 American trail is blood, depended in blood. Chapter 8, on to Monterey. August 25th, 1843, Utah Territory. Red, yellow, blue cliffs rise up on all sides. Sunset, fierce, barbaric, hostile. The man is Captain John Fremont. The government wants a route survey that will connect the United States with the Oregon country. Fremont is the man for the job. Four months ago, he left Kansas. He is west of the Rocky Mountains now. 15 men with him. One howitzer gun. And a hunter named Carson. You're working on that, Dari, Captain? Yes, I'll need these notes when I get back to Washington. I sort of keep thinking about broken-hand Fitzpatrick. He's all right, guys. Maybe we should have all stayed together. By the time we get to the Oregon country, broken-hand will be there waiting for us. You're most likely to get to Fort Hall before we do. That was no coyote, Captain. Indians? Johnson, what is it? I ain't sure, sir. You see something? I just ain't sure, Captain Fremont. I'll take a look around, Captain. I get some sleep. Indians won't attack if they know we're on the watch for them. September 8th. One week south of Soda Springs. Searching for the great Salt Lake. Something else. Something I can't even talk to Carson about. Not yet. Our final destination should be the Columbia River. The job will be done. Yet? Yet I know I must go on from there. That can wait. Our party's even smaller. The men on the Fort Hall for supplies. The rest of us are in marshlands surrounded by mountains. Real slowly around here, Captain. Yeah, I'm breathing it. I feel it in my stomach. It's your kind of thirsty. Hey, guys, and your face is covered with salt. You better wipe it off. Marshlands glisten with salt. We've ridden to higher ground. An ocean in the middle of the desert. All the way to the horizon. Further than you can see. Hey, there are mylons out there. Look at them mylons. A tropical jungle island. Do you reckon anything lives on? Animals. Tomorrow we'll take the rubber boat out. We'll explore the lake, the island. It's a real good thing there's only four of us in this here boat. Huh? It sprung half a dozen leagues. Carson, something wrong, Cam? The island. You see anything wrong? Carson, take these glasses. Have a look. Captain, I don't see nothing but a rock. No trees, no? Nothing at all. Just bare and rock. Nothing but rock. Captain Femont, we're taking water. You sure are, Captain. Start bailing. I expected to see so much on that island. Can't keep bailing, brother. This boat's going to sink. All right, now. Come on, we're almost in shallow water now. We'll be able to wait ashore. Most likely the first human voice is to break the silence of this island in a million years. Good night. Until we can patch the boat out. Well, anyhow, I won't have to bother none about Indians tonight. In the morning, I can draw a map of the lake and I can see it from here. We'll push on to Fort Hall. September 15th, Oregon Trail. The men I sent on to Fort Hall have returned. Rogan Han Fitzpatrick is with him. Captain, my boy, we couldn't bring much food. Food's a scarce commodity up at Fort Hall. Well, how's that? Well, it's the settlers moving into the Oregon country. They're just about to clean up all the food at the fort. Hey, I reckon we can get enough to see us to the Columbia River broken half. Well, it's quite a problem, Kit. Well, we don't all have to go to the Columbia. I think we can send some of the men home, as a matter of fact. October 28th. They camp beside the Dallas of the Columbia River. Rock walls overlook deep, dark whirlpools. No sound, no foam, no ribbon. An accurate map has been charted from Kansas to the Oregon country. Still the dream I've had for many weeks stays with me. The great, unknown country to the south of here. What are you thinking about, Captain? I was thinking of somewhere in the Sierra Nevada. Sierra Nevada? The Buena Ventura River. Captain, you ain't got no idea. The river's never been surveyed. But, but Captain. No one's even sure where it is. Well, it's on maps. Yeah, but every map is different. Captain, we wouldn't have food enough. Oh, Buffalo, dear. We'd find food and travel light. The winter's coming. We'll be in the river country before then. Close through a valley, mild climate, even in winter. I ought to have my skull examined for even listening. Travel light, you said, Captain. We'll leave the heavy equipment. What about the howitzer gun, Captain? We'll take that. December 10th. Excitement at the prospect of locating the Buena Ventura. We're pushing through a hill country where no white men have ever been before. The Indians seem hostile everywhere. Smoke signals. We've hauled it. I'd stand precious little chance that we're attacked. Eh, if we could discourage them. Well, they might be kind of hard to discourage, Captain. They're coming. Look. Down on hill, Captain. See them? On hits the howitzer. Load it. Hurry up. Howitzer's big glory, yes. Get some use for guns. I can help you. Rugged eyes. Load the howitzer. Now if this fails, get ready to fight. Fire! After me, boy, they're running for their lives. Captain, this is the first time I ever took a liking to that dare gun. January 3rd. We move across Black Rock, desert land. Heavy fog, and the cold. The river can't see more in a few yards in any direction, Captain. Well, at least we're hidden from the Indians. January 15th. Pine Forest. We must be coming to the Benaventura River. Carson is going ahead looking for beaver signs. That'll tell us we're close to a river flowing seawards. All the men are looking forward to seeing the river. It'll be a moment of triumph for all of it. January 16th. The river must be at hand. Not in one ravine or valley then in the next. We're close by. January 17th. The river is somewhere in this country. We've tried all directions in the next ravine, perhaps, or the next. January 18th. Where is it? No sign of beaver tracks to indicate where it could be. Where is it? Benaventura. Another legend. Another legend like the jungle islands in the Salt Lake. All these fools who... We might have missed the river. No, it doesn't exist. I reckon we came a long way for nothing. I wouldn't say that. We found there's no such river. Now we know. What now? Now? We're low on food. We can't go back. We've come too far. Well, Captain California is just on the other side of these mountains. It's late in the year, but we can try. If we can find a path. We must find a path, Captain. All right. We turn off. We'll try to cross the theater as we have no choice. 100,000 feet high. I keep a record of the days. We've shot a few birds, but today we've seen no sign of any. In the silence of the Sierra Nevada. Snow. 100 feet deep in places. The gun has been left behind. We go on. On hunger. Hunger in frozen bodies. Starvation is there in me. Oh, what one of the men. Dave. Captain Freeman. Snow so soft. Let me sleep. Let me sleep. Later now. Later. No. No. I'm hungry, Captain. I can just sleep. I won't care so much. Give me food. Give me food. I want food. We better strap them to a saddle, Captain. All right. Help me. No. Let me sleep. Eating most of our clothing. Leather jackets. Foot gear. Half naked now. Living skeletons. Frozen. We stared each other looking for signs of madness. Much commenced. Much more. See something, Captain. That's what I saw. Friendly Indians. Employed by a white man named Sutter. On March 6th, Fremont made his way into Sutter's fort in the Sacramento Valley. For the first time, an accurate survey had been made of the country from Kansas to Oregon. From the Columbia down through the Sierras into California. As America entered yet another era of expansion, new states grew up in the great mountain regions as the covered wagons rolled westward, ever westward, on to Monterey. This has been the eighth chapter in the story of the American nation brought to you by the ladies' auxiliary to the veterans of foreign wars. Next week, another story to make you proud of this great country of ours as we follow the American Trail.