “Where have you been, my dear wife?” “Oh, you sheepshead, don’t you know I have to go to the store to get some spices?” Yes, she called him sheepshead. This is the true name his beloved called him. He is a big bag of simplicity and goodness and faith. That name is quite fitting, so we have christened the saloon “The Sheepshead” and it would be appropriate to call its landlord The Great Sheepshead.
“Boys, we are going to have more company. A large number of wagons, their tops covered with white cloth tents, are nearing us. Look! A rider on a horse is approaching rapidly. Aha, he is called the camp master. He rides ahead to find a good place to camp and is always a few miles ahead of the wagon train. Surely he wants to ask us something.” And truly he trotted up to us and wanted to know if there was plenty of grass for his cattle. He rode away and in about an hour we had the society of about thirty-six people, 160 oxen and 30 horses. It was a lively and noisy crowd that gathered around the fire on that pleasant evening. We looked with wonder at the strange mob that cut up antics and amused itself joyfully and happily. After supper, as they were laying aside their knives and forks, some prepared to dance. Adolphus is in the tent, fixing up his dry, cracked flute. He is trying to see if he has not forgotten what he never knew and for lack of sense wants to show off. Haloo, somebody is plying a flute in the other tent! In a moment we had the crowd besieging our tent and demanding that Adolphus, the flute player, come out and play. They would not be driven away. We were
