THE BIRD-WOMAN GUIDE (1805-1806)
SACAGAWEA HELPS THE WHITE MEN
This is the story of one slight little Indian woman, aged sixteen, who
opened the trail across the continent, for the march of the United
States flag.
When in March, 1804, the United States took over that French Province
of Louisiana which extended from the upper Mississippi River west to
the Rocky Mountains, a multitude of Indians changed white fathers.
These Western Indians were much different from the Eastern Indians.
They were long-hair Indians, and horse Indians, accustomed to the rough
buffalo chase, and a wide range over vast treeless spaces.
To learn about them and their country, in May, 1804, there started up
the Missouri River, by boats from St. Louis, the famed Government
exploring party commanded by Captain Meriwether Lewis and Captain
William Clark.
It was an army expedition: twenty-three enlisted men, a hunter, a squad
of boatmen, Captain Clark's black servant York, and a squad of other
soldiers for an escort part of the way. In all, forty-three, under the
two captains.
Their orders were, to ascend the Missouri River to its head; and, if
possible, to cross the mountains and travel westward still, to the
Columbia River and its mouth at the Pacific Ocean of the Oregon country.
No white man knew what lay before them, for no white man ever had made
the trip. The trail was a trail in the dark.
This fall they had gone safely as far as the hewn-timber towns of the
Mandan Indians, in central North Dakota; here they wintered, and met
the little Bird-woman.
Her Indian name was Sa-ca-ga-we-a, from two Minnetaree words meaning
"bird" and "woman." But she was not a Minnetaree, who were a division
of the Sioux nation, living in North Dakota near the Mandans. She was
a Sho-sho-ni, or Snake, woman, from the distant Rocky Mountains, and
had been captured by the Minnetarees. Between the Minnetarees of the
plains and the Snakes of the mountains there was always war.
Now at only sixteen years of age she was the wife of Toussaint
Chaboneau, a leather-faced, leather-clad French-Canadian trader living
with the Mandans. He had bought her from the Minnetarees--and how much
he paid in trade is not stated, but she was the daughter of a chief and
rated a good squaw. Toussaint had another wife; he needed a younger
one. Therefore he bought Sacagawea, to mend his moccasins and greet
him with a smile for his heart and warm water for his tired feet. His
old wife had grown rather cross and grunty.
Chaboneau was engaged as interpreter, this winter, and moved over to
the white camp. Sacagawea proved to be such a cheerful, willing little
woman that the captains and the men made much of her. And when, in
February, a tiny boy arrived to her and Toussaint, there was much
delight.
A baby in the camp helped to break the long dull spell of
forty-below-zero weather, when two suns shone feebly through the
ice-crystaled air.
A thousand miles it was, yet, to the Rocky or Shining Mountains, by the
river trail. In the Mandan towns, and in the American camp, Sacagawea
was the only person who ever had been as far as those mountains. They
were the home of her people, but nearly three years had passed since
she had been taken captive by the Minnetarees.
Could she still speak the Snake tongue? Certainly! Did she remember
the trail to the country of the Snakes? Yes! Was there a way across
the mountains? Yes! Beyond some great falls in the Missouri there was
a gate, by which the Shoshonis came out of the mountains to hunt the
buffalo on the plains. It was there that she had been captured by the
Minnetarees. Would the Snakes be friendly to the white men? Yes,
unless they were frightened by the white men. Would she like to go
back to her own people? Yes! Yes!
That was great luck for Sacagawea, but it was greater luck for the two
captains. In the spring they broke camp, and taking Chaboneau as
interpreter in case that the hostile Minnetarees were met, and little
Sacagawea to spy out the land of the Snakes, and littlest Toussaint,
the baby, as a peace sign to all tribes, with a picked party of
thirty-one the two captains started on, up the swollen Missouri.
They made no mistake, in the Bird-woman. Of course she was used to
roughing it; that was the life of an Indian woman--to do the hard work
for the men, in camp and on the trail. But Sacagawea early showed
great good sense.
Her husband Chaboneau almost capsized their canoe, by his clumsiness.
She neither shrieked nor jumped; but calmly reaching out from it, with
her baby tightly held, she gathered in the floating articles. She
saved stuff of much value, and the captains praised her.
"She's a better man than her husband," asserted the admiring soldiers.
After hard travel, fighting the swift current, the strong winds, storms
of rain and sleet, and monster grizzly bears, the expedition arrived at
the Great Falls, as the Bird-woman had promised.
She had ridden and waded and trudged, like the rest. She had carried
her baby on her back, and had built the fires for her husband, and
cooked his meals, and kept right along with the men, and had not
complained nor lagged.
At the Great Falls she was not so certain of the best route. This was
a strange country to her, although she had known that the Falls were
here. The Shining Mountains were in sight; the land of the Shoshonis
lay yonder, to the southwest. All right.
The captains chose what seemed to be the best route by water, and
headed on, to the southwest. Sacagawea gazed anxiously, right, left,
and before. Her heart was troubled. She not only much desired to find
her people, for herself, but she desired to help the great captains.
"The fate of the whole party" depended upon her--and she was just a
slight little Indian woman!
The Snakes did not come down, by this way. It was too far north; it
was the haunts of their enemies the Blackfeet and the Minnetarees, of
whom they were deathly afraid. They were a timid mountain folk, poorly
armed to fight the Sioux, who had obtained guns from traders down the
Missouri.
After a time the river narrowed still more, and between rough banks
poured out from a canyon of high cliffs, black at their base and creamy
yellow above.
"The Gate of the Mountains, ain't it?" passed the hopeful word.
Sacagawea agreed. She had heard of this very "gate," where the river
burst into the first plains.
"When we come to the place where the river splits into three parts,
that is Shoshoni country--my people will be there."
On forged the boats, poled and hauled and rowed, while the men's soggy
moccasins rotted into pieces, and the mosquitoes bit fiercely. The two
captains explored by land. Hunting was forbidden, lest the reports of
the guns alarm the Snakes.
Abandoned Indian camp-sites were found, but the big-horn sheep peered
curiously down from the tops of the cliffs along the river, and that
was not a good sign. The game was too tame.
Captain Clark the Red Head took the advance, by land, to look for the
Indians. Captain Lewis, the young Long Knife Chief, commanded the
boats. Small United States flags were erected in the bows of each, as
a peace signal.
The boats reached an open place, where the river did indeed split into
several branches.
"The Three Forks," nodded Sacagawea, brightly. "These are the Three
Forks. We are on the right trail to the land of my people. Now I
know."
The party proceeded at top speed. The southwest fork seemed to be the
best, for boating. The stream shallowed. At the next camp Sacagawea
was more excited.
"She say here in dis spot is where de Snake camp was surprise' by de
Minnetaree, five years ago, an' chase' into de timber," announced
Drouillard the hunter. "De Minnetaree keel four warrior an' capture
four boy an' all de women. She was capture' here, herself."
Hurrah! the trail was getting warm. The canoes had to be hauled by
tow-lines, with Sacagawea proudly riding in one of them and helping to
fend off with a pole. She had not been here since she was a girl of
eleven or twelve, but she caught more landmarks.
"Dat is w'at ze Snake call ze Beaver's Head," proclaimed Chaboneau,
whose feet had given out. "Ze Snake spen' deir summer 'cross ze
mountains jes' ze odder side. She t'ink we sure to meet some on dis
side, to hunt ze boof'lo. Mebbe furder up one leetle way."
Captain Lewis took three men and struck out, to find an Indian trail
and follow it into the mountains.
"I'll not come back until I've met with the Snakes," he asserted.
He was gone a long time. The shallow river, full of rapids and shoals,
curved and forked and steadily shrank. But although Sacagawea eagerly
peered, and murmured to herself, no Indians appeared.
The water was icy cold, from the snow range. This was middle August,
in extreme southwestern Montana (a high country). The nights were
cold, too. Game grew scarce. Three thousand miles had been logged
off, from St. Louis. Unless the company could get guides and horses
from the Snakes, and travel rapidly, they would be stuck, for the
winter--likely enough starve; at any rate be forced to quit.
By August 16 Captain Lewis had not returned. Captain Clark set out
afoot, with Sacagawea and Chaboneau, to walk across country. The
Snakes simply must be found.
The toiling boats rounded a great bend, and a shout arose.
"There's Clark! He's sighted Injuns, hasn't he?"
"So has Sacagawea! Sure she has! See?"
"Injuns on horseback, boys! Hooray!"
For Captain Clark, yonder up the curve, was holding high his hand, palm
front, in the peace sign. Sacagawea had run ahead, little Toussaint
bobbing in the net on her back; she danced as she ran; she ran back
again to him, sucking her fingers.
"Dat mean she see her own peoples!" panted Cruzatte the chief boatman,
who was a trapper and trader, too, and knew Indians. "Dere dey come,
on de hoss. Hooray!"
"Hooray!"
What a relief! The Indians were prancing and singing. They made the
captain mount one of the horses, and all hustled on, for an Indian camp.
By the time that the hurrying canoes arrived, Sacagawea and another
woman had rushed into each other's arms. Presently they and the
captain and Chaboneau had entered a large lodge, built of willow
branches. The Captain Lewis squad was here, too. The men had come
down out of the mountains, by a pass, with the Snakes. The Snakes had
been afraid of them--the first white men ever seen by the band. Old
Drouillard the hunter had argued with them in the sign language and
with a few Shoshoni words that he knew.
It had looked like war--it had looked like peace--and it had looked
like war, and death, again. Finally, before he could persuade them,
the captain had delivered over his guns, and had promised them to be
their prisoner if they did not find, down below, one of their own women
acting as the white men's guide.
But now all was well. The token of Sacagawea saved the day. The other
woman, whom she hugged, had been captured by the Minnetarees, at the
same time with herself, and had escaped.
And the chief of the band was Sacagawea's brother. He had mourned her
as dead, but now he and she wept together under a blanket. Truly, he
had reason to be grateful to these white strangers who had treated her
so well.
Much relieved by this good fortune at last, the captains bought horses
and hired guides. The Snakes were very friendly; even engaged not to
disturb the canoes, which were sunk with rocks in the river to await
the return trip.
There was little delay. The mountains should be crossed at once,
before winter closed the trails. To the surprise and delight of all
the company, Sacagawea announced that she was going with them, to see
the Great Salt Water. Somehow, she preferred the white men to her own
people. She had been weeping constantly. Most of her relatives and
old friends had died or had been killed, during her absence. Her new
friends she loved. They were a wonderful set, these white men--and the
Red Head, Captain Clark, was the finest of all.
Six horses had been bought. Five were packed with the supplies;
Sacagawea and little Toussaint were mounted upon the sixth, and the
whole company, escorted by the Snakes, marched over the pass to Chief
Ca-me-ah-wait's principal camp.
From there, with twenty-seven horses and one mule, with the happy
Bird-woman and the beady-eyed Toussaint, the two captains and their men
took the trail for the Great Salt Water, one thousand miles toward the
setting sun. Ah, but a tough trail that proved, across the Bitter Root
Mountains; all up and down, with scarcely a level spot to sleep on;
with the snow to the horses' bellies and the men's thighs; with the
game failing, until even a horse's head was treasured as a tidbit.
And the Bird-woman, riding in the exhausted file, never complained, but
kept her eyes fixed to the low country and the big river and the Great
Salt Water.
Once, in the midst of starvation, from her dress she fished out a small
piece of bread that she had carried clear from the Mandan towns. She
gave it to Captain Clark, that he might eat it. A brave and faithful
heart had Sacagawea.
Struggling down out of the mountains, at the end of September, they
changed to canoes. The Pierced Noses, or Nez Perces Indians, were
friendly; and now, on to the Columbia and thence on to the sea,
Sacagawea was the sure charm. For when the tribes saw the strange
white warriors, they said, "This cannot be a war party. They have a
squaw and a papoose. We will meet with them."
That winter was spent a few miles back from the Pacific, near the mouth
of the Columbia River in present Washington.
Only once did the Bird-woman complain. The ocean was out of sight from
the camp. Chaboneau, her husband, seemed to think that she was made
for only work, work, work, cooking and mending and tending baby.
"You stay by ze lodge fire. Dat is place for womans," he rebuked.
Whereupon Sacagawea took the bit in her teeth (a very unusual thing for
a squaw to do) and went straight to Captain Clark, her friend.
"What is the matter, Sacagawea?"
She had been crying again.
"I come a long way, capitin. I carry my baby, I cold, hungry, wet,
seeck, I come an' I no care. I show you trail; I say 'Snake peoples
here,' an' you find Snakes. You get hosses, food, guide. When Indians
see me an' my Toussaint, dey say 'Dis no war party,' an' dey kind to
you. When you get hungry for bread, I gif you one leetle piece dat I
carry all de way from Mandan town. I try to be good woman. I work
hard, same as mens. Now I been here all dis time, near de salt water
dat I trabble many days to see--an' I not see it yet. Dere is a beeg
fish, too. Odders go see--I stay. Nobody ask Sacagawea. My man he
say 'You tend baby!' I--I feel bad, capitin." And she hid her face in
her blanket.
"By gracious, go you shall, Sacagawea, and see the salt water and the
big fish," declared Captain Clark. "Chaboneau can stay home and tend
baby!"
However, the Bird-woman took little Toussaint, of course; and they two
viewed in wonderment the rolling, surging, thundering ocean; and the
immense whale, one hundred and five feet long, that had been cast
ashore. It is safe to assert that to the end of her days Sacagawea
never forgot these awesome sights.
In the spring of 1806 the homeward journey was begun. On the Missouri
side of the mountains the Bird-woman was detailed to help Captain Clark
find a separate trail, to the Yellowstone River.
And this she did, in splendid fashion; for when the party knew not
which way was the best way, out of the surrounding hills, to the
plains, she picked the landmarks; and though she had not been here in
many years, she showed the gap that led over and down and brought them
straight to the sunken canoes.
On August 14 the whole company was at the Mandan towns once more.
After her absence of a year and a half, and her journey of six thousand
miles, bearing little Toussaint (another great traveler) Sacagawea
might gaily hustle ashore, to entertain the other women with her
bursting budget of stories.
The captains offered to take Chaboneau and Sacagawea and Toussaint on
down to St. Louis. The Bird-woman would gladly have gone. She wanted
to learn more of the white people's ways. She wanted to be white,
herself.
But Chaboneau respectfully declined. He said that it would be a
strange country, and that he could not make a living there; later, he
might send his boy, to be educated by the captains. That was all.
So he was paid wages amounting to five hundred dollars and thirty-three
cents. Sacagawea was paid nothing. The captains left her to her
Indian life, and she followed them only with her heart.
Nevertheless, she did see her great Red Head Chief again. Captain
Clark was appointed by the President as Indian agent with headquarters
in St. Louis. He was a generous, whole-souled man, was this
russet-haired William Clark, and known to all the Indians of the plains
as their stanch friend.
So it is probable that he did not forget Sacagawea, his loyal
Bird-woman. In 1810 she, the boy Toussaint, and Chaboneau, visited in
St. Louis. In 1811 they were on their way up-river, for the Indian
country. Life among the white people had proved too much for the
gentle Sacagawea. She had tried hard to live their way, but their way
did not agree with her. She had sickened, and she longed for the
lodges of the Shoshonis. Chaboneau, too, had become weary of a
civilized life.
Sacagawea at last returned to her "home folks" the Snakes. No doubt
Chaboneau went with her. But there is record that he was United States
interpreter, in 1837, on the upper Missouri; and that he died of
small-pox among the Mandans, soon afterward.
The Bird-woman out-lived him. She and her boy removed with the Snakes
to the Wind River reservation, Wyoming; and there, near Fort Washakie,
the agency, she died on April 9, 1884, aged ninety-six years, and maybe
more.
A brass tablet marks her grave. A mountain peak in Montana has been
named Sacagawea Peak. A bronze statue of her has been erected in the
City Park of Portland, Oregon. Another statue has been erected in the
state capitol at Bismarck, North Dakota.
So, although all the wages went to her husband, she knows that the
white people of the great United States remember the loving services of
the brave little Bird-woman, who without the promise of pay, helped
carry the Flag to the Pacific.