Sacajawea

by Joseph Bruchac

  ***

  The house Meri chose for us in St. Louis was a grand home on Spruce and South Main. There was plenty of room for Julia and myself to move in with him. Our year together in that house brought me great blessings. Not only was I with my dear friend, but Julia gave birth to our first son. Yes, I am speaking of little Meri. Meriwether Lewis Clark.

  But though my own life filled with great joy, Pomp, things did not work out for Meri as he had planned. Jealous men who worked for him told lies about him. His drinking became worse and his debts grew. He began taking heavy doses of medicine so that he could sleep at night. Though he had promised to publish our journals, he kept putting off the editing of them. He fell into despair. It became necessary to make a trip to Washington to try to solve his problems and put his accounts in order. He hoped, also, to finally finish the editing of our journals, and took them with him.

  I, too, was going to Washington, for I had business with the War Department. I suggested that we travel together, but Meri felt that we should take different routes, just as we did from Travelers' Rest.

  "We shall come at them from land and from sea, Billy," he said. He feared that the British planned to steal his journals and thought two trails would be harder to follow than one.

  We parted, and I would never see him again. As he traveled along the Natchez Trace he fell again into drinking and despair. Stopped for the night at a small inn in Tennessee, he shot himself with his pistol, then slashed his body with his razor. It took him all night to die.

  His journals and the word of his tragic end were brought to me. I was told that he had cried out for me, saying that I would soon arrive and save him. I wept, and I shall weep again at the thought of his bright light vanishing from this world. Though I have not the ability to edit our journals, it shall be done. I shall see them published, and the world will know how great were the accomplishments of my truest friend.

  Others of our old friends from that great Corps of Discovery are no longer with us. I have kept a list of the expedition members and shall do so until I take my own final journey, Pomp. Here are the names of all those of whom I still know. Sergeant Floyd, the only one of our fortunate company to perish on our journey. George Drouillard, killed by the Blackfeet. Private Labiche, who went with Meri to Washington, now back here in St. Louis. John Colter, gone now to Missouri to marry. Sergeant Gass has stayed on in the army, as has Private McNeal. Two good men to fight the British, should it come to that again. John Shields, our blacksmith and gunsmith, trapping in Missouri with his kinsman Daniel Boone. Sergeant Pryor, busy in the Indian trade on the Missouri. Private Weiser, killed by the Blackfeet. George Shannon, now at the university, studying to be a lawyer. Joseph Fields, killed in the Rockies, and his brother Reubin gone back to Kentucky. I could go on. But here in my home are now gathered four of our brave party, since you and your parents are with me.

  What is that you say, Pomp? No, you are right and I am wrong. There are five of us here. York is one. York always was one of us. You know, Pomp, the things that you and your mother have said to me of late about my companion have stuck to me like a burr in a sock. It has always seemed to me that perpetual involuntary servitude is contrary to the principles of natural justice. And I know how much York has ached to be his own man, ill prepared for it though he may still be.

  Have you not noticed how happy our old friend seemed this morning? It is because I just told him that I have prepared these papers. You see these here, Pomp? Manumission papers. That means I am granting him his freedom. He means to go to Tennessee, where his wife—herself a slave—and their children live. I've allowed him to save enough money to purchase their freedom and some small place to live. I am also giving him a large wagon and a team of six horses so that he can employ himself. I am glad that it makes you happy, my boy. I just hope it proves to be happy for York.

  35. SACAJAWEA

  The Final Word

  We must always be careful of the water. When we travel on it, we must always be sure to respect it and give it thanks for a safe journey. Not only is the water alive, there are powerful beings who live within the waters. Those are the ones we call the Water Babies. If you do not show respect, then they will tip over your canoe and you "will drown. If you show respect, they will not bother you. You will travel safely. You will survive your journey and return again to those who love you.

  YES, MANY THINGS HAPPENED to Captain Clark in the days that fell between then and now. Much that was good and bad came into his life, things that made his heart fill with sun and other things that brought the clouds around his head. With one thing and another, more than a year had passed. But we brought you at last to the house of your good uncle, here in St. Louis. And here you have heard the great story of our journey, a journey like no other. It is a story for you to hold in your heart, my son, a story to keep your heart good and make your spirit strong. But now we have come to this journey's end.

  We have had a good stay in this place. Captain Clark's wife has been kind to us. She has always placed plenty of food on her table. She has made it clear that there is plenty of room in her home for you. But your father and I both know the life in a city or on a white man's farm is not the life he and I were meant to lead. Charbonneau wishes to travel again.

  And, it seems, so do I. The river is still speaking to me, ready to carry me away. Like all of those who made that great journey, your mother, too, was changed. I had dreamed of traveling when I was young. I had asked the river to carry me with it. But when my travels began, they were far harder than I could ever have imagined. It is also true that although much was lost to me when I was forced to leave my people behind, the path I followed had much to teach me. That path led through rapids that sought to swallow me and grind my bones on the teeth of their sharp stones. It led over mountains so cold that my blood was ready to freeze, and to the endless salt water that held more power than I had ever experienced before. But that path also led into the heart. I learned to see with clear eyes into my own heart and into the hearts of others. I learned courage. So your mother is still eager to see different places, to hear words spoken in other languages, to sit around the fire in distant camps. Our Numi women have always been strong, my son. But one never knows how much strength one truly has until that strength is tested. I found that my strength was enough to carry me there and back safely—and to carry you as well.

  Perhaps this time I will go no farther than the Mandan towns. Or maybe I will return again to the Three Forks and see if my brother is still waiting for my return. Whatever our destination, it is certain that soon your father and I will go back up the river. Now, if you wish to remain here, you can stay But remember, Firstborn Son, my stories, especially the great story of the journey we shared, will always be with you. Like a mother's love, they will travel with you wherever you choose to go.

  Author's Note

  ONE OF THE QUESTIONS ASKED of writers of historical novels is this: How much of your story is history and how much is fiction? The answer depends not only on the research done (or not done) by the writer, but also on what sources are available. In some cases, nothing was written down at the time when the events took place—or, even worse, the story was only chronicled years later by someone with no firsthand knowledge.

  There is no shortage of firsthand testimony about the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Of all the expeditions made in the nineteenth century, none was better recorded at the exact time it happened than the epic journey of the Corps of Discovery, as they called themselves. President Thomas Jefferson, the driving force behind the journey, described it somewhat disingenuously to the Spanish ambassador as being "purely literary" in its scope. Indeed, every literate person who took part was urged to keep a diary, and a good many of them did. Apparently some of those written accounts were lost. But more survived. First of all, there are the extensive journals of the two captains themselves, thousands of pages of minutely detailed observation, with Lewis beginning his on August 30, 1803, and Clark ending his on "Mo
day June 9th 1806" [sic]. We also have in print the three-volume journal of Sergeant John Ordway, the journal of Sergeant Patrick Gass, and the less-extensive diaries of Sergeant Charles Floyd and Private Joseph Whitehorse. Anyone attempting to write about any aspect of the Lewis and Clark Expedition would be foolhardy not to read the magnificent eight-volume set of the journals, diaries, field notes, and maps edited by Gary E. Moulton and published as The Journals of the Lewis & Clark Expedition by the University of Nebraska. I also strongly recommend James P. Ronda's highly insightful Lewis and Clark Among the Indians, also from the University of Nebraska Press.

  I have attempted to be absolutely true to the journals whenever I refer to events taking place on the journey, whether my narrator is William Clark or Sacajawea. This holds true even for the dialogue, which is drawn directly from the journals. Here, for example, is part of a Meriwether Lewis journal entry from Monday, August 12, 1805, followed by my adaptation of it in this novel:

  JOURNAL:

  Two miles below McNeal had exultingly stood with a foot on each side of this little rivulet and thanked his god that he had lived to bestride the mighty & heretofore deemed endless Missouri....

  NOVEL:

  McNeal stood laughing with one foot on either side of that stream which had seemed so endless.

  "Dear Lord, I do thank you," McNeal said, "for allowing me to live long enough to bestride the mighty Missouri."

  Insofar as the names of the many Native American nations encountered by the Corps of Discovery are concerned, I have also—whenever Clark is speaking—used the names given them by Lewis and Clark, even though these are not the names those nations call themselves. Thus the Hidatsa are called Minnetaree, the Piegan are called Blackfeet, the Lakota are called Sioux, the Nu-Mee-Poom are Nez Percé, and so on. In the case of the many nations along the Columbia River, there is so much uncertainty (both at the time of the expedition and among present-day researchers) as to which of the many peoples were actually encountered on any given date, that I have referred to them as "River Indians." Both Lewis and Clark were constantly changing the spelling and even the names of the various nations they met. Thus Sacajawea's Numi were first referred to as "Snakes," then "Cho-sho-ne," then "Sosone," and finally "Shoshone." To make it less confusing, I have chosen one name in every case and stuck with it. In Sacajawea's half of the narrative, these people are sometimes referred to differently, reflecting her differing viewpoint. Pahkees, for example, is the name Sacajawea's people gave to the Blackfeet and the other nations that raided her people (probably derived from pakihi'i, meaning "stiff, hardened blanket," a reference to the rawhide shields and armor used by the Blackfeet in battle).

  And what about those who kept no journal, Sacajawea in particular? Again, I have always referred closely to events chronicled during and after the expedition. If you look into the journals you will find every happening in this novel that involves Sacajawea, even though her understanding of it may not be the same as Clark's. I have tried to make sure that the events as she describes them are seen through a Native eye. The stories she tells are all traditional tales, either from her own people or other nations encountered along the way. Moreover, the framing device of the novel squares with history. Clark did, indeed, invite Sacajawea, Charbonneau, and Pomp to his home in St. Louis, and they did eventually come. I have imagined the scenario of Pomp asking them to tell him the story of the journey, as a very bright and well-loved child might do. However, it is true that Pomp, Jean Baptiste Charbonneau, remained in the white world long enough to be educated, travel to Europe, and return to the West, where he became a famous and respected guide. His name turns up again and again in chronicles of the period.

  There is also historical documentation in the volume In Search of York by Robert B. Betts (Colorado Associated UP, 1985) about Clark's questionable treatment of his companion and faithfid servant following the expedition, and York's eventual manumission from slavery.

  I have turned to the history, stories, and traditions of the Shoshone for more information about the character of Sacajawea, to gain insight into what she might have thought or said about her experience. I'm grateful to Wayland Large, the Tribal Historian of the Wind River Shoshones, for his helpful comments on her story, her "Hidatsa" name, and the Shoshone language. Though most white historians believe Sacajawea died shortly after her visit to St. Louis, Shoshone oral tradition says with great certainty that she lived a long life, traveled far, and is buried there at Wind River. Charles Eastman, the Nakota Sioux writer, went around the West during the early 1900s to collect the numerous stories about Sacajawea's survival and the events of her later life when she became known as "Woman Chief." One of her contemporary relatives, Edeen Charbonneau, concurs with that version of Sacajawea's story. Edeen was kind enough to read this manuscript and offer her comments as well.

  It has been my good fortune over the years to have been taught by a number of Native American elders, women who have been storytellers and tradition keepers. I think that any strength to be found in Sacajawea's voice, as I have imagined it, comes in part from them. But it also comes from the history. Imagine yourself to be Sacajawea, a teenage mother in the company of men traveling rivers and mountains without end, enduring hunger and pain and danger, and not only doing it without complaint but contributing on numerous occasions to the success and well-being of the company. The Sacajawea that we find if we look closely at the things recorded about her by those who traveled with her is an admirable, strong-minded, resilient woman—the best sort of person to have as a mother or as a friend.

  Selected Bibliography

  Ambrose, Stephen E. Undaunted Courage: Meriwether Lewis, Thomas Jefferson, and the Opening of the American West. New York; Simon & Schuster, 1996.

  Beckwith, Martha W., ed. Mandan-Hidatsa Myths and Ceremonies. Vol. 32, Memoirs of the American Folklore Society. New York: G. E. Stechert & Co., 1938.

  Betts, Robert B. In Search of York: The Slave Who Went to the Pacific with Lewis and Clark. Boulder, Colo.: Colorado Associated Univ. Press, 1985.

  Boas, Frank, ed. Chinook Texts. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution, BAE Bulletin no. 20, 1894.

  Clark, Ella E., comp. Indian Legends from the Northern Rockies. Norman, Okla.: Univ. of Oklahoma Press, 1966.

  Clark, Ella E., and Margot Edmonds. Sacajawea of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Berkeley, Calif.: Univ. of California Press, 1980.

  Duncan, Dayton, and Ken Burns. Lewis Clark: The Journey of the Corps of Discovery. New York; Knopf, 1997.

  Howard, Harold P. Sacajawea. Norman, Okla.: Univ. of Oklahoma Press, 1971.

  Moulton, Gary E., ed. The Journals of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Lincoln, Nebr.: Univ. of Nebraska Press, 1983–1991.

  Robinson, Sheila C., comp. Along the Lewis & Clark Trail in North Dakota. BHG Inc., 1993.

  Ronda, James P. Lewis and Clark among the Indians. Lincoln, Nebr.: Univ. of Nebraska Press, 1984.

  Thwaites, Rueben Gold, ed. Original Journals of the Lewis and Clark Expedition, 1804–1806. New York; Dodd &Mead Co., 1904–1905.

  Trenholm, Virginia Cole, and Maurine Carley. The Shoshonis: Sentinels of the Rockies. Norman, Okla.: Univ. of Oklahoma Press, 1964.

  Wilson, Gilbert L. (as told to). Buffalo Bird Woman's Garden: Agriculture of the Hidatsa Indians. Saint Paul: Minnesota Historical Society Press, 1987.

  I also recommend a visit to the web site of the Bismarck Tribune, where Tribune Innovations Editor Ken Rogers has written an extremely interesting series of well-researched articles entitled Sakakawea and the Fur Traders. One article includes a discussion of the assertion in oral traditions at Fort Berthold that Sakakawea was not Shoshone at all but a Hidatsa woman.

  www.ndonline.com/TribWebPage/Sakakawea/sakakindex.html

 

 

 
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