Upon the return, in 1806, of the Lewis and Clark exploring expedition, the first successfully to penetrate from the Mississippi River to the Pacific Ocean, the Western imagination was aroused by visions of wealth to be acquired from commercial relations with the Indians of the far Northwest. Fur-trading expeditions were accordingly soon dispatched up the Missouri and its tributaries; and, throughout several years, the equally rich opportunities for Southwestern Indian commerce and exploration were neglected.

Far to the Southwest lay the Spanish settlements of New Mexico, isolated islands of a sluggish civilization. Practically all of their imports were brought in by way of the Gulf of Mexico and Vera Cruz, thence travelling a difficult road of over fifteen hundred miles from the coast, making their cost almost prohibitive to the mixed race of Spaniards and Mexicans who dwelt in the valleys of the upper Rio Grande. Yet within easy reach of their frontier lay one of the chief commercial peoples of the age, to be reached over a wilderness road passing for the most part across level plains, watered by numerous streams—the upper tributaries of the great western affluents of the Mississippi. The common interests of these people and of the Americans lay in an interchange of commodities; but the government of New Spain looked with hostile suspicion upon the aggressive, vigorous race that was even then forcing its borders. Behind the prospect of profit for the overland Southwest trader, loomed the possibility of a gruesome Spanish prison, and confiscation of the adventured goods.

After Zebulon M. Pike returned (1807) with his account of arrest and detention in Santa FÉ and Chihuahua, no American trader appears to have sought this region for five years. A party then outfitting from St. Louis was seized at the New Mexican frontier, hurried to an inland dungeon, and kept in durance nine miserable years. News of this harsh treatment, and of the revolutionary movement which was upheaving the social structure of all New Spain, proved sufficiently deterrent to keep any organized expeditions from risking the hazard of the Southwest trade, until the third decade of the nineteenth century. More favorable reports being then received, several caravans were fitted out, and the real history of the Santa FÉ trail began.

Among the early merchants of St. Louis, the name of Bernard Pratte, near relative of the Chouteaus and Labbadies, was connected with important fur-trading enterprises. In the summer of 1824 Pratte's eldest son headed a caravan destined for the Santa FÉ, his party being rendezvoused at the company's post upon the Missouri, not far from the present site of Omaha. There, while waiting for its final equipment, the expedition was reinforced by four free-traders who had left their home upon the Gasconade River, the frontier of Missouri settlement, and with a small outfit had ascended the river to this point, bent on trading and hunting upon its upper waters. Barred from their enterprise by the lack of an authoritative license for dealing with the Indians, the little band were easily persuaded to join Pratte's party. Two of these recruits were the heroes of our tale—Sylvester Pattie and his son James Ohio.

For three generations the Patties had been frontiersmen. Restlessly they moved onward as the border advanced, always hovering upon the outskirts of civilization, seeking to better their condition by taking up fresh lands in untilled places, and remorselessly fighting the aborigines who disputed their invasion. They longed unceasingly for new adventures in the mysterious West, that allured them with its strange fascination. Brave, honest, God-fearing, vigorous in mind and body, dependent on their own resources, for food and for defense chiefly dependent on the familiar rifle, the Patties belonged to that class of Americans who conquered the wilderness, and yearly pushed the frontier westward.

The career of the grandfather and father of our author, as in simple phrase he relates it in his Introduction, is typical of those of the founders of Kentucky, and the early settlers of the rich valley of the Missouri. To have early emigrated from Virginia to Kentucky, to have aided in the defense of Bryant's Station, and to have served under Colonel Benjamin Logan, and the still more renowned Kentuckian, George Rogers Clark, was unquestionable guaranty to the proud title of pioneer. It was typical, also, that the grandfather, having acquired some local fame and position, and attained the rank of magistrate, the father, tiring of Kentucky, should, like the Boones, join the stream of emigration to Missouri. There, history repeated itself. The War of 1812-15 breaking out, the frontier blockhouses must again withstand the assaults of savages. Lieutenant Pattie's relief of Cap-au-Gris, upon the Missouri, takes rank with Logan's Revolutionary exploits at St. Asaph's. The war ended, and the country filling up, "Mr. Pattie, possessing a wandering and adventurous spirit," once more removed to the utmost borders of civilization, and built a mill upon the rapid Gasconade. Here he was in a fair way to prosperity, when domestic affliction sent him forth into the wilderness, taking with him his eldest son, who "inheriting the love of a rifle through so many generations, and nursed amid such scenes, he begged so earnestly of his father that he might be allowed to accompany the expedition, that he prevailed." Thus began that long series of adventures, so full of hazard and suffering that their unvarnished narration would seem the invention of romance, did not one often find counterparts in the experiences of other Western wanderers.

Recruited to the number of a hundred and sixteen, Pratte's caravan advanced first toward the Pawnee villages of the Platte. Because of his long experience in border warfare, Sylvester Pattie was now chosen commander, and thereafter arranged the details of march and guard. The Pawnee were inclined to be friendly, their chiefs having recently visited the Great Father at Washington; but in rescuing an ill-treated native child, captured by them on a recent raid against a hostile tribe, the whites were nearly embroiled with these pirates of the plains. Securing the little waif, also some Indian guides, the Pawnee were left behind August 11, 1824, and the advance to the Southwest begun. Day after day the party toiled across the plains, their journey filled with stirring incident. Once, prepared to fight a band of from six to eight hundred well-mounted Comanche, the whites were rescued by a rival tribe of horsemen, who, "with a noise like distant thunder," swept in between the hostile lines, and won the battle for them. Again, amid a vagrant party of Indians, the father of the little captive suddenly appeared, and presented the captain of the expedition with tokens of his gratitude for the rescue. Upon the twentieth of August, buffalo were first encountered; and twenty days later, on the ridge between the waters of the Kansas and the Arkansas, young Pattie was introduced to that then formidable enemy, the grizzly bear. From that time forward, these fierce creatures attacked the camp almost nightly; on one occasion, a member of the party was caught and so maimed by a grizzly that he shortly after died of his wounds.

On the twentieth of October the caravan reached the mountains, and after a difficult crossing descended into the attractive valley of Taos, the New Mexican frontier. Pattie was surprised at the primitive life and customs of the inhabitants of New Mexico, of which in a few unadorned sentences he gives us a vivid picture. Passing on to Santa FÉ, the ancient capital, our adventurers were just in time to join a punitive expedition against a hostile band of Indians, wherein the junior Pattie had the good fortune to rescue from the hands of the savages a charming young Spanish maiden, daughter of a former governor of the province. The gratitude of the fair captive and of her father was profusely expressed, and their friendship proved of lasting value to the gallant narrator.

Obtaining permission from the New Mexican government to trap upon the Gila River, the Patties organized a small party for that purpose. Leaving Santa FÉ on November 22, they passed down the Rio del Norte to Socorro, and then struck across country to the Gila, visiting en route the famous copper mines of Santa Rita. The trip extended through nearly five months, and the hunters were probably the first Americans to visit the upper valley of the Gila. Many of the natives having never seen a white man, fled at their approach; but others were more bold, and viciously attacked them with their arrows. James's appearance upon his return to the New Mexican settlements was so haggard that the rescued Spanish girl shed tears upon observing his plight.

Securing fresh supplies, the party set out to bring in their buried furs from the Gila, only to find that the Indians had discovered and rifled their cache; thus had their hardships and sufferings gone for naught. Returning to the mines, they succeeded in repelling an attack thereon by hostile Apache, and in wringing from them a treaty which ensured the peaceful working of the deposits; whereupon the Spaniards rented these works to Sylvester Pattie, whose American methods enabled him to derive from them a profit unknown to their former operators. But the tranquil life at Santa Rita proved too monotonous for the younger Pattie. He was seized with "an irresistible desire to resume the employment of trapping," and despite paternal remonstrances set out January 26, 1826, with a few companions, for the Gila valley, where he had already suffered and lost so much.

During the following eight months, the range of the trappers' journey was wide. Passing down the Gila to its junction with the Colorado, they ascended the banks of the latter stream, seeing in its now world-famous caÑons only walls of highly-colored rock that debarred them from the water's edge. Crossing the continental divide, probably at the South Pass, they emerged upon the plains, and once more hunted buffalo in their native habitat. Turning north to the Big Horn and Yellowstone, the adventurers pursued a somewhat ill-defined course, coming back upon the upper Arkansas, and crossing to Santa FÉ, where Pattie was again deprived of the harvest of furs gathered with such wearisome labor—this time by the duplicity of the Spanish governor, who claimed that the young man's former license did not extend to this expedition. After once more visiting the gentle Jacova, his young Spanish friend, Pattie sought his father at Santa Rita. Delaying there but three days for rest, he set forth upon another excursion afield—this time to Sonora, Chihuahua, and other provinces of northern Mexico, returning by way of El Paso, and reaching the mines by the middle of November.

The winter and spring were spent in occasional hunting excursions, and in visits to the Spanish haciendas. In the spring, a new turn was given to the fortunes of the Patties, by the embezzlement and flight of a trusted Spanish subordinate, through whom were lost the savings of several years. Forced to abandon their mining operations, father and son sought to rehabilitate themselves by another extended trapping expedition, and set forth with a company of thirty, again in the direction of the Gila.

Engagements with hostile Indians were of frequent occurrence. Early in November, many of their party having deserted and all of their horses being stolen, the remainder built themselves canoes, and embarked upon the river. Communication with the natives being only possible through the sign language, our adventurers misunderstood their informants to declare that a Spanish settlement existed at the mouth of the Colorado; and in expectation of here finding succor, they continued down that great waterway to its mouth. There they met with nothing but deserted shores, and tidal waves which seriously alarmed and disturbed these fresh-water voyagers. Finding the ascent of the swift current beyond their powers, they had now no recourse but to bury their store of furs, and strike across the rugged peninsula of Lower California toward the Spanish settlements on the Pacific coast. The story of their sufferings in the salt lakes and deserts of this barren land is told with more vigor than delicacy. Arrived at a Dominican mission on the western slope of the mountains, the weary travellers were received with suspicion rather than hospitality. Being placed under surveillance, they were forwarded to San Diego, then the residence of the governor of the Spanish settlements of California.

We now come to a most interesting portion of Pattie's book—his residence in California, in the time of the Mexican rÉgime, and his report of conditions and events in the "land of the golden fleece." According to his account, he and his companions were at first treated with severity, being imprisoned at San Diego for lack of passports, and there detained for many months. The elder Pattie died in his cell, without being permitted to see the son for whose presence he had piteously pleaded in his latest hours. Young Pattie's hatred for the Mexican governor was not unnatural; but the consequent bitterness of expression quite distorts his narrative. A Mexican tradition reports that the Patties were received by the inhabitants with wonder, and treated kindly; also that the elder Pattie embraced the Catholic faith before his death, and expressed his appreciation of the hospitality shown them. We may infer even from the son's statements, since his chief anathemas are reserved for the officers and the priests, that the unofficial population disapproved of the governor's measures.

Pattie was at last released, in recognition of his services as an interpreter, and in order that he might vaccinate the natives of the missions, among whom a smallpox epidemic had broken out. The adventurer now set forth up the coast, stopping in turn at each mission and presidio, and presenting us with a graphic picture of the pastoral life of the neophytes and rancheros. Arrived at San Francisco, he pushed on to the Russian fort on Bodega Bay, returning to Monterey in time to describe and participate in the Solis revolt of 1829. Here he consorted with the small American colony, and in his narrative probably magnifies his own part in this affair, which, seen through the mists of memory, bulked larger than the facts would warrant. At Monterey he encountered his old enemy, Governor Echeandia, who with apparent surprise found his former captive among those who had aided in suppressing the revolt. Proffered Mexican citizenship, Pattie represents himself as showering reproaches on the governor for the indignities he had suffered. Advised by his new friends to make a formal statement of his injuries, and the losses suffered by refusal to permit the securing of his furs, Pattie embarked for Mexico in May, 1830, together with the revolutionists who were being sent to the capital for trial. Upon his departure he conveys his impressions of Alta California in a few striking sentences: "Those who traverse it [the California coast] ... must be constantly excited to wonder and praise. It is no less remarkable for uniting the advantages of healthfulness, a good soil, a temperate climate, and yet one of exceeding mildness, a happy mixture of level and elevated ground, and vicinity to the sea." He then proceeds to animadvert upon the inhabitants and the conduct of the mission padres in their treatment of the natives. The companions of his long and adventurous journey he left settled among the Mexicans; most of them made California their permanent home.

At the City of Mexico, Pattie visited the American diplomatic representative, also the president of the republic, but failed to obtain satisfaction for his losses or injuries. On the way to Vera Cruz, Pattie's travelling party met with an incident then common to travel in Mexico—being halted by the outlawed followers of the recently-deposed president, their arms seized, one of their number hanged, and the remainder relieved of their valuables. From Vera Cruz our adventurer found passage to New Orleans; thence, through the kindly help of compatriots, who loaned him money for the steamboat passage, he ascended the Mississippi to Cincinnati and his early Kentucky home. Here the narrative closes. The only clue we have in reference to his after life, is the one given by H. H. Bancroft, the historian, who thinks he was again in San Diego, California, after the American advent.1

When poor Pattie arrived in Cincinnati, August 30, 1830, he not only was penniless, but long incarceration in Mexican prisons had broken his health and spirits. The tale of his adventures was doubtless received with slight credence by his simple relatives. But the Reverend Timothy Flint, the young editor of the Western Monthly Review of Cincinnati, who was already enamored of stories of Western pioneering, prevailed upon Pattie to write an account of his curious experiences. Thus originated the Personal Narrative, which we now republish in full for the first time.2

Pattie appears to have written from memory, without the aid of notes taken on the journey—a fact which accounts for the occasional discrepancies in dates, and the obvious confusion of events. Upon the whole, however, the narrative impresses the reader with a sense of its verity, and has the charm of simplicity and vigor. The emendations of the editor, we are assured, were chiefly in the matters of orthography and punctuation, "with the occasional interposition of a topographical illustration, which my acquaintance with the accounts of travellers in New Mexico, and published views have enabled me to make." It is probable that we thus owe to Flint most of the descriptions of scenery, for there is abundant textual evidence that Pattie was not possessed of a poetic fancy. To expand the dimensions of the book, Flint added an article on "Inland Trade with New Mexico," composed chiefly of extracts from the journal of a Doctor Willard, who in May, 1825, set out from St. Charles, Missouri, with an overland party bound for Santa FÉ. Thence, practicing medicine on the way, he visited Chihuahua and the northeastern provinces of Mexico, ending his journey at Matamoras. This article, together with another by the same author, on the "Downfall of the Fredonian Republic," also included in the volume, had appeared three years before in Flint's magazine. The volume closes with an extract on Mexican manners and customs, from Malte-Brun's GÉographie universelle.

A thrilling tale of pure adventure, ranging all the way from encounters with grizzly bears, and savages who had never before seen a white man, to a revolution in a Latin-American state, Pattie's narrative has long been a classic. Its chief value to the student of Western history depends upon the vast extent of country over which the author passed, the ethnological data which he presents, especially in relation to the Southwestern tribes, and his graphic picture of the contact between two civilizations in the Southwest, with the inevitable encroachments of the more progressive race. One sees in his pages the beginnings of the drama to be fought out in the Mexican War—the rich and beautiful country, which excited the cupidity of the American pioneer; the indolence and effeminacy of the inhabitants, which inspired the virile backwoodsmen's contempt; and the vanguard of the American advance, already touching the Rockies, and ready to push on to the Pacific. The Spanish-American official, displaying his little brief authority, but irritated the restless borderer, whose advent he dreaded, and whose pressure finally proved irresistible. As a part of the vanguard of the American host that was to crowd the Mexican from the fair northern provinces of his domain, Pattie's wanderings are typical, and suggestive of more than mere adventure. His book is well worthy of reproduction in our series.

The present Editor is under obligations to Louise Phelps Kellogg, Ph.D., and Edith Kathryn Lyle, Ph.D., for assistance in preparing this volume for the press.

R. G. T.

Madison, Wis., July, 1905.

FOOTNOTES to Preface: