William Adams - Some Heroes of Travel, or, Chapters from the History of Geographical Discovery and Enterprise

He was sinking, however, into a dreamy drowsiness, when he was roused by a movement among the mules, which cheered him by proving that they were still alive. With some difficulty he lifted his head to get a look at the weather, but all was pitch dark. Was it still night? Suddenly he remembered that he was buried deep in snow, and thrusting his arm above him, he worked out a hole, through which he could see the sheen of stars and the glimmer of blue sky. After one or two efforts, he contrived to stand on his feet, and then he discovered that morning was dawning slowly in the east, whore the horizon was clear of clouds. By dint of constant exertion he regained the use of his limbs, and, springing on his horse, drove the mules before him at full speed across the prairie, and through the valley, until he reached the Arkansas, where he was welcomed as one who had risen from the grave. It took him two days, however, to recover from the effects of that fearful night among the snow.

One of Mr. Ruxton’s most agreeable excursions was to the Boiling Spring River and the Boiling Fountains, which he found to be situated in the midst of picturesque combinations of wood and rock. These celebrated springs issue from round holes in a large, flat white rock, at some distance from each other; the gas escapes with a hissing sound, like that of water in a state of ebullition; and the taste is peculiarly refreshing, like that of, but seeming more pungent than, the very best soda-water. The Indians call them the “medicine” springs, and regard them with superstitious reverence as the haunts of a spirit, who, by breathing through the transparent fluid, causes the perturbation of its surface. As to this water-spirit the Arapahoes attribute the power of preventing the success or bringing about the failure of their war expeditions, they never pass the springs without leaving there some propitiatory offerings, such as beads, wampum, knives, pieces of red cloth, strips of deerskin, and mocassins. The country round about was formerly in the hands of the Shoshone, or Snake Indians, of whom the Comanches are a branch: the latter now dwell to the east of the Rocky Mountains; the former to the west, or in the recesses of the mountains themselves.

The Snake Indians connect a curious legend with these two springs of sweet and bitter water.

They say that, hundreds of years ago, when the cotton-wood trees on the Rio Colorado were no higher than arrows, and the red man hunted the buffalo on the plains, all people spoke the same language, and two parties of hunters never met without smoking together the pipe of peace. In this happy age, it chanced on one occasion that a couple of hunters, belonging to different tribes, met on the bank of a small rivulet, in which they designed to quench their thirst. A bright clear thread of water, trickling from a spring in a rock a few feet from the bank, it wound its silvery way into the river. Now, while one of the hunters threw himself at once on the ground, and plunged his face into the running stream, the other first flung from his back a fine deer, and then, turning towards the spring, poured some of the water out as a libation to the Great Spirit, who had rewarded his prowess with bow and arrow, and caused the fountain to flow, at which he was about to refresh himself.

And it came to pass that the other hunter, who had killed no fat buck, and had forgotten to make the usual peace-offering, felt his heart swell with rage and jealousy; and the Evil Spirit taking possession of him, he sought for an excuse to quarrel with the stranger Indian. Rising to his feet with a moody frown upon his brow, he exclaimed —

“Why does a stranger drink at the spring-head, when one to whom the spring belongs is content to drink of the water that runs from it?”

“The Great Spirit,” replied the other, “places the cool water at the spring, that his children may drink it pure and undefiled. The running water is for the beasts that inhabit the plains. Au-sa-qua is a chief of the Shoshone, and he drinks at the head of the waters.”

“The Shoshone,” answered the first speaker, “is but a tribe of the Comanche. Wa-co-mish is the chief of the great nation. Why does a Shoshone dare to drink above him?”

“He has said it. The Shoshone drinks at the spring-head; let other nations be satisfied with the water of the stream that runs into the fields. Au-sa-qua is chief of his nation. The Comanche are brothers; let them both drink of the same water.”

“The Shoshone pays tribute to the Comanche. Wa-co-mish leads that nation to war. Wa-co-mish is chief of the Shoshone, as he is of his own people.”

“Wa-co-mish lies,” said Au-sa-qua coldly; “his tongue is forked like the rattlesnake’s; his heart is as black as the Misho-tunga (evil spirit). When the Manitou made his children, whether Shoshone or Comanche, Arapaho, Shi-an, or Pá-ui, he gave them buffalo to eat, and the pure water of the crystal fountain to quench their thirst. He said not to one, ‘Drink here,’ or to the other, ‘Drink there,’ but gave to all the bright clear fountain, that all might drink.”

A tempest of fury swept over the soul of Wa-comish as he listened to these words; but he was a coward at heart, and durst not openly encounter the cooler and more courageous Shoshone. But when the latter, hot with speaking, again stooped to drink of the refreshing waters, Wa-co-mish suddenly threw himself upon him, pressed his head beneath the surface, and held it there, until his victim, suffocated, ceased to struggle, and fell forward into the spring, dead.

The murderer had satisfied his passion; but was he happy? No; as he gazed at the corpse of his victim, he was seized with a passionate sense of remorse and regret. Loathing himself for the crime he had committed, he proceeded to drag the body a few paces from the water, which, thereupon, was suddenly disturbed. The wave trembled to and fro, and bubbles, rising to the surface, escaped in hissing gas. And, as a vaporous cloud gradually rose and sank, the figure of an aged Indian was revealed to the murderer’s straining eyes, whom, by his noble countenance, his long sinewy hand, and his silvery beard, he knew to be the great Wau-kan-aga, the father of the Shoshone and Comanche nation, still remembered and revered for the good deeds and the heroic acts he had done in life.

Stretching out a war-club towards the shrinking, trembling Wa-co-mish, he said:

“Accursed of my tribe! this day hast thou snapt the link that bound together the mightiest nations of the world, while the blood of the brave Shoshone cries to the Manitou for vengeance. May the water of thy tribe be rank and bitter in their throats!” And, swinging round his ponderous war-club, he dashed out the brains of the treacherous Comanche, so that he fell headlong into the spring, which, from that day, has ever been nauseous to the taste, and an offence to thirsty lips. But at the same time, to preserve the memory of the noble Au-sa-qua, he struck a hard flint rock, higher up the rivulet, with his club, and called forth a fountain of crystal water, which, even in our own times, is the joy and the delight of men.

“Never,” says Mr. Ruxton, “never was there such a paradise for hunters as this lone and solitary spot. The shelving prairie, at the bottom of which the springs are situated, is entirely surrounded by rugged mountains, and, containing perhaps about two or three acres of excellent grass, affords a safe pasture to their animals, which would hardly care to wander from such feeding. Immediately overhead, Pike’s Peak, at an elevation of 12,000 feet above the level of the sea, towers high into the clouds; whilst from the fountain, like a granitic amphitheatre, ridge after ridge, clothed with pine and cedar, rises and meets the stupendous mass of mountains, well called ‘Rocky,’ which stretches far away north and southward, their gigantic peaks being visible above the strata of clouds which hide their rugged bases.”