TRAIL'S END
Where lately had been gloom and despair there now reigned joy and
confidence. With the great mountains behind them, and this new,
pleasant and gentle land all around them, the spirits of the men rose
buoyantly.
They could float easily down the strong current of the great Snake
River, laboring but little, if at all. They made long hours every day,
and by the middle of autumn they saw ahead of them a yet grander flood
than that of the noble river which was bearing them.
At last they had found the Columbia! They had found what Mackenzie
never found, what Fraser was not to find--that great river, now to be
taken over with every right of double discovery by these messengers of
the young republic. How swelled their hearts, when at last they knew
this truth, unescapable, incontrovertible! It was theirs. They had
won!
The men had grown reckless now. Cruzatte, Labiche, Drouillard--all the
adventurers--sang as they traveled, gayer and more gay from day to
day.
Always the landscape had fascinating interest for them in its repeated
changes. They were in a different world. No one had seen the
mountains which they saw. The Rockies, the Bitter Roots--these they
had passed; and now they must yet pass through another range, this
time not by the toilsome process of foot or horse travel, but on the
strong flood of the river. The Columbia had made a trail for them
through the Cascades.
Down the stormy rapids they plunged exulting. Mount Hood, St. Helen's,
Rainier, Adams--all the lofty peaks of the great Cascades, so named at
a later date, appeared before them, around them, behind them, as they
swung into the last lap of their wild journey and headed down toward
the sea. Cruzatte, Labiche, Drouillard--all you others--time now,
indeed, for you to raise the song of the old voyageurs! None have come
so far as you--your paddles are wrinkling new waters. You are brave
men, every one, and yours is the reward of the brave!
Soon, so said the Indians, they would come to ships--canoes with trees
standing in them, on which teepees were hung.
"Me," said Cruzatte, "I never in my whole life was seen a sheep! I
will be glad for see wan now."
But they found no ship anywhere in the lower Columbia. All the shores
were silent, deserted; no vessel lay at anchor. Before them lay the
empty river, wide as a sea, and told no tales of what had been. They
were alone, in the third year out from home. Thousands of leagues they
had traveled, and must travel back again.
Here they saw many gulls. As to Columbus these birds had meant land,
to our discoverers they meant the sea. Forty miles below the last
village they saw it--rolling in solemn, white-topped waves beyond the
bar.
Every paddle ceased at its work, and the boats lay tossing on the
incoming waves. There was the end of the great trail. Yonder lay the
Pacific!
Meriwether Lewis turned and looked into the eyes of William Clark, who
sat at the bow of the next canoe. Each friend nodded to the other.
Neither spoke. The lips of both were tight.
"The big flag, Sergeant Gass!" said Lewis.
They turned ashore. There had been four mess fires at each encampment
thus far--those of the three sergeants and that of the officers; but
now, as they huddled on the wet beach on which they disembarked, the
officers ordered the men to build but one fire, and that a large one.
Grouped about this they all stood, ragged, soaked, gaunt, unkempt, yet
the happiest company of adventurers that ever followed a long trail to
its end.
"Men," said Meriwether Lewis at length, "we have now arrived at the
end of our journey. In my belief there has never been a party more
loyal to the purpose on which it has been engaged. Without your
strength and courage we could not have reached the sea. It is my wish
to thank you for Mr. Jefferson, the President of the United States,
who sent us here. If at any time one of you has been disposed to
doubt, or to resent conditions which necessarily were imposed, let all
that be forgotten. We have done our work. Here we must pass the
winter. In the spring we will make quick time homeward."
They gave him three cheers, and three for Captain Clark. York gave
expression to his own emotions by walking about the beach on his
hands.
"And the confounded ships are all gone back to sea!" grumbled Patrick
Gass. "I've been achin' for days to git here, in the hope of foindin'
some sailor man I'd loike to thrash--and here is no one at all, at
all!"
"Will," said Meriwether Lewis after a time, pulling out the inevitable
map, "I wonder where it was that Alexander Mackenzie struck the
Pacific twelve years ago! It must have been far north of here. We have
come around forty-seven degrees of longitude west from Washington, and
something like nine degrees north unite with France or Spain on the
south to known exploration by land. We have driven the wedge home!
Never again can Great Britain on the north unite with France or Spain
on the south to threaten our western frontier. If they dispute the
title we purchased from Napoleon, they can never deny our claim by
right of discovery. This, I say, solidifies our republic! We have done
the work given us to do."
"Yes," grinned William Clark, standing on one leg and warming his wet
moccasin sole at the fire; "and I wonder where that other gentleman,
Mr. Simon Fraser, is just now!"
They could not know that Fraser, the trader who was their rival in the
great race to the Pacific, was at that time snow-bound in the Rockies
more than one thousand miles north of them.
Three years after the time when this little band of adventurers stood
in the rain at the mouth of the Columbia, Fraser, at the mouth of the
river named after him, heard of white men who had come to the ocean
somewhere far to the south. Word had passed up the coast, among the
native tribes, of men who had white skins, and who had with them a
black man with curly hair.
"That's Lewis and Clark!" said Simon Fraser. "They were at the Mandan
villages. We are beaten!"
So now the largest flag left to Lewis and Clark floated by the side of
a single fire on the wet beach on the north shore of the Columbia.
Here a rude bivouac was pitched, while the leaders finished their
first hasty investigation along the beach.
"There is little to attract us here," said William Clark. "On the
south shore there is better shelter for our winter camp." So they
headed their little boats across the wide flood of the Columbia.
It was now December of the year 1805. Fort Clatsop, as they called
their new stockade, was soon in process of erection--seven splendid
cabins, built of the best-working wood these men ever had seen; a tall
stockade with a gate, such as their forefathers had always built in
any hostile country.
While some worked, others hunted, finding the elk abundant. More than
one hundred elk and many deer were killed. And having nothing better,
they now set to work to tan the hides of elk and deer, and to make new
clothing. As to civilized equipment they had little left. About four
hundred pairs of moccasins they made that winter, Sacajawea presiding
over the moccasin-boards, and teaching the men to sew.
Clark, the indefatigable, a natural geographer, completed the
remarkable series of maps which so fully established the accuracy of
their observations and the usefulness of the voyage across the
continent. Lewis kept up his records and extended his journals. All
were busy, all happier than they had been since their departure from
the East.
Christmas was once more celebrated to the tune of the Frenchman's
fiddle. Came New Year's Day also; and by that time the stockade was
finished, the gate was up, the men were ready for any fortune which
might occur.
"Pretty soon, by and by," said the voyageurs, "we will run on the
river for home once more!"
Even Sacajawea, having fulfilled her great ambition of looking out
over the sea which tasted of salt, said that she, too, would be
content to go back to her people.
"We must leave a record, Will," said Lewis one day, looking up from
his papers. "We must take no chances of the results of our exploration
not reaching Washington. Should we be lost among the tribes east of
here, perhaps some ship may take that word to Mr. Jefferson."
So now, between them, they formulated that famous announcement to the
world, which, one year after their safe arrival home overland, the
ships brought around by Cape Horn, to advise the world that a
transcontinental path had been blazed:
The object of this list is that through the medium of some
civilized person who may see the same, it may be made known
to the world that the party consisting of the persons whose
names are hereunto annexed, and who were sent out by the
government of the United States to explore the interior of
the continent of North America, did penetrate the same by
the way of the Missouri and Columbia Rivers, to the
discharge of the latter into the Pacific Ocean, where they
arrived on the 14th day of November, 1805, and departed the
23rd day of March, 1806, on their return trip to the United
States by the same route by which they had come out.
This, so soon as they knew their starting date, they signed, each of
them, and copies were made for posting here and there in such places
as naturally would be discovered by any mariners coming in. And today
we--who can glibly list the names of the multimillionaires of
America--cannot tell the names of more than two of those thirty-one
men, each of whom should be an immortal.
"Boats now, Will!" said Meriwether Lewis. "We must have boats against
our start in the spring. These canoes which brought us down from the
Kooskooskie were well enough in their way, but will not serve for the
upstream journey. Again we must lift up the entire party against the
current of a great river. Get some of the Indians' seagoing canoes,
Will--their lines are easier than those of our dugouts."
Need was for skilful trading now on the part of William Clark, for,
eager as the natives were for the white men's goods, scant store of
them remained. All the fishhooks were gone, most of the beads,
practically all the hats and coats which once had served so well. When
at length Clark announced that he had secured a fine Chinook canoe,
there remained for all the return voyage, thousands of miles among the
Indians, only a half-dozen blankets, a few little trinkets, a hat, and
a uniform coat.
"You could tie up all the rest in a couple of handkerchiefs," said
William Clark, laughing. "But such as it is, it must last us back to
St. Louis--or at least to our caches on the Missouri."
"How is your salt, Will?" asked Lewis. "And your powder?"
"In fine shape," was the reply. "We have put the new-made salt in some
of the empty canisters. There is plenty of powder and lead left, and
we can pick up more as we reach our caches going eastward. With what
dried meat we can lay up from the elk here, we ought to make a good
start."
Thus they planned, these two extraordinary young men, facing a
transcontinental journey of four thousand miles, with no better
equipment than the rifles which had served them on their way out. As
for their followers, all the discontent and doubt had given way to an
implicit faith. All seemed well fed and content, save one--the man on
whose shoulders had rested the gravest responsibility, the man in
whose soul had been born the vision of this very scene.
"What is the matter with you, Merne?" grumbled his more buoyant
companion. "Are you still carrying all the weight of the entire
world?"
Lewis turned upon his friend with the same patient smile. Both were
conscious that between them there was growing a thin, impermeable
veil--something mysterious, the only barrier which ever had separated
these two loyal souls.
Sacajawea, the Indian girl, was as keen-eyed as the red-headed chief.
In the new boldness that she had learned in her position as general
pet of the expedition, she would sometimes talk to the chief
reproachfully.
"Capt'in," she said one day, "what for you no laff? What for you no
eat? What for you all time think, think, think? See," she extended a
hand--"I make you some more moccasin. I got picture your foot--these
fit plenty good."
"Thank you, Bird Woman," said Lewis, rousing himself. "Without you we
would not be here today. What can I give you in return for all
that--in return for these?"
He took the pair of handsomely stitched moccasins, dangling them by
the strings over one finger; but even as he did so, the old brooding
melancholy fell upon him once more. He sat, forgetful of the girl's
presence, staring moodily at the fire. Sacajawea, grieving like a
little child, stole silently away.
Why did Meriwether Lewis never laugh? Why did he always think, think,
think? Why had there grown between him and his friend that thin,
indefinable reserve?
He was hungry--hungry for another message out of the sky--another gift
of manna in the wilderness. Who had brought those mysterious letters?
Whoever he was, why did he not bring another? Were they all
done--should he never hear from her again?