Camp of the Big-Face, 1st Sept. 1841.

Rev. and Dear Father Provincial:

Nearly four months had elapsed since our departure from Westport, when we met the main body of the nation to which we had been sent. Here we found the principal chiefs, four of whom had advanced a day's journey to welcome us. They met us at one of the sources of the Missouri called Beaver-Head, where we had encamped.[206] Having crossed the small river under the direction of these new guides we came to an extensive plain, at the western part of which the Flat Heads lay encamped. This was on the 30th of August, and it was only towards night that we could distinctly discern the camp. A number of runners who rapidly succeeded each other, informed us that the camp was not far distant. Contentment and joy were depicted on their countenances. Long before the Flat Head warrior, who is surnamed the Bravest of the Brave, sent me his finest horse to Fort Hall, having strongly recommended that no one should mount him before he was presented to me. Soon after the warrior himself appeared, distinguished by his superior skill in horsemanship, and by a large red scarf, which he wore after the fashion of the Marshals of France. He is the handsomest Indian warrior of my acquaintance. He came with a numerous retinue. We proceeded at a brisk trot, and were now but two or three miles from the camp, when at a distance we decried a warrior of 107 lofty stature. A number of voices shouted Paul! Paul! and indeed it was Paul, the great chief, who had just arrived after a long absence, as if by special permission of God, to afford him the satisfaction of introducing me personally to his people.[207] After mutual and very cordial demonstrations of friendship, the good old chief insisted upon returning to announce our arrival. In less than half an hour all hearts were united and moved by the same sentiments. The tribe had the appearance of a flock crowding with eagerness around their shepherd. The mothers offered us their little children, and so moving was the scene that we could scarcely refrain from tears. This evening was certainly one of the happiest of our lives. We could truly say that we had reached the peaceful goal. All previous dangers, toils and trials, were at an end and forgotten. The hopeful thought that we would soon behold the happy days of the primitive Christians revive among these Indians, filled our minds, and the main subject of our conversations became the question: "What shall we do to comply with the requisitions of our signal vocation?"

I engaged Father Point, who is skilled in drawing and architecture, to trace the plan of the Missionary Stations. In my mind, and still more in my heart, the material was essentially connected with the moral and religious plan. Nothing appeared to us more beautiful than the Narrative of Muratori.[208] We had made it our Vade Mecum. It is chiefly to these subjects that we shall devote our attention for the future, bidding farewell to all fine perspectives, animals, trees and flowers, or favoring them only with an occasional and hasty glance.

From Fort Hall we ascended the Snake River, also called Lewis' Fork, as far as the mouth of Henry's Fort. This is unquestionably the most barren of all the mountain 108 deserts. It abounds in absynth, cactus, and all such plants and herbs as are chiefly found on arid lands.[209] We had to resort to fishing for the support of life, and our beasts of burden were compelled to fast and pine; for scarcely a mouthful of grass could be found during the eight days which it took us to traverse this wilderness. At a distance we beheld the colossal summits of the Rocky Mountains. The three Tetons were about fifty miles to our right, and to the left we had the three mounds at a distance of thirty miles.[210]

From the mouth of Henry's Fork we steered our course towards the mountains over a sandy plain furrowed by deep ravines, and covered with blocks of granite. We spent a day and night without water. On the following day we came to a small brook, but so arid is this porous soil, that its waters are soon lost in the sand. On the third day of this truly fatiguing journey we entered into a beautiful defile, where the verdure was both pleasing and abundant, as it is watered by a copious rivulet. We gave to this passage the name of "the Father's Defile," and to the rivulet that of St. Francis Xavier.[211] From the Father's Defile, to the place of our destination, the country is well watered, for it abounds with small lakes and rivulets, and is surrounded by mountains, at whose base are found numberless springs. In no part of the world is the water more limpid or pure, for whatever may be the depth of the rivers, the bottom is seen as if there were nothing to intercept the view. The most remarkable spring which we have seen in the mountains, is called the Deer's lodge. It is found on the bank of the main Fork of the Bitter Root or St. Mary's River; to this Fork I have given the name of St. Ignatius.[212] This spring is situated on the top of a mound thirty feet high, in the middle of a marsh. It is accessible 109 on one side only. The water bubbles up, and escapes through a number of openings at the base of the mound, the circumference of which appears to be about sixty feet. The waters at the base are of different temperatures: hot, lukewarm and cold, though but a few steps distant from each other. Some are indeed so hot that meat may be boiled in them. We actually tried the experiment.

I remain, Rev. Father Provincial,
Yours, &c.
P. J. De Smet, S.J.