“Fust we have to pass the Sioux Injuns,” explained Patrick Gass, to
Peter. “Ye know the Sioux?”
“They bad,” nodded Peter. “Fight other Injuns.”
“Yis,” said Patrick. “But we aim to make everybody paceful with
everybody else. An’ after the Sioux, we talk with the ’Rikaras.”
“’Rees bad, too,” nodded Peter. For the Otoes were afraid of the
northern tribes.
“Yis,” said Patrick. “An’ after the ’Rikaras we come, I’m thinkin’, to
the Mandans, an’ by that time ’twill be winter, an’ with the Mandans
we’ll stay. I hear tell they have white skins an’ blue eyes an’ their
hair trails on the ground.”
Sometimes sailing, sometimes rowed, and sometimes towed by heavy ropes
on which the men hauled, from the banks, the three boats had been
steadily advancing up-river. Peter was feeling quite at home. Everybody
was kind to him――especially Pat, who had been elected sergeant in place
of Charles Floyd, and young George Shannon, who was only seventeen.
Two horses followed the boats, by land, for the use of the hunters.
George Drouillard, a Frenchman, who had lived with the Omahas, was
chief hunter. At the evening camps Pierre Cruzatte, a merry Frenchman
with only one eye, and a soldier by the name of George Gibson, played
lively music on stringed boxes called violins. Each night the two
captains, and Pat and other soldiers, wrote on paper the story of
the trip. York, the black man, was Captain Clark’s servant. Early in
the morning a horn was blown to arouse the camp. During the days the
captains frequently went ashore, to explore.
It was well, thought Peter, that Pierre Dorion, a trader who lived with
the Sioux, was aboard the boats, for the fierce Sioux Indians did not
like strangers. Still, who could whip the United States?
In the afternoon of the eighth day after leaving Chief Little Thief,
old Pierre, from where he was standing with the two captains on the
barge and gazing right and left and before, cried aloud and pointed.
“Dere she is!”
“What, Dorion?”
“De Jacques, w’at is also call de Yankton River; my people de Yankton
Sioux lif on her. Mebbe soon now we see some.”
The barge, flying its white peace flag, bordered with red and blue,
ploughed on. All eyes aboard were directed intently before. The mouth
of the river gradually opened, amidst the trees.
“We’ll halt there for dinner,” ordered Captain Lewis. “That looks like
a good landing-place just above the mouth, Will.”
Captain Clark nodded, and the barge began to veer in; the two pirogues
or smaller boats imitated.
“I see one Injun,” said Peter. “You see him, Pat?”
“Where, now?” invited Patrick Gass.
“He is standing still; watch us, this side of Yankton River.”
“Faith, you’ve sharp eyes,” praised Pat, squinting. “Yis, sure I see
him, by the big tree just above the mouth.”
Others saw him. And as the barge hove to, and led by Captain Clark the
men leaped for the shore, to cook dinner, the Indian plunged into the
water and swam across.
“’Maha!” quoth Peter, quickly, when, dripping, the Indian had plashed
out and was boldly entering the camp.
“Oh, is he, now?” murmured Patrick Gass.
Pierre Dorion translated for him, to the captains. He said that he was
an Omaha boy, living with the Sioux. While he was talking, two other
Indians came in. They indeed were Sioux――straight, dark, and dignified,
as befitted members of a great and powerful nation.
“Dey say de Yanktons, many of dem, are camp’ to de west, one short
travel,” interpreted Dorion. “Dey haf hear of our comin’, an’ will be
please’ to meet de white chiefs.”
“All right, Dorion. You go to the camp with these fellows, and tell the
chiefs that we’ll hold council at the river. I’ll send Sergeant Pryor
and another man along with you,” instructed Captain Lewis. “You’ll
find us again about opposite where their camp is.”
“Good,” approved Pierre Dorion. “Now mebbe I get my wife an’ fam’ly one
time more. My son, he dere, too, say dese young men.” For Pierre had
married a Sioux woman.
The two Sioux, and Pierre, and Sergeant Nathaniel Pryor and Private
John Potts left on foot for the camp of the Yanktons; but the Omaha boy
stayed. Peter preferred to keep away from him. The Omahas, to him, were
not to be trusted.
From the mouth of the Yankton River, which is to-day called the James
River of South Dakota, the boats continued on up the Missouri, to the
council ground. The red pirogue ran upon a snag, so that it almost sank
before it could be beached. Then all the goods had to be transferred to
the white pirogue. This took time, and it was not until nearly sunset
that Captain Lewis ordered landing to be made and camp pitched.
The camp of the Sioux was supposed to be somewhere across the river. In
the morning no Sioux had yet appeared for council, and Captain Lewis
anxiously swept the country to the north with his spy-glass. However,
Indians could not be hurried, as Peter well knew. But about four
o’clock there spread a murmur.
“Here they come!”
“De Sioux! Dey come. Now for beeg talk an’ beeg dance! Hoo-zah!”
“Oui!” added George Drouillard, the hunter. “Mebbe fat dog feast, too!”
“Oh, murther!” gasped Pat. And, to Peter: “Did ye ever eat dog, Peter?”
Peter shook his head, disgusted. Not he; nor the Otoes, either. Only
the northern Indians ate dog.
“There’s a t’arin’ lot of ’em, anyhow,” mused Patrick Gass. “I’m after
wishin’ George was here. Sure, he’s like to get into trouble, wanderin’
about the country where all those fellows are.”
For two days back George Shannon had been sent out to find the horses
that had strayed from camp, and he had not returned.
The Sioux made a brave sight indeed. They looked to be almost a
hundred――ahorse and afoot, with gay streamers and blankets flying.
Pierre Dorion and Sergeant Pryor and Private Potts were to be seen,
mounted and riding with the principal chiefs in the advance. So
evidently everything was all right.
They halted on the bank opposite the United States camp. Sergeant Pryor
waved his hat, and the captains sent the red pirogue across for him.
He and Pierre and Private Potts returned in it. They brought with them
young Pierre, who was old Pierre’s son. He was half Sioux, and traded
among the Tetons; but just now he was visiting among the Yanktons.
“They are friendly, are they, Sergeant?” inquired Captain Lewis.
“Yes, sir. They treated us very handsomely, and the head chief is
yonder, waiting to talk with you,” informed Sergeant Pryor.
“Very good. You and young Dorion go back to them――we’d better send
along some presents, hadn’t we, Will?――and tell the chiefs that we’ll
speak with them in the morning. ’Twon’t do to let them think we’re in
any more of a hurry than they are.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Sergeant Pryor.
He took over presents of corn and tobacco and iron kettles, with young
Pierre to do the translating for him, and returned. Both camps settled
down for the night.
“Did yez have a rale good time with the Sioux, Nat?” queried Patrick
Gass, that night around the fire, after a hearty supper on cat-fish.
During the day a number of huge cat-fish had been caught, some of them
weighing sixty pounds. Now all the men were curious to hear more from
Nat Pryor and John Potts.
“Tremendous,” declared Nat. “They wanted to carry us into camp in a
blanket, but we told ’em we were not chiefs. They could wait and carry
the captains. They gave us a fat dog, though, boiled in a pot――and I
swear he was good eating.”
“None for me, thank ye,” retorted Sergeant Pat. “An’ how far is their
camp, an’ what kind is it?”
“It’s about nine miles back, near the Jacques. All fine buffalo hide
lodges――some elk hide, too――painted different colors. Fact is, they’re
about the best Indians we’ve met yet.”
“Ye didn’t learn anything of Shannon or the horses, then?”
“Not a word. But I think he’ll be safe if only the Sioux find him.”
The next day dawned so foggy that nobody could see across the river.
The captains made preparations for the grand council. A pole was set
up, near to a large oak tree, and a new flag hoisted to the top of it.
The flag was striped red and white; in a corner was a blue square, like
the sky, studded with stars. ’Twas the great flag of the United States
nation――and Peter thought it beautiful.
The two captains dressed in their best. Captain Lewis wore a long coat
of dark blue trimmed with light blue, down its front bright brass
buttons, and on its shoulders bright gold-fringed epaulets. Captain
Clark’s coat was dark blue faced with red; it, too, had the brass
buttons and the bright epaulets. Both wore their cocked hats, and their
long knives, or swords.
The men also were ordered to put on their best, and to clean up even if
they had no “best.” Presents were laid out. By the time the fog lifted,
at eight o’clock, the camp was ready.
Now it could be seen that over in the Sioux camp, also, the chiefs and
warriors were preparing.
“They’re painting and polishing, Merne,” remarked Captain Clark, who
had levelled the spy-glass, to peer.
That was so. Peter needed no spy-glass. He could make out figures of
the chiefs and warriors sitting and plaiting their hair and painting
their faces and chests and arms.
The two captains waited until nearly noon. Then the red pirogue was
dispatched, under Sergeant Pryor, accompanied by old Pierre, to bring
the chiefs and warriors. The white pirogue was loaded with goods, but
the red pirogue had been emptied for repairs. Even then the Sioux so
crowded it that it scarcely could be rowed. A number of the young Sioux
waded into the river and swam across.
Now there were more Sioux than white men in the United States camp.
But they were armed mainly with bows and arrows, while the United
States were armed with rifles; and Peter’s sharp eyes observed that the
cannon in the bow of the barge was pointed right at the camp, ready for
business.
Broad-chested and sinewy were these Yankton Sioux, and evidently great
warriors. What struck Peter and the soldiers, especially, were the
necklaces of claws stitched in bands of buckskin or red flannel, and
hanging low on those broad chests. Many warriors wore them.
“D’you mean to say those are b’ar claws!” exclaimed John Shields, one
of the Kentuckians.
“Oui, my frien’,” assured Drouillard, the hunter. “Dey claw of great
white bear――so we call heem. Beeg! More beeg dan one ox. An’ ’fraid? He
not ’fraid of notting. To keel one white bear make Injun beeg warrior.”
“And where do those critters live, then?” queried John.
“Up river. We meet ’em pret’ queeck, now. Sometime w’en we land――woof!
Dere coom one beast――beeg as one ox――mouth he open; an’ mebbe eat us,
if brush so t’ick we not see heem soon ’nough.”
The listening Kentuckians and other soldiers scratched their heads, as
if a little doubtful.
“Faith,” said Patrick Gass, “some o’ them claws are six inches long,
boys. ’Tis a country o’ monsters that we’re goin’ into.”
A group of the Sioux had been staring at black York, who, larger than
any of them, was gaping back. Suddenly one stepped to him, wet his
finger and swiftly drew it down York’s cheek; then looked to see if the
black had come off.
“Hey, you man!” growled York. “Wha’ foh you done do dat?”
Another Sioux deftly snatched off York’s hat, and clutched the
black curly wool underneath; but it would not come off, either.
Much impressed, the circle widened respectfully, and Sioux murmured
gutturally to Sioux.
“That’s all right, York,” warned Captain Clark, who had noted; for his
own red hair had been attracting much attention. “They say you’re great
medicine.”
“Oui; he black buffalo,” affirmed young Dorion.
After that York strutted importantly, alarmed the Indians by making
fierce faces, and was followed about by a constant admiring procession.
The council was held at noon, under the great oak tree beside which
floated the United States flag. The chiefs and the leading warriors sat
in a half circle; the two captains sat facing them, Pierre Dorion stood
before them as interpreter; and the soldiers and French boatmen sat
behind in another half circle.
Captain Lewis made a welcoming speech――and a fine figure he was,
standing straight and slim, in his tight-fitting, decorated coat, his
cocked hat with black feather, his sword at his side.
“The land has changed white fathers,” he said. “The great nation of
the Sioux, and all the other Indians, have a new white father, at
Washington. That is his flag, the flag of the United States nation,
which has bought this country. The new father has sent us, who are his
children, to tell his red children that he wants them to be at peace
with one another. I have given flags and peace gifts to the Otoes and
the Missouris, and have sent word to the Osages and the Omahas and the
Pawnees and the Kickapoos and other Indians, that there must be no more
wars among the red children. I will give you a flag and gifts, too, so
that you will remember what I say.”
Then the gifts were distributed. To the head chief, Weucha, or Shake
Hand, a flag, and a first-grade silver medal, and a paper that
certified the United States recognized him as the head chief, and
a string of beads and shells, and a “chief’s coat,” which was a
red-trimmed artillery dress-coat like Captain Clark’s, and a cocked hat
with red feather in it. Weucha was immensely pleased; he put on the
coat and hat at once.
The four other chiefs also were given gifts. Chief Weucha produced
a long peace-pipe of red stone, with reed stem; it was lighted, he
puffed, Captain Lewis and Captain Clark puffed; the four lesser chiefs
puffed. After that the chiefs solemnly shook hands with the captains,
and withdrew into a lean-to of branches, to consult on what they should
reply to-morrow.
The Sioux stayed at the camp during the afternoon. The captains gave
them a dressed deer-hide and an empty keg, for a dance drum. The
deer-hide was stretched taut over the head of the keg; and that night,
by the light of the fires, the Sioux thumped on the drum and shook
their rattles, and danced. One-eyed Cruzatte and George Gibson played
on their violins, and the United States warriors danced. But the Sioux
kept it up almost all night, and nobody got much sleep.
In the morning after breakfast Weucha and his three sub-chiefs sat
before the oak tree; each held a peace pipe in front of him, with the
stem pointing at the spot where the captains were to sit. The names of
the other chiefs were White Crane, Struck-by-the-Pawnee, and Half Man.
“He ver’ modes’,” explained One-eyed Cruzatte. “He say ‘I am no
warrior, I only half a man.’”
Weucha spoke first, standing clad in his artillery coat and cocked
hat. He said that the Yanktons were willing to be at peace, but were
very poor.
White Crane, and Struck-by-the-Pawnee and Half Man likewise spoke. They
agreed with what Shake Hand had said. They wanted powder and ball, and,
their great father’s “milk”――which was whisky.
That evening the Sioux went back, across the river, well satisfied.
Pierre Dorion and young Pierre went with them. Old Pierre promised that
in the spring he would take some of the chiefs to Washington, that they
might meet their new father.
Just as the Yanktons were leaving, Captain Lewis beckoned Peter to him.
“You had better go with Pierre. He will take you down river in the
spring, if not before.”
“No, please,” objected Peter. “I rather stay.”
“But we’re going clear to the Pacific Ocean, my boy,” spoke Captain
Clark. “It will be a hard trip.”
“I will go, too,” declared Peter. “Do not want to stay with Sioux. I am
white.”
“What will you do, along with us, Peter?”
“I work. I can talk sign language,” answered Peter, proudly.
“There’s something in that, Merne,” laughed Captain Clark. “Now with
Dorion gone we’ll need an interpreter to help Drouillard. I fancy Peter
knows almost as much as he does.”
“You’ve got a kind heart, Will,” replied Captain Lewis, his eyes
softening. “But game’s plenty; we’ll have meat enough――and that’s the
main question. All right, Peter. You can come as far as the Mandan
village, anyway. And in the spring we’ll see.”
Whereupon Peter resolved that he would make himself useful, so that
they would take him clear to the Pacific Ocean, which lay, according to
Patrick Gass and the other men, many, many days’ travel, far beyond the
western mountains.
V