“We’ve got to be might careful,” argued George. “The Missouri and the
Columbia are supposed to head right near each other, the one on this
side the mountains, the other on ’tother side. It would be a bad mess
if we crossed and found we were in the wrong place. We haven’t any time
to lose.”
Evidently so thought the captains. For the next day Captain Lewis took
Drouillard, Sergeant Nat Pryor and several others, to explore by foot
up the north fork. Captain Clark took Chaboneau, Sergeant Pat and
several others, to explore up the south fork. Peter and the rest of the
men remained at camp, together with Sa-ca-ja-we-a and little Toussaint.
This gave them the opportunity to sit in their bare feet, mend their
moccasins and leggins, and pick green wild currants and ripe wild
gooseberries. Sa-ca-ja-we-a, who was always busy, dressed a doe-skin
for herself and little Toussaint.
The Captain Clark party returned on the third day, in the rain. They
had gone up along the south branch about forty miles――had walked about
100 miles, all told, said Pat, with a wry face and a limp; Reuben had
been chased so shrewdly by a big bear, after his gun had missed fire,
that in climbing a tree he kicked the bear’s mouth, and as nobody could
get to the tree the bear had kept Reuben there for an hour; rain and
snow both had made the trip uncomfortable――but the river appeared to
lead west of south, and the captain was convinced that it was the true
Missouri.
“He’s the commandin’ officer; still I don’t agree with him,” said Pat.
“An’ I hope he’s wrong, for the other river’s the ’asier. I’d rather
sail in a boat than on foot, any day.”
“Did you sight any falls, Pat?” asked Joe Fields.
“Niver a fall――but I felt some,” answered Pat.
Captain Lewis was yet out. He and his party did not return this
evening, nor the next day; and on the following day everybody was
worried about them. But that afternoon at five o’clock they came
toiling in, hungry, soaked with the cold rain, and weary after a five
days’ tramp of 120 miles.
“I’m glad to see you, Merne,” exclaimed Captain Clark, his face
lighting up amidst his thick red hair and shaggy red beard. “What’s the
news?”
“We’ve been along the north fork sixty miles and it doesn’t head toward
any mountains. I don’t believe it’s the Missouri, although Drouillard
insists it must be.”
“I don’t believe so, either, Merne. The south fork looks the better of
the two, to me.” And they paced together to their lodge.
It was a cheery crowd, in spite of the dangers and discomforts and the
hard work. That evening the sky had cleared, there was a big supper of
venison, the feet of the men who had stayed in camp were about well,
and Cruzatte tuned up his fiddle for a dance.
Toward noon of the next day, Sunday, June 9, a parade was ordered,
to hear what the captains had decided. The men left their tasks
of dressing skins and repairing weapons, and fell in, under their
sergeants.
Captain Lewis stood straight and slim before them, in his fringed but
stained buckskin suit. His bright hair was tied in a queue behind, and
he, like Captain Clark, had grown a beard――yellow as his hair.
“Captain Clark and I have consulted together, men,” he said. “We have
examined our maps, and compared our notes; and we believe that the
southern fork is the true Missouri. It has all the signs of a mountain
stream, the Indians never have mentioned passing any south fork in
order to proceed on to the great falls, and this south fork certainly
bears off for those snowy mountains to the southwest which are
undoubtedly the Rock Mountains that divide the waters of the Missouri
and the Columbia. Accordingly we will take the south fork. That we have
chosen as the Missouri; the north fork I have had the honor to entitle
Maria’s River, as a tribute to my cousin in Virginia, Miss Maria Wood,
of Charlottesville.”
“Do you wish to hear from any of the men, Captain?” inquired Captain
Clark. “Some of them may have an opinion to offer.”
“Well, they favor the north fork, I understand,” answered the captain,
with a smile. “I’ll be glad to hear what they may say.”
Who was to speak? Patrick Gass, of course. Pat coughed, and saluted.
“What is it, Sergeant? Go ahead. Speak up, man.”
“It’s this way, sorr――Captain, sorr. Yez are the commandin’ officers――ye
an’ Cap’n Clark, an’ if yez say the south fork be the Missouri, o’
course the Missouri it is, an’ we’ll all follow yez, sorr. Sure, all
we’re afraid of, sorr, is that we get down yonder at the foot o’ the
snowy mountains, an’ on the other side there won’t be anny C’lumby at
all, sorr. But we’ll go with yez, sorr, if that’s where yez go. Thank
yez, sorr.” And Patrick saluted again, quite out of breath.
“Captain Clark and I will take the responsibility. We’ll try the south
fork, men,” declared Captain Lewis. “Parade is dismissed.”
“Thray cheers for the captains, boys,” shouted Patrick Gass. And as the
parade broke, into the air was flung every cap and hat and every voice
rang true.
Immediately preparations were begun. The heavy baggage and the extra
supplies were to be left here, and so was one of the pirogues. Men
were set at work digging a large hole in which to store the goods. It
was to be kettle shaped――small at the top, then hollowed out, round,
until it was six or seven feet deep. The soil was dumped upon blankets
and robes, and thrown into the river, so that there should be no trace
of any digging, lest the Indians find and rob. The bottom and sides
were to be lined with dry brush and hides, to keep the moisture from
the goods. The storehouse was called a _cache_, from the French word,
“_cacher_,” to conceal.
The red pirogue was to be hidden on an island at the mouth of Maria’s
River.
John Shields, the blacksmith, and Alec Willard worked at bellows and
forge, repairing tools and spontoons; and William Bratton repaired
broken guns.
However, the captains were still cautious regarding the right route to
strike the Columbia on the other side of the mountains; and early the
next morning, June 11, Captain Lewis took Drouillard, John Shields,
George Gibson and Si Goodrich, to scout ahead up that south fork. He
promised to send back word to Captain Clark, who was to follow, with
the boats and party, as soon as the cache was completed.
On the morning of the twelfth the white pirogue and the six canoes
headed up the south fork, before a fair wind.
“We’re off,” exulted Sergeant Pat.
Everybody was in high spirits――everybody except Chaboneau and
Sa-ca-ja-we-a.
“Sa-ca-ja-we-a she seeck,” announced Chaboneau. “I do not know what is
matter. Mebbe stomick, or mebbe she ketch col’ in all dat rain.”
Yes, the little sixteen-year-old Bird-woman was feeling very ill. Now
for almost a thousand miles she had carried baby Toussaint, had tended
the lodge fire and done other Indian woman work; sometimes she had been
wet, frequently cold and foot-sore, but she never had complained or
lagged.
“You must let her rest, Chaboneau,” said Captain Clark, that evening
at camp. “Keep her in bed. York, you look after her. Never mind me.
Make her some broth. Peter, you help her with little Toussaint. Hold
him, if she’ll let you.”
So Peter took charge of baby Toussaint――who really was a very good
baby. He rarely cried, and even rarely smiled. He lay in his swathings
of skins and stared with his bright black eyes.
The day had been an easy one for nobody. The river soon had run
swiftly; it was broken with many sand-bars and gravel-bars, and by
boulders upon which several times the canoes almost capsized.
The next day’s voyage was as bad, and worse. Snow mountains appeared
on the south as well as at the west. There were numerous islands, more
shoals and boulders, and the tow-lines were used. Sa-ca-ja-we-a, lying
on a couch of skins in the white pirogue, had not improved. She moaned,
and tossed, and babbled strange words. Peter and York watched over her
and the baby, although occasionally York had to tumble out and haul on
the tow-line.
“Pshaw!” muttered Captain Clark, that night, gazing, non-plussed, at
Sa-ca-ja-we-a, who did not recognize him. “We mustn’t lose our little
Bird-woman. She’s to be our guide to her own people, so that they
will show us the way across the mountains. In fact, the fate of the
expedition may depend upon her.”
“I ver’ worried,” confessed Chaboneau. “Never see her dees way before.”
The next day the rapids were more severe. Wading breast-deep in the
cold water and slipping on the rocky bottom, the men scarcely could
haul the boats against the current. All the morning was consumed in
making six miles. Just at noon, when halt was ordered, for dinner, a
figure was seen, ahead, hurrying down along the banks.
It was John Shields, from Captain Lewis. As he approached, he swung his
hat.
“Hurrah, boys!” he shouted. “We’re all right. This is the trail. The
captain’s found the falls!” He came panting and puffing into camp.
“It’s the true Missouri.”
“How far up are the falls, Shields?” asked Captain Clark, eagerly.
“About twenty miles, sir. But you can’t get to them with boats.”
And that was so. The next day the rapids of the river were more
furious, and the men were constantly dodging rattlesnakes on the banks.
Shields was sent ahead to tell Captain Lewis that the party were on
their way. Captain Clark ordered a noon halt near a large spring of
sulphur water, to wait for Captain Lewis. The roaring of the falls had
already been heard above the noise of the river.
Sa-ca-ja-we-a was carried to the sulphur spring. She drank quantities
of it and soon felt much better.
“Now be very careful what she eats, Chaboneau,” warned Captain Clark.
At two o’clock Captain Lewis arrived from above. He was enthusiastic
over the falls, but he had had several narrow escapes from death,
according to Drouillard.
He had been seriously ill, and only choke-cherry tea had cured him.
When he had neglected to reload his rifle after shooting a buffalo, a
huge “white bear” had charged him, driven him into the river, but had
retreated before the captain’s leveled pike or spontoon. That same
day three buffalo bulls at once had run at him, heads down, until he
fortunately had turned on them, whereat they also turned. And that
night he slept with a rattlesnake over four feet long coiled on a log
just above his head.
“I t’ink de cap’n haf plenty excitement, in one day,” declared
Drouillard.