Sacajawea

by Anna Lee Waldo

  Sacajawea followed his words as best she could. “Buzzards?”

  “I’se don’t lie to you, Janey. I’se scared. Those mountains are pure rock and straight up.”

  She straightened Pomp more comfortably on her back and made hand signs, saying, “I’m a rolling stone, pulled by whatever new thing lies over the mountains.”

  “Janey, you’se stubborn. If I said not to jump over that yonder fire pit, you’d jump clean over it before anyone told you it was impossible.”

  Now she laughed. And the children laughed as York jigged around the horse.

  Three days after Captain Lewis had lost patience with Chief Black Gun, the remainder of the expedition started out to catch up with Captain Clark and his party. Many Agaidüka women carried heavy packs on their backs, and the few horses the men had purchased were loaded heavily. Willow Bud carried Pomp. Sacajawea led her horse which was also packed high with supplies. Many of the Agaidüka men rode their horses beside the white men. They would stay until Chief Red Hair was found. The Agaidüka men considered themselves degraded if compelled to walk any distance. Were a Shoshoni warrior so poor as to possess only two horses, he would ride the best horse and leave the other for his baggage and his women and children. If there was much baggage, the women followed on foot carrying the remainder. The children walked or rode on the drag.

  The trail was short because Captain Lewis was called back several miles to attend Pete Wiser, who had become quite ill. At about the same time, the Agaidüka woman who had been leading two packhorses stopped beside a small creek, a mile behind the main party. She did not return, although she sent the horses along with another squaw.

  Sacajawea asked her brother, “What has happened to the woman?”

  Chief Black Gun looked unconcerned, but replied, “My sister, called Boinaiv, where are your eyes? Her time was at hand. She will meet us soon.”

  The men had dismounted and led their horses to graze near a spring where the grass was green. They would wait for Captain Lewis. Sacajawea and Willow Bud sat on the parched buffalo grass beside the trail.

  Sacajawea nursed Pomp before he whimpered with the first midmorning hunger pangs. The child’s eyes closed as he suckled lazily, his small brown hand walking on his mother’s chin. Willow Bud sang softly, something she made up about the trees looking over the small animals and good friends.

  They waited several hours for the return of Captain Lewis. Then the chief ordered that camp be set up for the night.

  The Agaidüka woman came into camp carrying her newborn papoose in a tattered robe slung across her back. “I am here,” she said, a grin crinkling the skin around her eyes.

  Sacajawea laid Pomp on the grass and hurried to see the new infant. She begged the mother to lie down and rest while she had this opportunity, and brought her a bowl of broth that she sweetened with sugar. The new mother seemed grateful for the nourishment and the fussing around her, but she repeated that she was fine and ready to start again. She looked at her tiny daughter, then hitched her dress up a little to check the goose-down packing she had used on herself. She pointed to the parfleche beside her. “I have collected the breath feathers all summer for this time,” she explained.

  In the grayish cast of the short twilight, Captain Lewis returned with Pete Wiser, who was recovering slowly from an attack of stomach cramps by medicating himself with small doses of peppermint and laudanum. He found there was no moving on; the Agaidükas had set up camp for the night. “Lord in a bush,” Lewis swore under his breath, “we could have made ten miles more before sundown. The damn Shoshonis don’t want us to leave.”

  “Your brother does not wish to trade with the white men for horses,” said Willow Bud. She sucked her cheeks in and then worked them up and down, scrubbing her teeth with them.

  “What?”

  “The raids of enemies have taken half our horses. They are our only protection. There are not enough now for all the People to ride. The Flatheads have come to the Three Forks. The hunters must go more than once to the buffalo country before the Season of Deep Snow. They must meet the Flatheads. Every horse our chief trades to the white chiefs may mean the life or captivity of a woman or child.”

  Sacajawea winced. A sick feeling took her. “But the men in council said ai to the trading.”

  “The People do not always think deep,” Willow Bud answered. “They are ruled by the time and how they feel today. Their thoughts do not take them to tomorrow and how they will feel then. A tribe is not held together by feelings alone.”

  Something had surely gone wrong. Sacajawea could not figure it out. She’d thought her people could help these white men. Yet on the other hand she could not forget that she had not so long ago been a captive. It was something she would never wish on anyone. The sick feeling tightened like cramps in her belly.

  Willow Bud then asked her a painful question. “How long before these traders come?” She waited patiently for the reply. Then she became uneasy at Sacajawea’s silence. “You think many snows?” she asked suspiciously.

  Sacajawea nodded. The cramps rose up into her throat.

  “So—as I thought. The way is long.”

  Thinking of the Agaidüka courage word, Sacajawea used it. “Puha,” she said, but the word came thin and puny from her lips.

  “Ai, your brother sees the white men have changed you. You no longer think courage in the Agaidüka way. You no longer remember the women’s courtesies. You speak out. You give orders to your man. Your thoughts are traded and confused with those of the whites.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No.” Willow Bud sniffled, then sighed. “Two minds trading thoughts cause each mind to grow stronger. In the end each mind loses the identity it had in the beginning. Look at your son. He is fat and beautiful. His beauty comes from the white men and the Agaidüka. He is both; yet he is neither.”

  Sacajawea felt her blood warming. “Now you listen,” she said, her voice pinched. “Pomp is beautiful because he is the best of two nations. Here is an example. When the black man first came to the Five Villages, those people were impressed by his strong body and agile mind. The men bought his favors with furs and robes and tanned hides so that their wives could hold his seed and grow his children. They believed that the children would be strong and quick-witted warriors, strengthening their villages.”

  Willow Bud clapped her hands to her mouth. The Shoshonis did not volunteer the service of their wives as did the Minnetarees or Mandans. Willow Bud now had much to think about and said no more.

  Sacajawea spent the night with alternations of emotion in her heart, and she recalled the voice of her father saying, “All that lives is round. The stem of a plant, a tree, the body of a man, the sun, the moon. The sky and the whirlwind are round. The day and the night circle the sky. The seasons add themselves onto the circle of life, and death closes it. The closed circle is a symbol of life, of time, of the earth.”

  The morning sun came up over the foothills into a sky that was red as the coals of the council fire. It touched the snow-peaked mountains above the camp and moved swiftly down the sides. The horses had begun morning grazing. It was a new day.

  Sacajawea tied several small packs to her horse and rode it to the Agaidüka camp. Black Gun was talking to Yellow Neck and two subchiefs. She overheard him say, “Break camp today. Meet me tomorrow at the yellow cliff in the pass. Then we will go to the buffalo country in the plains with the Flatheads. They are near the Three Forks. We do not need white men to kill our food.”

  “You told them you would help,” said Yellow Neck. “They brought your sister to you. They are good with gifts.”

  Black Gun’s face became dark. “The People come first. We must meet with the Flatheads for the buffalo hunt.”

  Sacajawea watched the subchiefs go with the message. Her heart beat fast. So—Black Gun, her brother, was breaking the word he had given in council. He would desert the white men and let them get over the mountains as best they could, alone.

&n
bsp; She felt conspicuous walking through the camp looking for Captain Lewis. He was packing supplies on a fidgety horse who stomped off the flies. It was to be a warm day. She knew she must not make her judgment too quickly; she must turn this knowledge over slowly.

  Captain Lewis started the procession rolling, with the chief and two of his braves next. Scannon followed, trotting ahead of the Shoshoni dogs. Then came the heavily burdened packhorses; then the women and children straggling along beside. Warriors mounted on roans and pintos brought up the rear. Sacajawea mounted her horse, looking over the women and children for Willow Bud and Pomp. Her head swam; her heart still pounded. Should I tell what is within me? she thought.

  “The People come first,” Black Gun had said. And that thinking was what kept the People together; it was what made him their chief. It was life or death for them to get food. The buffalo would supply food to last several months. She could understand that, but it was not like her brother to behave with a split tongue. This was a bad thing. She pulled her horse to a stop and motioned for the squaw with the newborn baby to ride for a while.

  Sacajawea took the red wool blanket that she used to carry Pomp on her back and pushed it into the mother’s arms. “For the Month of Howling Winds,” Sacajawea said and smiled.

  “Hou!” Signs of approval went through the women.

  The new mother gratefully mounted the horse, her infant bouncing in her leather shawl on her mother’s back. Captain Clark would be pleased, thought Sacajawea, to have his blanket used by a full-blooded Shoshoni papoose.

  These people borrowed kettles, knives, and axes from the white men, and they returned them when finished with their chores. They were generous with what they had, supplying the men with berries and wild vegetables and giving gifts. They met poverty and distress with their heads held high and determination in their hearts, and rejected any more responsibility whenever possible, she thought as her mouth twisted wryly. Yes, a chief should think of his people first. Her brother was right.

  But what if the white men did not have enough horses and were forced to go back down the Big Muddy to their Great White Father and say the Shoshonis were people with forked tongues? Then the white men would not build a trading post at the Three Forks. The People would remain hungry and live in fear until they were completely driven under. Oh, no! The People must not be destroyed! So—it is better to have trouble today and be alive for tomorrow.

  Sacajawea shifted the lead string of her horse to Willow Bud and pushed ahead.

  It was midday, and the men were halting for the noon meal. Sacajawea ran past Charbonneau and her brother toward Captain Lewis. Hesitantly, she told him what she had heard of her brother’s plans.

  Captain Lewis raised his eyebrows and looked at her with his cold blue eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Right away this morning?” His voice was harsh. “Always tell me immediately when you hear or see something that will affect this expedition. Lord, woman, don’t you know what this will do to us?”

  “Ai.” She nodded, her tears close.

  Controlling himself, he took out his pipe, tamped it, and lighted it with a stick in the Shoshonis’ small fire. Then he walked to Chief Black Gun, sat on the ground, and took off his moccasins.

  Sacajawea had an inspiration. She sat next to Captain Lewis and took off her moccasins. She scowled so at Charbonneau, who had trailed along, that he sat and removed his moccasins. Then the gathering Shoshonis followed silently, watching Captain Lewis. Chief Black Gun kept his eyes to the ground. Charbonneau gave his woman some hard nudges when Captain Lewis was not looking, but she would not speak to him.

  Finally Captain Lewis stood. “My brothers, you have taken off your moccasins as a pledge of your word. Is that right?”

  Sacajawea fidgeted, doing her best to translate.

  “Ai, ail” they said.

  “In our council you promised not only me but also Captain Clark to help us with horses over the mountains.

  Now I find that you will break camp and meet your hunters in the mountains, then go east to buffalo country. This makes it impossible for us to trade for more horses.”

  Sacajawea translated, conscious of her brother’s dark face upon her, his eyes accusing her of deserting the People for the white men.

  There was silence. A dreamlike quality prevailed, for Captain Lewis knew this impromptu council could change suddenly to a situation of horror if not handled just right. He wiped his neck and forehead with an already sweat-stained handkerchief. He turned to look at Chief Black Gun. “Is this so?”

  “Ai!” Black Gun said in a tone that somehow implied a doubt.

  “Where are your two subchiefs?”

  “It was my order,” answered Black Gun. “I sent them on as messengers.”

  “We have proved we speak with a straight tongue. We are your friends. Once more I say that you made a promise to help us over the mountains.”

  Chief Black Gun looked directly at Captain Lewis. “The Flatheads have arrived at the buffalo hunting grounds. We must have food for the winter.”

  “And once more I say that a great lodge can be built near the Three Forks by the Americans. You can trade there for food and guns. Will you speak with a straight tongue?”

  “I will not speak with a forked tongue.” Chief Black Gun’s voice was low and deliberate. He motioned for silence and looked off into space for many long minutes.

  “Shoshoni brothers,” Charbonneau said then, unable to stand the silence, “I think—”

  “I think you had better shut up,” Captain Lewis said, and Charbonneau closed his mouth.

  Finally Chief Black Gun spoke. “The People will wait a few more days before all go on the hunt. We have time for hunting when you have gone.”

  Captain Lewis rose and in a ceremonial manner presented his remaining unsoiled white handkerchief to Chief Black Gun, who gave it to Yellow Neck with instructions to ride ahead and overtake the subchiefs, and countermand Black Gun’s first order.

  Then Captain Lewis hastily gave out billets entitling the Shoshonis who were helping with the transport to receive merchandise when their job was completed. Only one deer was killed that day. The captain gave it to the Shoshonis to divide, and he went without supper.

  On August 29th, the men of the Lewis and Clark Expedition were reunited and ready for departure. Captain Clark’s party had hunted successfully and had several deer, elk, and antelope and many trout with them. The food was divided with the Shoshonis, and the billets were exchanged for flour and sugar, which the Shoshoni women cooked with dried berries. It was a dish Captain Lewis had taught them to make.

  The expedition made some good last-minute trades and brought the number of horses up to twenty-nine. Lewis branded them with a hot iron that read: U.S. CAPT. M. LEWIS.2 Clark got the last two horses from Yellow Neck by trading with him a pistol, a flintlock, balls, and powder. There were murmurs of approval from the nearby Shoshonis. The weapons made Yellow Neck a big man in their sight.

  Chief Black Gun presented Charbonneau with a large willow-woven pot made watertight with hardened pitch. The pot held a supply of horn spoons made from the bighorn sheep.

  “We make a present to our brother. We make this present to you who can prepare a feast with the help of no squaw.”

  Charbonneau looked about him. No one appeared amused. Yet he sensed amusement in the air. Was this some little joke the chief was making and the others enjoying? All the Shoshoni faces were devoid of emotion. He took this to be an exhibition of esteem on their part for his fine cooking.

  “Merci beaucoup! Merci beaucoup!” he said with his hands moving rapidly, much flattered.

  Sacajawea could imagine how the People would double over in laughter when Charbonneau was out of sight. She looked at her people, then at the white men, and then at her own man. She felt pulled in half. She had given Willow Bud a tiny pair of Pomp’s outgrown moccasins, saying she was certain there would be another papoose for her arms to enfold. She had slipped a braided horsehair c
hain around little Shoogan’s neck, saying, “Do not forget me. I will come back.” The child ran to show his gift to Cries Alone.

  Sacajawea stood by her brother, who was seated on a white horse, and touched his hand good-bye.

  “Our ways are no longer yours,” he said.

  “I have seen this,” she replied sadly.

  “You must stay with your man. That is the Shoshoni way. He will not come here again.” He said the words slowly, looking past his nose.

  She knew she had promised to come back. Now, deep inside, she wondered if it were a falsehood. She started toward her horse, then stood between the two bands. She felt she belonged to neither. Black Gun’s eyes drilled into hers, and she could not look at him, feeling something akin to a foreboding. She forced a smile and raised her hand in farewell to the People.

  Captain Lewis watched Sacajawea move ahead on her horse, and he knew Clark would approve of the purchase, and even his motive behind it.

  Book Three

  THE CONTINENT CONQUERED

  In Governor I. Steven’s report on the Pacific Railroad surveys of 1853 to 1855 the following statement was written:

  “At the crossing of the Snake River, at the mouth of the Peluse (Palouse), we met with an interesting relic. The chief of the band … exhibited, with great pride, the medal presented to his father, Ke-Powh-kan, by Captains Lewis and Clark. It is of silver, double, and hollow, having on the obverse a medallion bust, with the legend, ‘TH JEFFERSON, PRESIDENT OF THE U.S., A.D. 1801,’ and on the reverse the clasped hands, pipe, and battle axe crossed, with the legend, ‘PEACE AND FRIENDSHIP.’”