Lewis: June 11, 1806

Wednesday, June 11th, 1806. All our hunters were out this morning by daylight; Labuish (Labiche) and Gibson alone proved successful. The former killed a black bear of the brown species and a very large buck; the latter also killed a fine fat buck. Five of the Indians also turned out and hunted until noon, when they returned without having killed anything. At three P.M. they left us on their return to their villages. Before their departure, one of our men exchanged a poor horse with one of them for a very good one. In the evening, our hunters resumed the chase. As game has become scarce and shy near our camp, they were directed to hunt at a greater distance and therefore set out prepared to remain all night and make a morning's hunt in grounds not recently frequented. Whitehouse returned this morning to our camp on the Kooskooske in search of his horse.

As I have had frequent occasion to mention the plant which the Chopunnish call quawmash, I shall here give a more particular description of that plant and the mode of preparing it for food as practiced by the Chopunnish and others in the vicinity of the Rocky Mountains, with whom it forms much the greatest portion of their subsistence. We have never met with this plant but in or adjacent to a piny or fir-timbered country, and there always in the open grounds and glades. In the Columbian valley and near the coast, it is to be found in small quantities and inferior in size to that found in this neighborhood and in the high rich flats and valleys within the Rocky Mountains. It delights in a black, rich, moist soil, and even grows most luxuriantly where the land remains from 6 to 9 inches under water until the seeds are nearly perfect, which in this neighborhood or on these flats is about the last of this month. Near the river, where I had an opportunity of observing it, the seeds were beginning to ripen on the 9th instant, and the soil was nearly dry. It seems devoted to its particular soil and situation, and you will seldom find it more than a few feet from the inundated soil, though within its limits it grows very closely—in short, almost as much so as the bulbs will permit.

The radix (root) is a tunicated bulb, much of the consistency, shape, and appearance of the onion, glutinous or somewhat slimy when chewed and almost tasteless and without smell in its unprepared state. It is white except for the thin or outer tunicated scales, which are few, black, and not succulent. This bulb is from the size of a nutmeg to that of a hen's egg, and most commonly of an intermediate size, or about as large as an onion of one year's growth from the seed. The radicles (rootlets) are numerous, rather large, white, flexible, succulent, and diverging. The foliage consists of from one to four—seldom five—radical, linear, sessile, and revolute-pointed leaves. They are from 12 to 18 inches in length and from 1 to 3/4 of an inch in the widest part, which is near the middle. The upper disk is somewhat grooved, of a pale green, and marked its whole length with a number of small longitudinal channels; the under disk is a deep glossy green and smooth. The leaves sheath the peduncle and each other as high as the surface of the earth, or about 2 inches; they are more succulent than the grasses and less so than most of the lilies, hyacinths, etc.

The peduncle is solitary, proceeds from the root, is columnar, smooth, leafless, and rises to the height of 2 or 2 1/2 feet. It supports from 10 to 40 flowers, which are each supported by a separate footstalk of 1/2 an inch in length, scattered without order on the upper portion of the peduncle. The calyx is a partial involucret situated at the base of the footstalk of each flower on the peduncle; it is long, thin, and begins to decline as soon as the corolla expands. The corolla consists of six long, oval, obtusely pointed, sky-blue or water-colored petals, each about 1 inch in length. The corolla is regular as to the form and size of the petals but irregular as to their position: five of them are placed near each other pointing upward, while one stands horizontally or pointing downwards. They are inserted with a short claw on the extremity of the footstalk at the base of the germ. The corolla is of course inferior; it is also shriveling, and continues until the seeds are perfect.

The stamens are perfect, six in number. The filaments each elevate an anther, near their base are flat on the inside and rounded on the outer, terminate in a subulate point, are bowed or bent upwards, inserted on the inner side and on the base of the claws of the petals, below the germ, are equal both with respect to themselves and the corolla, smooth and membranous. The anther is oblong, obtusely pointed, two-horned or forked at one end, and furrowed longitudinally with four channels, the upper and lower of which seem almost to divide it into two lobes; incumbent, patent, membranous, very short, naked, two-valved, and fertile with pollen, which last is of a yellow color. The anther, in a few hours after the corolla unfolds, bursts, discharges its pollen, and becomes very minute and shriveled. The above description of the anther is therefore to be understood of it at the moment of its first appearance. The pistillum is only one, of which the germ is triangular, rather swollen on the sides, smooth, superior, sessile, pedicelled, short in proportion to the corolla although wide or bulky. The style is very long, or longer than the stamens, simple, cylindrical, bowed or bent upwards, placed on the top of the germ, membranous, shrivels and falls off when the pericarp has obtained its full size. The stigma is three-cleft, very minute, and pubescent. The pericarp is a capsule, triangular, oblong, obtuse, and trilocular, with three longitudinal valves. The seeds, so far as I could judge, are numerous, not very minute, and globular.

Soon after the seeds are mature, the peduncle and foliage of this plant perish, the ground becomes dry or nearly so, and the root increases in size and shortly becomes fit for use. This happens about the middle of July, when the natives begin to collect it for use, which they continue until the leaves of the plant attain some size in the spring of the year. When they have collected a considerable quantity of these roots—or 20 to 30 bushels, which they readily do by means of a stick sharpened at one end—they dig away the surface of the earth, forming a circular concavity of 2 1/2 feet in the center and 10 feet in diameter. They next collect a parcel of split dry wood, with which they cover this basin in the ground perhaps a foot thick. They next collect a large parcel of stones of about 4 or 6 pounds weight, which are placed on the dry wood. Fire is then set to the wood, which, burning, heats the stones. When the fire has subsided and the stones are sufficiently heated—which are nearly at a red heat—they are adjusted in such a manner in the hole as to form as level a surface as possible. A small quantity of earth is sprinkled over the stones, and a layer of grass about an inch thick is put over the stones. The roots, which have been previously divested of the black or outer coat and radicles (which rub off easily with the fingers), are now laid on in a conical pile, and are then covered with a layer of grass about 2 or 3 inches thick. Water is now thrown on the summit of the pile and passes through the roots and to the hot stones at the bottom. Some water is also poured around the edges of the hole and also finds its way to the hot stones. As soon as they discover from the quantity of steam which issues that the water has found its way generally to the hot stones, they cover the roots and grass over with earth to the depth of four inches, and then build a fire of dry wood all over the conical mound, which they continue to renew through the course of the night, or for ten or twelve hours, after which it is allowed to cool two or three hours. Then the earth and grass are removed, and the roots, thus sweated and cooked with steam, are taken out, and most commonly exposed to the sun on scaffolds until they become dry, when they are black and of a sweet, agreeable flavor.

These roots are fit for use when first taken from the pit; they are soft, of a sweetish taste, and much the consistency of a roasted onion. But if they are allowed to remain in bulk 24 hours after being cooked, they spoil. If the design is to make bread or cakes of these roots, they undergo a second process of baking, being previously pounded after the first baking between two stones until they are reduced to the consistency of dough, and then rolled in grass in cakes of eight or ten pounds, and returned to the sweat intermixed with fresh roots, in order that the steam may get freely to these loaves of bread. When taken out the second time, the women make up this dough into cakes of various shapes and sizes, usually from 1/2 to 3/4 of an inch thick, and expose it on sticks to dry in the sun, or place it over the smoke of their fires.

The bread thus prepared, if kept free from moisture, will keep sound for a great length of time. This bread, or the dried roots, are frequently eaten alone by the natives without further preparation, and when they have them in abundance, they form an ingredient in almost every dish they prepare. This root is palatable, but disagrees with me in every shape I have ever used it.