Sacajawea

by Anna Lee Waldo

  “Old Toby signals the tribe we left a day ago. He advises them that he is returning.”

  This made Lewis sit up. “They are not staying with us to the Pacific Ocean?” He shifted irritably. “Why?”

  “Mostly,” Sacajawea said, looking directly at Lewis, “because they see no reason for making the rest of the trip. They do not like river travel, or the food. They see you have no need for more interpreters, with Drouillard talking to the river people now and the two Nez Percé guides.”

  “Oh, they’re just a little jealous. I think they’ll get over that. I have to be sympathetic,” said Lewis.

  “But you do not agree?” Sacajawea asked quietly. “The Shoshonis never do anything that seems useless or without any pleasure attached to it.”

  “Can’t you persuade them to stay? They have been of great service to us. I will repay them well.”

  “I don’t think I can do anything, but I’ll try because you are a friend and I am on this journey with you.”

  “Janey, this journey is precariously balanced between acute misery and bearable hardship. I should not ask you for help, but I am pleased that you feel you owe it to me. I am grateful for the information, and we’ll settle this in the morning.”

  Sacajawea sat hunched over for a few moments thinking she ought to leave. Then she said, “When I think of the times to come, the frightening river travel, the constant stink of fish, and the freezing nights, I could go crazy. But I don’t think of just that, and the time goes smoothly enough. There is pleasure for me being here with you white men. One day follows the last without much trouble. I see land that Shoshonis have never seen and meet tribes not known to them. It is a satisfaction more than a pleasure. When I wander away and come back into camp, it is inviting, and I find companionship here, strange and indescribable, but satisfying—something I could never have dreamed when I was a child or when I was with the Mandans.”

  Lewis propped himself on an elbow as Scannon came crawling toward him, fawning with ears laid back and mouth wrinkled over white fangs.

  “Even this dog gives me pleasure.”

  “Of course,” Lewis said. “He is a loyal friend to all of us.” Lewis lay back.

  “It is time for sleeping,” said Sacajawea, and she crawled back to her blankets.

  Lewis could not go back to sleep. This was rare for him because normally he could defer a pressing problem until the next day, knowing that a night’s sleep would help him solve it to the best of his ability the next morning.

  But tonight there was the perplexing question of the two Shoshoni guides. How to repay these men?

  He became introspective. Curious how they had come and helped the expedition through the pass, knowing how to fashion the snowshoes at the right time, to use the sheep’s wool and add fat to the diet, even how to cut and sew clothing. Then the two Nez Percés came as the Shoshonis were leaving. It was fate. Stranger still was the presence of Janey. He could not have imagined her while they made preparations and wintered at Wood River almost two years before. Life hides many things until the time is right, he thought.

  Before Captain Lewis was awake to settle the situation next morning, Old Toby and Cutworm had had enough of useless canoe-riding. Without a word to anyone, they packed their few belongings and left on foot.

  Sacajawea thought she had seen them for a brief instant at a distance, running up the river’s edge, shortly before the morning meal.

  “They didn’t say a word of farewell,” said Captain Lewis.

  “C’est extraordinaire,” Charbonneau said.

  “Maybe it was the dogs I bought for breakfast,” suggested Drouillard. “They eyed them while I skinned them out and sputtered some Shoshoni vituperations before sunup.”

  Twisted Hair made hand signs and with his jargon to Drouillard said he knew they had made up their minds to leave when they had seen the drifting sagebrush the day before. Then, after riding through the rain and rough water, flopping around like soggy brown bears, they knew the river spirits were angry. So—they weren’t going to leave land again, not even to fish from a canoe.

  “They didn’t even wait for their pay,” said Captain Clark. Then he asked Twisted Hair if a Nez Percé could ride a fast horse out to bring them back so that they could receive their pay, at least. The chief nodded his head from side to side.

  “No, no, if the white men gave the Shoshoni guides goods for payment, the Nez Percés would only rob them on their way home. If they think they need payment, they will take something from the cache you white men left by the five big pine stumps, or they might take a couple of your horses along with their mule back over the mountains with them.”

  There was regret in everyone’s voice, and disappointment. Old Toby and Cutworm had been useful guides and good friends.

  The expedition began packing their gear in order to leave before the village became wide-awake. But Goodrich, on guard, alerted the captains that there seemed to be a babel of voices coming toward camp. Clark looked up, and his first startled impression was that the whole tribe had moved into their camp, but when he counted there were only twenty-four. These men were dressed in skins and had decorations of shells tied in their hair and at their ankles and wrists. Each had a thin bone pierced through his nose. Chief Live Well made signs that they wanted the expedition to come to their camp for some kind of ceremony.

  “Tell them we’ll come if they don’t carry us,” said Lewis, who was still feeling a bit weak.

  Drouillard and Twisted Hair spoke with the men. Drouillard told Captain Clark they wanted everyone in the camp to go with them. Clark thought if they spent the morning keeping these Nez Percés happy, Lewis would be that much stronger when they were ready to go downriver in the canoes.

  Sacajawea permitted herself to be shuffled along as the Nez Percé surrounded them and led them to the center of their village, where most of the villagers were already assembled and dressed in good skins, with their faces decorated with white, blue, and greenish paints.

  As the pipe was being passed around, she tried to assimilate the feeling of sadness she experienced with the absence of Old Toby. It had been a kind of link with her relatives; now it was broken. She felt as though her heart lay on the ground.

  Captain Clark gave the chief a handkerchief and a small hatchet. The four drummers sat at the four compass points and beat a one-two tattoo. A Medicine Man dressed in goat skins stepped into the circle and placed a tray made of woven grasses on the ground by the small fire. Beyond the ceremonial circle was a corner where many women were cooking over several larger fires. They were roasting meat over a scaffolding.

  Suddenly Drouillard turned to the captains, his face white.

  “I can’t believe this!” he cried. “They can’t be serious!”

  “Tell us,” urged Captain Clark, quickly indicating that Twisted Hair and Tetoharsky could help Drouillard in the translations.

  “They want us to become members of their village.”

  “No problem with that,” said Clark. “If that makes them happy, let’s get on with it.”

  “Look at the pile of pointy bones on the grass mat. They will put every last one of them through our noses so we will be true Pierced Noses.”

  “Not through my baby’s nose,” said Sacajawea, pulling out of her sadness right away and tugging on Charbonneau’s sleeve. “And not through mine. I want to breathe.”

  “They have counted us and have the exact number—one for each,” said Drouillard.

  “Pierce our noses!” exclaimed Shannon. “No, by God, not mine!”

  “I’ll not stand still for that treatment!” shouted Gass.

  Charbonneau shook his head as if he had just tumbled to the situation. “And not me—allons!”

  “Wait!” shouted Captain Clark. “There must be a way out of this. Think, all of you. I’ll talk with the chief as long as I dare.”

  Captain Lewis scratched his head and wondered if more trade beads would satisfy them. He had Drouillard ask. The chief
’s face lit up; he would take the beads, then go on with the ceremony. The drummers beat faster.

  “Fire the shooting-stick in the air,” suggested Sacajawea.

  “Start a fire with the phosphorus matches,” suggested Cruzatte.

  “I don’t want to start a war,” said Clark between his teeth.

  Chief Live Well began lining up the people of the expedition. First York, because he was the only black white man with the group. Then Sacajawea, because she was the only squaw, and then her child. The chiefs of the group next, Lewis and Clark, and then the rest of the men. This was to be a big celebration. It would take a long time to pierce so many noses. But when such a fine adornment was to be added to the gift the wind had brought them, time was nothing. ”Huru!” Chief Live Well shouted, bending over the thirty-two bone pieces, honed needle-thin on either end.

  York was lifted by two men with large bones in their noses and greenish stripes along their arms. The Medicine Man was carefully selecting the correct bone. Suddenly York jumped about in a jog. This delighted the villagers, and they rocked back and forth in a shuffle, grinning.

  York was talking to Drouillard in a singsong voice. “I have an idea, and it might save us from this nose-piercing. I might have done it anyway, so it’s nothing to be excited about. Remember that pretty Nez Percé gal we saw yesterday who took the mats for her lodge? You tell that chief to get me something like that and I’ll give these people something they can keep to remember us by. By and by that gal will have a little baby.” He kept on dancing, moving his hips in front of the women and rolling his eyes at the men.

  Drouillard’s mouth dropped. Captain Clark took over as he read Twisted Hair’s hand signs. “Sounds daft. But we don’t have many other ideas.”

  Chief Twisted Hair and Tetoharsky laughed, making suggestive finger signs and urging the chief to accept York’s proposal. Soon all the villagers understood what York had suggested. It appealed to them. This was much better than giving the white men something—they would have something to keep and show off. They knew the principles of eugenics; they practiced it with fine horse breeding. York was tall, broad shouldered, thick chested, and his arm and leg muscles were hard as cedar wood. His offspring, either male or female, would improve the tribe. Any eligible woman would be honored and proud to have a child by this magnificent, healthy specimen.

  The chief finally leaped beside the dancing York. He shouted a kind of rhythmic chant and moved with wild gyrations, and slapped his thighs and rubbed York’s arms to show his tribesmen that the black did not come off.

  The women formed a circle behind the men and danced heel, toe, heel, toe. A few threw their heads back and moaned, low and guttural.

  York continued his dance, moving his hips in a manner Lewis thought risqué. He smiled and showed his even, white teeth. He flashed his eyes daringly. He looked at the undulating circle of women and wondered which ones belonged to the chief. A couple of men sat in the sand close to Sacajawea and other members of the expedition and pounded on skin drums held between their legs. Their moving hands and fingers were a blur to York, who was now fearful he would choose a woman not belonging to the head chief, and that this whole scheme would blow up into a fighting riot. York’s mouth felt dry. He glanced at the chief who grinned and bounced his hands off his thighs. York shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the women’s circle, meaning, “Which woman would you have me take?”

  The chief was not stupid. He pointed to his middle woman, who up until now had given him no children. All the women were pleased and there could be no jealousy or bickering over the chiefs choice. York jogged toward the woman, put his big hands on her bared shoulders, and led her to the center of the circle. He pulled her close to him and the Nez Percé moaned in unison. He pushed her away at arm’s length and did a little jig. The Nez Percé groaned together again. After a short time the drums increased the tempo. York felt the perspiration run in streams down his back; his breath came in short gasps. Suddenly he picked up the woman and cradled her in his arms like a small child. He walked around the inside of the ring of brown, laughing faces, then he broke through and walked around the outside of the ring. All the time he grinned. The woman’s arm was tight around his neck and he felt her fingers in his hair. She gave a sharp tug to the right. Baby, he thought, now that I’m worked up for it, you’ve just shown me the way to your lodge.

  The circle of women broke with squeals of delight as York carried the woman through the skin covering of the reed and brush shelter. Captain Clark sighed with relief, glad to have his nose left unpierced. Drouillard, his hands sweaty, said he was grateful to York for volunteering for this act of bravery. Gibson gave out a low, wolfs call. The other men began to relax and rub their unmarked noses in thankful relief. Several older women stood in front of the lodge where York and the woman had disappeared, shouting words of encouragement and making jokes of the coarsest kind: “Is the penis black?” “Is it too large for the hole?” “Move slowly!” The villagers roared with laughter.

  Drouillard tried to translate, but his neck turned crimson and he tended to stutter. The more clinical the advice and joking became, the more hilarious it seemed to the Nez Percé. They rolled in the sand with gales of laughter. Embarrassed, Drouillard gave up, saying, “You know, the drift is all sex.”

  The Medicine Man in goat skins made hand signs to tell the two captains he wanted them to eat with him. Lewis had noticed some women bring bark platters of food and reed mats from the lodges, placing them in the center of the dance area. They were standing back, waiting for the men to eat first. When the men sat in the sand beside the mats, more platters of freshly roasted salmon and boiled dog meat garnished with wild onion were brought out.

  The men began to transfer their animal excitement to the eating of meat. Only Charbonneau mumbled that he wished he were in York’s shoes.

  “Why?” asked Pat Gass. “His shoes are there in the sand. I bet they’re too big.”

  Charbonneau pushed his bottom lip out. “I mean …”

  “Sure, we know what you meant,” said Gass, laughing. “But, man, you got yourself a woman. That’s more than York or any of us on this here trip.”

  Charbonneau picked a string of meat from between two molars and leaned over to say confidentially, “Might as well have no femme. Shoshoni squaws stay away from connection until the papoose he is one year or stops nursing. Which comes first?” He paused and noticed that not only Gass was listening, but also Gibson and Drouillard, so he continued, “Holy Mother, Nez Percé femme are appetizing when one has big hunger.” He licked the grease on his mouth.

  “Hey, control yourself,” said Gass, slapping Charbonneau on the back. “Do you want little Canucks scattered all along these river villages? What would your woman think? You got Pomp, and he’s the handsomest papoose I ever saw.”

  “Zut!” answered Charbonneau, reaching for a leftover piece of salmon and stuffing it in his mouth, then wiping his hands in his hair, Indian-fashion. “Look at me! I am a man. J’ai besoin de plaisir.”

  By the next morning, Captain Lewis was feeling nearly back to normal, and the expedition left the river village early in their five canoes. The morning was still dark, and the stars were bright. The village came to say their farewells. Some of the villagers held torches made of dried salmon. This made the shadows monstrous. Dogs whimpered and yelped occasionally, and Scannon growled. The men with the torches looked for York, then bent to look at his reflection in the inky mirror of water, their bodies luminous with fish oil. They murmured their approval when they saw his reflection as clearly as their own. He was surely one of them. They patted and rubbed his arms and back. He was something great.

  Other men dashed into the water and lifted the loaded canoes, heading them downriver with a mighty push. The people on the bank shouted as the canoes shot past the village. To Sacajawea the dugout again leaped ahead with some mysterious life just as she was adjusting her sitting position with Pomp on her back. She was flung backward into Ch
arbonneau’s lap. Charbonneau’s short arms, like the whipping branches of a tree, pushed her forward into York’s back, who turned around and gave a triumphant, challenging laugh. Sacajawea caught the gunwales as, once again, the canoe seemed to tear itself from the water with the force of the paddles.

  Another cry from the men in the canoes behind, and York turned and shouted back. York’s neck swelled, and the veins stood out in his temple as he opened his mouth and roared excitedly.

  On the beach the crowd waved, and up on the bluff four torches smoked in silent circles. The sky was brightening. The Snake River, a sheet of silver behind, swept at right angles, curved, and was lost to view in the gloom. Then they entered a series of canyons and gorges. The towering mountains closed in, and at their stony feet the water was black. The water had seemed calm in the little bay. As they went downriver, the waves became heavy under a wind that was blowing along with them.4

  Charbonneau could not wait to talk to York. “How was she?” he asked. “Was she good? Did she bounce up and down or did she just lie there?”

  “She was good,” York replied. “Her man was at the foot of the robe with us, and her mother and sister were in the lodge. They all laid down and pretended to be asleep, but all ears were wide open. I’se can’t say it really helped my performance. On the other hand, it didn’t stop me.”

  “Oooh,” Charbonneau said, rolling his eyes, “plaisant.”

  CHAPTER

  24

  The Columbia

  Captain Clark attributed the friendliness of the river tribes to the presence of Sacajawea. He wrote in his journal: “We find she reconciles all the Indians as to our friendly intentions, a woman with a party of men is a token of peace.”

  Excerpt from p. 273 in Lewis and Clark: Partners in Discovery by John Bakeless. Copyright 1947 by John Bakeless. By permission of William Morrow and Company.