Captain Clark was safe and well, with all his men, and only a short
distance down river! This was learned the next day from two white
trappers――the first Americans met in over a year. Their names were
Hancock and Dickson. They had left Illinois, of the United States, in
the summer of 1804, and had been trapping in the upper Missouri country
ever since.
They said that Captain Clark’s party had passed them yesterday, but
had lost all the horses, by Indians, and were traveling in two wooden
canoes and two hide canoes. The captain had the idea that Captain Lewis
and party were ahead of him.
Trappers Hancock and Dickson had other news, also. They had seen the
barge, under Corporal Warfington, on its way from Fort Mandan, last
summer, to St. Louis. All aboard were well. Brave Raven, the Arikara
chief, was there, bound for Washington; and so were several Yankton
Sioux chiefs, with old Pierre Dorion. But the Mandans and Minnetarees
were at war with the Arikaras; and the Mandans and the Assiniboines
were at war, too; and the Sioux were “bad.” So that the peace talks by
the captains had not buried the hatchet very deep.
Anyway, soon after noon, this day, Captain Clark’s camp was sighted,
before.
“What’s the matter here?” demanded Captain Clark, the instant that the
pirogue grounded. He saw Captain Lewis lying in the stern.
“Nothing serious, Will. Merely a gun wound, in the thigh. Cruzatte shot
me by accident.”
“De capitin shot!” cried Sa-ca-ja-we-a, running to him.
“I not mean to,” repeated Cruzatte, still in much distress. “I t’ink I
see one elk in brush.”
“That’s all right, Cruzatte,” consoled Captain Lewis.
Yes, Captain Clark’s party all were here, so that the whole company
were united again. The captain had had a successful trip down the
Yellowstone. The Bird-woman (who now was applying some Indian salve
to Captain Lewis’s wound) had proved a valuable guide across country.
Captain Clark was emphatic in his praise of her. George Gibson had
fallen on a sharp piece of timber and driven it two inches into his
thigh. Indians had early stolen twenty-four horses, and had left only a
worn-out moccasin in exchange. Labiche had trailed them, but had been
obliged to give up.
The Yellowstone was a fine stream, with many beaver, and many bear. At
the Missouri the mosquitoes had been so pestiferous that only brief
camps could be made. Little Toussaint was bitten so severely that his
eyes were puffed shut, and the mosquitoes settled so thickly on the
captain’s gun-barrel as to prevent his taking aim!
“We achieved one important thing,” laughed the captain. “We named a
river for York!”
“Yessuh!” gabbled York. “Yessuh! Dar’s a ribber up yahnduh ’long de
Yallerstone named foh me: Yawk’s Dry Ribber.”
Sergeant Pryor, George Shannon, Hugh Hall and Dick Windsor had been
detailed to drive the remaining fifty horses overland to the Mandan
town; but the first night, Indians had stolen every one of these, also,
and the squad were obliged to turn back. On the way, while the sergeant
was asleep in camp a wolf had bitten him through the hand, and had
tried to seize Dick, but George Shannon had shot just in time. Back
again at the Yellowstone they had manufactured two round canoes, like
Mandan canoes, from buffalo hides stretched over basketry, with hoops
as top and bottom. In these they had finally caught up with Captain
Clark.
“You’re in command now, Will,” said Captain Lewis. “I can’t do much――I
can’t even write the records. But we’re in the home stretch. Let’s push
on as fast as we can.”
The two free-trappers, Hancock and Dickson, came down in their canoe to
go with the company as far as the Mandan town.
“Sure, we’ll be there in a jiffy,” proclaimed Sergeant Pat. “’Tis
wonderful good fortune we’ve had――clane across to the Paycific an’ nigh
home ag’in, an’ only wan man lost an’ nobody bad hurt but the cap’n.”
Now Sa-ca-ja-we-a, the Bird-woman, was much excited; for she was near
home, too. The first day eighty-six miles were covered. The next day,
in the morning, they arrived once more at the Minnetaree village, and
the village of the Mandans opposite.
“Boom!” signaled the blunderbuss. And then again, and again. The
Minnetarees, the Ah-na-ha-ways or Wassoons, and the Mandans flocked to
the river banks.
“Our white fathers are back!” they cried, one to another.
The Indians seemed delighted. It was a great triumph――it really was
like getting home. Sa-ca-ja-we-a hardly could wait for the boats to
land. Landing was made among the Ah-na-ha-ways, but headquarters
were immediately established among Chief Black Cat’s Mandans. The
Bird-woman, carrying little Toussaint, proudly accompanied Chaboneau
to the Minnetarees――which was _her_ village――to invite them to council
with the white chiefs. Drouillard was sent down to get Jessaume and Big
White.
Captain Clark held a council in the Black Cat’s village. He invited
the chiefs to go with him to Washington, and call on the great white
father. Black Cat and Le Borgne, the one-eyed Minnetaree head chief,
and old Cherry-on-a-Bush and others answered. They said that the
Sioux would kill any of them who ventured down the river. The captain
answered that all would be protected against the bad Sioux, and
would return safe, escorted by United States warriors and loaded with
presents.
At last Big White agreed to take his wife and child and accompany the
Red Head and the Long Knife.
So much corn was brought to the boats that it all could not be loaded.
Captain Clark presented the swivel cannon to the Minnetarees.
“With this big gun we have announced the great white father’s peace
words to his red children, all the way up the Missouri,” he said, to Le
Borgne. “Whenever it is fired, it will remind you of these good words,
and you will think upon them, and live at peace with your neighbors.”
“My ears will always be open to the words of the great white father,”
promised One-eyed.
Then the cannon was discharged, and the Minnetarees, much pleased, bore
it into their village.
The start was to be made the next day. But John Colter was not
going. He had asked permission to turn back, up the Missouri again,
with the two trappers, Hancock and Dickson, to hunt the beaver. And
Sa-ca-ja-we-a and Chaboneau were not going. The Bird-woman wished to
go――she wished to go on with the Red Head, to the country of the white
people, and learn more of their ways. Captain Clark offered to take her
and little Toussaint and Chaboneau, and put little Toussaint at school
when he grew up. However, Chaboneau shook his head.
“I t’ank you, capitaine,” he replied. “But in San Loui’ I haf no
’quaintance, I would haf no means of makin’ my support. I mus’ stay
here, where I am known.”
So everybody bid goodby to John Colter, to Chaboneau, Sa-ca-ja-we-a,
and little Toussaint, now nineteen months old.
“Good luck!” to John.
Five hundred dollars in wages, and the blacksmith tools, to Chaboneau.
To Sa-ca-ja-we-a the captains said:
“The nation of the United States will not forget Sa-ca-ja-we-a, the
Bird-woman, who never complained, who carried her baby clear to the
Pacific Ocean, who made friends for us wherever she went, and who
helped us across the Rock Mountains.”
Sa-ca-ja-we-a wept.
At the village of Sha-ha-ka, the Big White, the chief was found
sitting surrounded by weeping women, and taking a final smoke with his
relatives and friends. They all feared that they never should see him
again. To them, it was a long, dangerous journey for him to take. Chief
Le Borgne of the Minnetarees requested that the white chiefs take good
care of Big White. And they solemnly promised.
The canoes were lashed together two and two, in order to be steadier
and to travel faster. Big White and his wife and child stepped aboard
the pirogue. Jessaume and his wife and two children were to accompany
Big White and speak for him to the great white father at Washington.
With a farewell volley and a cheer the boats entered the current. The
Indians had crowded to watch them leave.
“A month more, lads, an’ we’ll be in St. Louis,” jubilated Pat.
“Barrin’ accident, we’re good for sixty miles a day.”
Fort Mandan, opposite, was passed; but only a few pickets, and one
cabin, were standing. All the rest had been burned in a timber fire.
Three traders were met, coming up-river. Two of them were the same who
had been at the Mandan town in the winter of 1804. They said that the
Sioux were on the war-path against the Mandans and Minnetarees――had
already set out, 700 warriors.
“Do not tell Sha-ha-ka,” ordered Captain Lewis, to Jessaume. “He would
wish to turn back.”
This same day the Arikara villages were reached. Some Cheyennes were
here, too. Captain Clark held a council with both tribes. They all were
very friendly. Big White addressed them, and they listened. They were
willing to be at peace with the Mandans and Minnetarees. The Arikaras
said that they had refused to join the Sioux, on the war-path. They
wished to send more chiefs to the great white father at Washington, but
were waiting until Brave Raven, who had gone down on the barge last
year, came back with the white father’s words. The Cheyennes said that
they were afraid of the white people’s medicine, but they hoped that
the new father would send traders and trappers into their country, to
show them how to live and how to catch the beaver.
On the last day of the council, or July 22, Captain Lewis was able to
walk about a little, for the first time since he had taken to the boat.
Rapidly traveled the boats. Wild turkeys were seen; ripe wild plums
were found; the grasses were high and luxurious.
“We gettin’ down into lower country,” chattered Drouillard, happily.
There were signs of many buffalo. On July 29, 20,000 in one herd
darkened the plain. The day following, halt was made in a wild plum
orchard. Everybody ate. But this was Sioux country, and below the wild
plum orchard sudden exclamations arose from the boats.
“De Sioux!”
“Look at the bloody rascals!”
“Tetons, aren’t they?”
“Mebbe Yankton. They act like they want to talk.”
Some twenty Indians had appeared on a high bank opposite. One man with
them wore a blanket-coat and a ’kerchief around his head. He might be
a French trader. A short distance farther down almost a hundred other
Indians emerged, to the shore; from their guns they fired a salute.
They all were well armed.
“Answer the salute, Captain,” directed Captain Lewis. “It may be a
peace signal. And you might go near them and talk.”
Captain Clark took Drouillard, Jessaume and Cruzatte and crossed to a
sand-bar. The Indians who met him there said that they were Tetons,
under Chief Black Buffalo. Black Buffalo had been the chief who had
made trouble two years ago, so Captain Clark declined to have anything
more to do with him. He came back and ordered the boats to prepare for
an attack and proceed.
“I’d like wan shot at them,” muttered Sergeant Pat.
“Do not fire unless you are fired upon,” enjoined the captains.
As they passed the Sioux collected on the hill, Second Chief Partisan
invited them to land. But they knew better; and as they continued, the
Partisan struck the earth three times with the butt of his gun, and all
the Indians yelled abuse.
“Dey make vow to kill ev’ry white man,” declared Drouillard.
That night camp was pitched on a bare sand-bar in the middle of the
river, so as to be safe from attack; but a terrific thunderstorm blew
two of the canoes clear across the river. However, no Tetons turned up,
which was fortunate.
“The Yanktons next, I suppose,” remarked George Shannon. “They were a
pretty good set, two years ago.”
A number of lodges of the Yanktons were indeed waiting. They proved
very friendly, and Captain Clark held a council with them. They even
took Chief Sha-ha-ka by the hand and asserted that they were obeying
the words of the great white father and were at peace with the Mandans.
They said that as a token they had kept the flag-pole standing, by the
big tree of the council ground below, where they had first talked with
the white men. And sure enough, when the boats passed the spot opposite
the mouth of the James River, the flag-pole showed plainly.
Soon another white man was met. He was James Airs, a trader on his way
up from St. Louis, to the Sioux. Being so lately from the United States
he gave the captains much news, and they sat up nearly all night with
him.
Now the region was very familiar ground, to Peter. The Omaha village
was close before. Soon after leaving Mr. Airs they sighted the bluff
where Sergeant Charles Floyd had been buried. They landed, to pay the
grave a visit, and found that the Indians had opened it. The captains
ordered the earth filled in again. That night camp was made on the
sand-sprit, at the old Omaha village――the very spot where the council
had been held with Chief Little Thief and his Otoes and Missouris, and
where Peter had “come aboard.” How long ago that seemed!
The Omaha village was still deserted. In the morning Captain Clark
called Peter.
“Well, Peter, would you like to go to the Otoes again? Are you tired of
being white?”
“No, please,” begged Peter. He had been afraid of this――afraid that he
would be sent to the Otoes. “I want to go to St. Louis, please.”
“Go you shall,” assured the captain. “Go you shall, Peter, and I’ll
attend to you myself.”
Hooray! But, reflected Peter, supposing that Chief Little Thief should
appear before they started on. However, no Chief Little Thief, or other
of the Otoes and Missouris did appear.
More white traders were encountered. On August 12 there hove in sight
two pirogues; aboard them were none other than Trader Gravelines
himself, and old Pierre Dorion! Mr. Gravelines said that he had taken
Chief Brave Raven, of the Arikaras, clear to Washington, and that
the chief had seen the President, but had died just when about to
return home. Now Mr. Gravelines was going up to the Arikaras with the
President’s words, and with presents. Old Pierre Dorion was on his way
to the Yankton Sioux again, hoping to get six more of them and take
them to Washington.
“The United States has given all you people up for lost,” declared
Trader Gravelines. “Nothing has been heard from you since you left Fort
Mandan. The President and everybody are very anxious. We were asked to
inquire about you, among the Indians.”
“Faith, an’ our welcome’ll be the more hearty,” asserted Sergeant Pat,
to his fellows.
Boats containing trading parties were met constantly. Surely, thought
Peter, St. Louis cannot be very far ahead. At a fifty-miles-a-day clip
the boats proceeded. Soon the captains did not stop even to hunt; and
camp was broken before daylight!
August 20 another glad shout arose.
“Cows, boys! Look at the cows! We’re near the settlements.”
“’Tis the best sight I’ve seen in better’n two years,” proclaimed
Sergeant Pat. “Faith, I’m in that state o’ mind when I could kiss a cow
on the nose!”
“What is cow, Pat?” invited Peter, staring.
“Oh, murther, an’ ye don’t know!” bewailed Pat. “The cow be the buff’lo
civilized, Peter. She be the white man’s buff’lo. She gives us milk to
drink an’ butter to ate, an’ the breath of her is swater’n the prairie
breeze an’ the voice of her is beautiful.”
“La Charette! I see La Charette!” cried old Cruzatte.
La Charette was the first white man’s village! The captains ordered
guns to be fired, and told the men to cheer. Down to the shore hastened
the inhabitants. They, too, cheered. They talked part in French, part
in United States. What a chatter sounded! They almost carried the men
to the houses.
“We nefer expec’ to see you again!” they exclaimed. “We t’ink you all
scalped. Haf you been far?”
“To the Pacific Ocean,” was the answer.
“My gracious! Come an’ tell us.”
Drouillard and Cruzatte and Lepage and Labiche were well-nigh beside
themselves with joy. They greeted numerous old friends.
“Dees is the best part of all de trip,” they laughed, again and again.
Assuredly, the villages of the white men of the United States must be
pleasant places, thought Peter.
Sixty-eight miles had been rowed, this day. With difficulty could
the men get away from hospitable La Charette, but on the next day
forty-eight miles were covered, to another village, St. Charles. Here
occurred more excitement, of greetings, and dinners, and good beds.
The captains, and all the men, in their elk-hide clothes, and their
beards, and their tan, were treated as heroes; and Peter was not
overlooked――not by any means. Nor was Sha-ha-ka, the Big White. He,
like Peter, for the first time was seeing how the white people lived.
“Sha-ha-ka say de white people evidently a ver’ good people,” announced
Jessaume. “But he anxious to get on to de beeg village of San Loui’.”
“How far to St. Louis, Pat?” asked Peter, eagerly.
“Only twenty miles. With an ’arly start we’ll ate our dinner there.”
Twenty miles! The last twenty of more than 8000! No wonder that all the
men were impatient. They made great plans. At St. Louis they were to be
paid off and discharged.
“Extry pay an’ 320 acres of land do we each get,” repeated Patrick
Gass. “An’ we’ve earned it. It’s glad I am not to be with John Colter
this minute, trapsin’ for the Yellowstone ag’in.”
“What’ll you do, Pat, after we get to St. Louis?”
“Faith, have my whiskers trimmed an’ get my journal published.”
“I’ve sold my journal to the captains for ten dollars!” boasted
Sergeant Ordway. “It’s more’n you’ll make with yours, Pat.”
“I mean to try for an officer’s commission, in the army,” said Sergeant
Nat Pryor.
“As soon as I get cleaned up, I’ll strike straight for old New
Hampshire, and spin my yarns to the home folks,” said Ordway.
“I intend to study law. Think I’ll go to college,” said George Shannon.
“I stay at San’ Loui’ for wan time. Den mebbe I haf money to enter de
fur trade,” said Drouillard.
“Captain Clark will send me to school,” piped Peter.
“That’s right, Peter,” encouraged George. “You and I’ll go to school.”
Those were long twenty miles. First, the captains did not leave St.
Charles until mid-morning, because of the rain and the entertainments.
Then, three miles below, was found a big camp of other United States
soldiers, and here the captains stopped for the day, at the log house
which was the principal quarters.
They took Sha-ha-ka ashore; and when he was next seen by the company,
he had been dressed in new clothes――white man’s clothes! Of these he
was very proud. He strutted more than York had strutted among the Sioux
and the Arikaras and Mandans.
“An’ why shouldn’t he?” demanded Pat. “He’s better dressed for polite
sassiety than the rist of us!”
Seventeen miles to go! The start was made soon after an early
breakfast. All eyes strained ahead; the men pulled lustily on the oars.
Houses and small settlements were passed. People ashore cheered. Toward
noon another large river was sighted, ahead; its course was marked by
lines of trees. The Missouri emptied into it.
“The Mississippi!” cried the men. And then――――
The captains stood up in the white pirogue. Captain Clark looked back,
at the canoes, and waved his hat, and smiled. Before, on the right, was
a great collection of houses set amidst trees――and at the river bank,
near where the two rivers joined, loomed a huge (at least, to Peter it
seemed huge) whitish stone fort, flying the United States flag. Many
boats plied the current. St. Louis!
Captain Clark lifted his hand and called an order. But already every
rifle in pirogue and canoes had been leveled, on every trigger was a
tense finger――and “Bang!” spoke all together.
“Hooray!”
Before the boats had touched the landing, the people of St. Louis had
gathered there like magic; they were running, shouting, jostling.
Exclamations sounded again and again. The air trembled with the
excitement. In the boats, the men were agrin――waving, calling, and old
Cruzatte capering. Only the captains and Big White stood motionless, as
proper for chiefs, waiting until the pirogue made landing.
“Eet ees Lewis an’ Clark!”
“Dey haf return’ from de dead!”
“Huzza! Huzza! Welcome home!”
“Where you been, these two years and a half?”
Important personages pressed forward, to grasp the captains and shake
their hands vigorously.
“What news, Captains? What news from beyond the Mandan town? Did you
succeed in crossing the mountains?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how much farther?”
“To the Columbia and the Pacific!”
“Marvelous! Any fatalities?”
“Only the death of Sergeant Floyd, by disease.”
“And what distance traveled?”
“About eight thousand miles.”
“Remarkable! The world shall ring with your story.”
“Yis, we’ve borne the greatest flag in the world to the other side the
greatest country in the world; an’, b’gorry, we’re all here to tell the
tale,” pronounced Pat, as following the captains the men (and Peter!)
sprang to the waiting arms.
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.