And you with braided queues so neat, You set your pails and pitchers down! Ah! oft have home's cool, shady tanks These pails and pitchers filled for you: On far Missouri's silent banks Shall these the scenes of home renew: The stone-rimmed fount in village street, Where oft ye stooped, betrayed your smiles; The hearth, and its familiar seat; The mantel and the pictured tiles. Soon, in the far and wooded West, Shall log-house walls therewith be graced, Soon, many a tired, tawny guest Shall sweet refreshment from them taste. From them shall drink the Cherokee, Faint from the hot and dusty chase; No more from German vintage ye Shall bear them home in leaf-crowned grace. O, say, why seek ye other lands? The Neckar's vale hath wine and corn, Ah! in strange forests how ye'll yearn The boatman calls! go hence in peace! JOHN CHARLES FRÉMONT. JOHN CHARLES FREMONT, an American soldier and explorer, the "Pathfinder" of the Rocky Mountains, born at Savannah, Ga., Jan. 21, 1813; died in New York, July 13, 1890. In 1833 he was appointed teacher of mathematics on the United States sloop-of-war Natchez. On his return he became a railroad surveyor and engineer. In 1838 he received a commission as Second Lieutenant in the United States Corps of Topographical Engineers. In the following year he projected a survey of the United States, from the Missouri River to the Pacific Ocean; and was instructed to explore the Rocky Mountain region. This exploration occupied four months. He then planned a second expedition to explore the then unknown region lying between the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific Ocean. The expedition set out in May, 1843. Early in March he reached Sutter's Fort on the Sacramento River, California. He finally returned to the States in July, 1844, after an absence of fourteen months. In the spring of 1845 Frémont set out upon a third expedition. In May, 1846, he received dispatches directing him to look after the interests of the United States in California. He retraced his steps to California. Early in 1847 he concluded a treaty with the California population which terminated the war in California, leaving that country in the possession of the United States. He subsequently took up his residence in California, and when the Territory was admitted into the Union as a State, he was elected one of the United States Senators. In 1856 Frémont was made the Presidential candidate of the newly formed Republican party. Soon after the breaking out of the Civil War Frémont was made a Major-general in the United States Army. At the beginning of 1862 he was placed in command of the "Mountain District," comprising parts of Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee. After the conclusion of the war Frémont busied himself in promoting the construction of a southern railroad across the continent. From 1878 to 1881 he was Governor of the Territory of Arizona. He then began the composition of his autobiography, the first volume of which appeared in 1887, the title being "Memoirs of My Life, by John Charles Frémont." FIRST ASCENT OF FREMONT'S PEAK. (From Frémont's Journal of His First Expedition.) AUGUST 10 [1842]. The air at sunrise is clear and pure, and the morning extremely cold, but beautiful. A lofty snow peak of the mountain is glittering in the first rays of the sun, which has not yet reached us. The long mountain wall to the east, rising two thousand feet abruptly from the plain, behind which we see the peaks, is still dark, and cuts clear against the glowing sky. A fog, just risen from the river, lies along the base of the mountain. A little before sunrise, the thermometer was at 35°, and at sunrise 33°. Water froze last night, and fires are very comfortable. The scenery becomes hourly more interesting and grand, and the view here is truly magnificent; but, indeed, it needs something to repay the long prairie journey of a thousand miles. The sun has just shot above the wall, and makes a magical change. The whole valley is glowing and bright, and all the mountain peaks are gleaming like silver. Though these snow mountains are not the Alps, they have their own character of grandeur and magnificence, and will doubtless find pens and pencils to do them justice. In the scene before us we feel how much wood improves a view. The pines on the mountain seemed to give it much additional beauty. I was agreeably disappointed in the character of the streams on this side the ridge. Instead of the creeks, which description had led me to expect, I find bold, broad streams, with three or four feet water, and a rapid current. The fork on which we are encamped is upwards of a hundred feet wide, timbered with groves or thickets of the low willow. We were now approaching the loftiest part of the Wind River chain; and I left the valley a few miles from our encampment, intending to penetrate the mountains, as far as possible, with the whole party. We were soon involved in very broken ground, among long ridges covered with fragments of granite. Winding our way up a long ravine, we came unexpectedly in view of a most beautiful lake, set like a gem in the mountains. The sheet of water lay transversely across the direction we had been pursuing; and, descending the steep, rocky ridge, where it was necessary to lead our horses, we followed its banks to the southern extremity. Here a view of the utmost magnificence and grandeur burst upon our eyes. With nothing between us and their feet to lessen the effect of the whole height, a grand bed of snow-capped mountains rose before us, pile upon pile, glowing in the bright light of an August day. Immediately below them lay the lake, between two ridges, covered with dark pines, which swept down from the main chain to the spot where we stood. Here, where the lake glittered in the open sunlight, its banks of yellow sand and the light foliage of aspen groves contrasted well with the gloomy pines. 66 "Never before," said Mr. Preuss, "in this country or in Europe, have I seen such magnificent, grand rocks." I was so much pleased with the beauty of the place, that I determined to make the main camp here, where our animals would find good pasturage, and explore the mountains with a small party of men. Proceeding a little further, we came suddenly upon the outlet of the lake, where it found its way through a narrow passage between low hills. Dark pines, which overhung the stream, and masses of rock, where the water foamed along, gave it much romantic beauty. Where we crossed, which was immediately at the outlet, it is two hundred and fifty feet wide, and so deep that with difficulty we were able to ford it. Its bed was an accumulation of rocks, boulders, and broad slabs, and large angular fragments, among which the animals fell repeatedly. The current was very swift, and the water cold and of a crystal purity. In crossing this stream, I met with a great misfortune in having my barometer broken. It was the only one. A great part of the interest of the journey for me was in the exploration of these mountains, of which so much had been said that was doubtful and contradictory; and now their snowy peaks rose majestically before me, and the only means of giving them authentically to science, the object of my anxious solicitude by night and day, was destroyed. We had brought this barometer in safety a thousand miles, and broke it almost among the snow of the mountains. The loss was felt by the whole camp. All had seen my anxiety, and aided me in preserving it. The height of these mountains, considered by the hunters and traders the highest in the whole range, had been a theme of constant discussion among them; and all had looked forward with pleasure to the moment when the instrument, which they believed to be as true as the sun, should stand upon the summits and decide their disputes. Their grief was only inferior to my own. This lake is about three miles long and of very irregular width and apparently great depth, and is the head water of the third New Fork, a tributary to Green River, the Colorado of the West. On the map and in the narrative I have called it Mountain Lake. I encamped on the north side, about three hundred and fifty yards from the outlet. This was the most western point at which I obtained astronomical observations, by which this place, called Bernier's encampment, is made in 110° 08′ 03′′ west longitude from Greenwich, and latitude 43° 49′ 49′′. The mountain peaks, as laid down, were fixed by bearings from this and other astronomical points. We had no other compass than the small ones used in sketching the country; but from an azimuth, in which one of them was used, the variation of the compass is 18° east. The correction made in our field work by the astronomical observations indicates that this is a very correct observation. As soon as the camp was formed, I set about endeavoring to repair my barometer. As I have already said, this was a standard cistern barometer, of Troughton's construction. The glass cistern had been broken about midway; but, as the instrument had been kept in a proper position, no air had found its way into the tube, the end of which had always remained covered. I had with me a number of vials of tolerably thick glass, some of which were of the same diameter as the cistern, and I spent the day in slowly working on these, endeavoring to cut them of the requisite length; but, as my instrument was a very rough file, I invariably broke them. A groove was cut in one of the trees, where the barometer was placed during the night, to be out of the way of any possible danger; and in the morning I commenced again. Among the powder horns in the camp, I found one which was very transparent, so that its contents could be almost as plainly seen as through glass. This I boiled and stretched on a piece of wood to the requisite diameter, and scraped it very thin, in order to increase to the utmost its transparency. I then secured it firmly in its place on the instrument with strong glue made from a buffalo, and filled it with mercury properly heated. A piece of skin, which had covered one of the vials, furnished a good pocket, which was well secured with strong thread and glue; and then the brass cover was screwed to its place. The instrument was left some time to dry; and, when I reversed it, a few hours after, I had the satisfaction to find it in perfect order, its indications being about the same as on the other side of the lake before it had been broken. Our |