River Crossing in 1876
How to cross Rivers—Swim Mules—Make Hafts, Canoes, and a Bullboat—The way to cross a River with 
your Horse, and to Raft your Gun, and Ammunition, without wetting them.

The best plan I can think of to explain how a wide swift river must be crossed is to suppose our train to be 
descending the trail, leading over the rugged bluffs, which shut in the Snake River on either side. So steep and 
massive are the cliffs of basaltic rock on each side of this immense river that getting at the water, except at lateral 
valley junctions, or where tributary streams enter, is an utter impossibility; a distance of fifty miles and more will very
often have to be travelled along its banks before one single drop of water is obtainable, and it is not stating more 
than the truth to say, that a traveller might perish from thirst on the banks of this river, and yet be in sight of water 
the whole time. 

The Snake River is a tributary to the Columbia, and where we are going to cross it the width is quite 400 yards. 
About a mile above the crossing the Pelouse River joins the Snake, and below the junction the mingled waters dash
on with a terrific velocity. Four times I have crossed this only available place on the river with a large pack train —
once with 150 animals, so I shall state exactly how I managed the transport over the river. I may mention incidentally
that a ferry bridge, which is worked on a wire rope, has been established at this crossing, and the speculating 
Yankee who built it charges the moderate sum of a dollar (4s. 2d.) per head for packed animals to cross on it.

For a width of rather more than a mile there is a break in the cliffs of basalt on each side of the stream, with a kind 
of shingly beach reaching from their bases to the water, and a tribe of Red men — the Pelouse Indians — have 
their encampment close to the junction of the two streams. I ride on ahead of my train, and bargain with the 
savages for so many canoes and men to work them. This is always a tedious job, because the Redskins try hard to 
get double the amount they pretty well know they deserve. A circle is formed; the pipe, without which nothing can be
done, is lighted and smoked. I say pipe, because one does for all, and as it passes on from mouth to mouth each 
savage has his say, whilst the women, or squaws, stand round behind the squatting men, and chatter 
incomprehensibly. 

The plan I adopt is to show them what I mean to pay, be it in goods, tobacco, or what not, and stand firmly by my
offer; as a rule, they seldom refuse to accept it. Depend upon it, the great element in successful bargaining with
savages is to exhibit what you intend to give them. Let Indians see anything they desire or think they can get, and 
there is scarcely any labour too hard for them, so they can obtain it; but generally speaking, Redskins hate work, 
and would not stir a single yard if you only promised a reward, and did not show it to them. The bargain concluded, 
the canoes are launched, and paddled down to where by this time the mules are being unpacked and unsaddled.
 
It is always better to swim the mules over the stream before the men, camp gear, and pack saddles are ferried in 
canoes. It gives the animals' hair time to dry before resaddling; for if the aparejos are synched up upon a wet back,
sore places are generally the result. So we begin by swimming over the animals. Remember, the stream is four 
hundred yards wide, and swift as a rapid. 

A packer halters the bell-mare, takes the bell in his hand, and gets into one of the canoes, which has been paddled 
up stream as far as the rocks will permit; above this the mules could not get into the stream. This, I must again 
remind you, gives a mile distance clear of rocks on the opposite side. The other canoes are stationed further down,
and form a line across the current of water. The mules are driven by the packers close to the mare, and as the 
canoe is paddled away from the shore, the man holds on to the halter and tows her after it, at the same time ringing
the bell continuously with all his might. The poor mules see their pet swimming away, and hear the tinkling of the
bell gradually growing fainter; behind and around them are the packers waving their dreaded blinds, and every now
and again giving any mule endeavouring to escape a taste of its many thongs. 

At last, in sheer despair, in they dash, and a curious sight it is too, to watch a hundred mules swimming a wide 
stream. Nothing of each animal is visible excepting its long ears and its nose, and as they rapidly separate the 
weaker going down stream, and the stronger making a better passage, a chorus is heard of the most discordant 
snorts, imaginable, ranging from the wheezy treble of the old, through every variety of sounds, to the sharp, ringing,
trumpet like snort of the young and healthy.

The canoes down stream are now paddled at the mules that are swimming too much head down stream, in order to 
keep them towards the side whereon they are to land; but as some mules swim with ease and rapidity, others 
slower, and others, again, very slowly, why it happens they get ashore at all sorts of distances down the bank. A 
good mule will swim the Snake River, and land only a quarter of mile lower down on the opposite side to that at 
which it entered the stream, others a half mile, but the greater part of them will drift a full mile in crossing four 
hundred yards of swift running water.

The bell is kept ringing, and as the mules land, the mare is led along the bank, so that those which have landed 
may follow her, and those swimming make towards the spot where they hear the bell. It is not an unusual thing for a 
mule to sink; I have seen it happen many times. After the mules are over, the aparejos are first crossed in the 
canoes, next the goods and chattels, and lastly the packers, who then commence to saddle up, pack, and start 
again. 

To sum up, when the 'wanderer' has to cross a wide, swift-running river, he should first carefully note the kind of 
landing-place the mules will have to encounter on reaching the opposite side. If the river is four hundred yards in 
width and the current swift, a mile of landing ground clear from all obstruction is requisite. If you attempt crossing
with a shorter landing-place the probabilities are that you will drown a number of your animals. You must always 
calculate the chances of effecting a landing when swimming mules, by estimating by the width of the stream and 
force of the current how far the weaker mules and bad swimmers will probably be drifted; shelving banks are always
dangerous, and so is soft swampy ground. These remarks apply to a wide river, when canoes are obtainable from 
Indians; but to cross narrower streams when they are not, with mules or by yourself on horseback, is altogether a 
different affair. If with mules, a raft or a canoe must be made, on which to ferry over the aparejos, men, and loads. 
If you are on horseback, you must swim with your horse, should the stream prove too deep to ford.

A raft is the easiest thing imaginable to make, always supposing yon can find timber dry enough to float, which in a 
timbered country even is not so easy as one would be disposed to imagine. The timber should be tried in the water 
carefully before making it into a raft. Ten by twelve feet is a very good size for a raft, and to make it, all that is 
needed is to lay three large logs, not less than six feet in circumference, side by side, about eighteen inches apart, 
then other three across these. The upper and under logs must be trenailed firmly together where they rest on each 
other, a light rail added on each side to prevent the goods from falling off, and the raft is ready to launch. Before
doing this, if the stream is at all rapid, it is requisite to axe out a couple of rough paddles, and chop down three or 
four light poles to be put on board the raft. A coil of rope (the 'riatas' tied together answer every purpose) must also
be taken on the raft, one end being either held or otherwise made fast to the place from whence you are to start.

These details completed, one man ventures on the raft after it is placed in the stream, and paddles with all his 
strength for the opposite side; the rope of course pays out as the raft is forced across. If he reaches the goal 
successfully, he makes fast the raft with a 'painter,' whilst he adjusts the long rope, about half of which, or enough 
to reach from the one side of the stream to the other, he ties fast to the raft, the end of the other part he also 
fastens to the raft, but at its opposite end. He now leaves the raft, goes ashore, and pays out his part of the rope, 
whilst those on the side from which he came haul the raft back with their rope, and load it. Then a second man 
comes across, but he being greatly assisted by the first man pulling the rope does not run any risk of being washed
down stream with the load, which he would do if he trusted only to the paddle or pole.

Another system can be resorted to as a last chance, and that is to stretch a 'buffalo robe,' or raw hide, over a 
wickerwork frame made of light sticks; this plan, which will do in case of an emergency, is called a bull-boat, so
named because it is constructed from bullocks' hides.

A one-hide boat is made by driving willows about one inch in diameter into the ground in the form of an oval; the 
loose ends are brought over tied and wattled together, so as to make a strong basket-work frame. Next bind a 
strong stick round the basket close to the ground, and make it fast by lashings to the willow rods; and over all throw
a green hide or buffalo robe, and sew it fast to the encircling hoop. Now pull up your willows, turn over the frame, 
and you have as sound and perfect a coricle as ever was used by ancient Dane or Briton. 

A two-hide boat is made somewhat in the same way, only that a long pole must be first laid down as a keel. 
Supposing you arrive at a stream where there is no dry timber or other material fitting for rafting, then a canoe must
be chopped out.

Two of our axemen could make a canoe, with axes only, in three hours, large enough to carry ten persons; the
best timber is either cedar or white pine. The great art is to shape the sides of the canoe so that she will float 
evenly. I have often seen green hands make a canoe that, when launched, lay completely over on one side, and 
canted up either at the bow or stern. Nearly all the Indian tribes west of the Rocky Mountains own canoes, but the 
inland canoes, used on lakes and rivers, differ totally from such as are used by the coast and Fraser River Indians, 
and each tribe, whether inhabiting the mainland coast or Vancouver Island, has a fashion of canoe peculiar to itself.
All the coast Indians use 'dugouts' made from cedar. I have seen canoes at Fort Rupert that would carry thirty men 
easily in a heavy sea.

Just think of the labour these savages must have bestowed upon each canoe, when they had nothing but rude 
stone tools to work with. They expand the sides by filling the canoe with water, and plunging red hot stones into it, 
then prising open the heated wood with cross-pieces, and keeping it so forced open until it is cold.

 The 'Kallispellem' canoes, used by the Columbia River Kootanie and other inland Indians, are made of large sheets
of bark, stripped from the spruce fir or cedar tree (Thuja fiujantea). These pieces are sewn together and sloped at 
both ends, to a, conical point; the length of the canoe is usually about twelve feet, and the width about seven 
between the gunwales. A framework of wood is neatly made, over which the bark is stretched; the seams, holes, 
and weak places are lastly secured with a kind of gum. 

When an Indian paddles in one of these canoes—which, by the way, he can carry on his back with perfect ease —
he squats at the extreme end; his weight sinks the conical point, which serves to steady the canoe, similar to the 
way a fish steadies itself with its tail; the other end is of course, tilted up far above the surface of the water. These 
frail craft are more easily capsized than any other kind of canoe I was ever in, but the Indians contrive to convey 
heavy loads in them, shooting rapids, and 'poling' against streams, without often coming to grief.

To swim a stream with your horse requires great confidence and some knowledge of swimming. Horses all swim 
well, as a rule, so soon as they get over the dread of losing their foothold, and are fairly afloat. If you have no gun 
or anything spoilable, and you do not mind wetting your clothes, then ride straight into the water, always taking the 
precaution to see that you can land on the opposite side by taking into calculation the distance yourself and horse 
will probably be drifted.

Seize a good large lock of the mane hair, and twist it firmly round the fingers of the left hand; shut the hand close,
to prevent the risk of letting it slip; free both feet from the stirrups, lean well forward, and the instant the horse 
begins to float and strike out with its feet, lay your body horizontally, and kick back with your legs as you do in 
swimming; hold fast with the left hand; the horse will tow you, and with the right hand you must splash the water at 
the horse's head to keep him from turning to swim with the current. The more you can contrive to keep the horse's 
head up stream the better it will cross with you. On reaching the side you are swimming for, as soon as the horse 
touches its feet on the ground drop again into the saddle, and ride your mustang out of the water.

Many writers advise holding on by a horse's tail when swimming a river, and thus letting it tow them over; I do not 
think it nearly so good a plan as the one above; I have tried both. When holding by the tail you lose all command of 
your horse, it can swim in any direction it wishes; you risk getting hit with the hind legs, and not unfrequently you 
get towed under water. Landing, too, is difficult; when the horse scrambles out it tugs you after it, or throws you 
down, and the chances are greatly in favour of your losing your mustang, saddle, and gear, altogether. 

When swimming above the horse and holding by the mane, none of these risks are encountered, and you can steer
the animal as you would a boat. A river 400 yards wide can be safely crossed in this way, even if the current is 
moderately swift, provided the horse is strong, in good health and condition, and that the rider is an expert swimmer
and well up to his work.

Supposing you have baggage in the shape of blankets, a gun and ammunition, and you dislike wetting your clothes,
you must find a dry log light enough to float, or cut rushes, and make them into two bundles or sheaves; tie these 
together in the middle, as you would two sheaves of straw; place some light sticks across and tie them fast to the 
sheaves. 

Failing sticks or rushes, you must tie up the things in the buffalo skin — remember I told you never to travel without 
one strapped to the back of the saddle. With raft No. 1, the log, you fasten all the things you have on the top of it, 
rolled up tightly in the 'buffalo-robe;' tie it firmly, and then take the long hair 'cabresto' I advised you to use in lieu of 
a bridle, or the lassoo which should always be hanging from your saddlebow, and attach it to the log, so that there 
is no fear of its slipping off, then make the other end of the cabresto, or lassoo, fast to the saddlebow, and the 
horse will tow the log-raft as it swims across with you. If this arrangement is properly executed everything can be
ferried, without a chance of wetting it. 

Raft No. 2, rush sheaves, I like even better than a log, if so be rushes are obtainable; they float more evenly, and
there is less chance of their rolling over. I have frequently seen Indians cross a river by sitting between two large 
rush sheaves and paddling them as they would a canoe. 

With No. 3 contrivance, the buffalo robe, the only precaution you can take against wet is firmly to secure the buffalo
robe round the things you are going to tow over; for in all three cases the towing system is alike adopted. Horses 
free from the saddle or other incumbrance can swim easily a mile in distance if there is anything like a swift current;
nevertheless, some mustangs are immeasurably better swimmers than are others of equal bone and strength.

Timid, scary horses are always bad to swim streams with. I had a very capital horse, and an admirable swimmer, 
which sank suddenly in the middle of the Kootanie River without any assignable reason; I dare say horses get 
cramp as we do.

End of Excerpt.
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