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of personal enjoyment, I had another in view; per- nl 
haps I might contribute something, in proportion to The Caravan 
my limited knowledge in natural sciences and my nar- 
row means, toward a better understanding of this 
region, where as yet our information in many re- 
spects partakes of the fabulous. 
About the middle of April, 1839, I left St. Louis 
with this purpose. I went up the Missouri on the 
steamboat St. Peters to Chouteau’s Landing. Our 
trip lasted six days, because the water was at a very 
low stage; and offered nothing of special interest. 
The border village, West Port, is six miles distant 
from Chouteau’s Landing. There I intended to await 
the departure of this year’s annual caravan. The 
village has perhaps thirty or forty houses, and is only 
a mile from the western border of the State of Mis- 
souri. It is the usual rendezvous for travelers to the 
Rocky Mountains, as is Independence, twelve miles 
distant, for those journeying to Santa Fe. I bought 
a horse and a mule, the former to ride, the latter for 
my baggage; and made other preparations necessary 
for my journey. On May 4th the different parties 
who were to join the expedition met for their first 
night camp at Sapling Grove, about eight miles from 
West Port. The way thitherward goes through the 
land of the Shawnees, peaceable Indians who have 
settled here. Some of them own valuable farms, Their 
manner of life shows a close approach to that of the 
white man. Some of them speak English. My first 
day’s journey began under evil auspices, for I had not 
