Sacajawea (39 page)

When the Wolf Chief left, Clark stared at the map so long that when he finally spoke, Lewis was startled.

“A mother with a child climbing the warm foothills with a handful of grasses and flowers,” mused Captain Clark. “It might work in a wonderful way to appease the Indians. When spring comes and we can smell the tree buds, and we count heads for our journey west, I believe a woman of the Shoshoni Nation ought to be included.”

Lewis looked at Clark with amazement and disbelief in his deep-set blue eyes. “Clark, is this meant to be a joke? A woman and a baby—on a military expedition?”

“Well, I was thinking along those lines,” said Clark, taking a deep draw on his pipe. “It might not be as silly as it sounds at first. I’m trying to think like the Indians we’ll meet. They resent being called Indians, you know. That is a paleface name to them. They want to be known by the name of their particular tribe. They have a pride in the nation they belong to and want to be known as an individual from a certain group. I guess we have pride like that, too—we want to be known as men from the United States, representatives of the American government. We are proud to be from the state of Virginia or Missouri or Kentucky. If you saw a contingent of Sioux with a woman and child, would you think that they were on a raiding mission or some war party?”

“No, I’d like to believe they were maybe hunting or looking for a new spot for a camp,” said Lewis, glaring at Clark. “Why do you ask this non-sequitur question?”

“Oh, but it does follow logically. If we take a squaw with a child, no Sioux, Blackfoot, or Crow will figure we are at war, but they will immediately know we are peaceable. And if the squaw is a Shoshoni, then that tribe will welcome us as friends.”

“So, we can be friends with the Shoshonis. That’s fine, but I can’t see what that has to do with us getting on to the west.”

“The Shoshonis have horses. What if they are willing to trade for some of our trinkets or ground corn? Wouldn’t that help get us west?”

“But we are going to go by water all the way to the Pacific! This is a northwest waterway we are going to explore.” Lewis shook his head as he looked at Clark.

“I was just thinking that in case there is no water passage through the mountains, or if we have to portage for any distance, it would be much easier to have horses to carry our supplies. And I’m in favor of riding whenever I can, instead of walking.”

“All right, that
does
make sense, but I thought you were going to get sentimental and go on about how a pretty squaw would be something enjoyable for the men to have around on the rest of the journey. Or how she’d give you all her family secrets about how her ‘Aunt Pokeberry’ or ‘Granny Gingerseed’ made tea and tonic with mustard flowers or lupins and buttercups. Instead, you’re mercenary. You want to trade friendship for horses. You want a reward for friendship.”

“Hire horses, yes. I told you I was thinking in a straight line. I’m serious. And there
will
be wild plants—ferns, and mushrooms, roots, bark, and leaves—that have medicinal uses. A squaw
does
know about these things, and that could be helpful to us. Just suppose you and the medicine boxes go overboard because a pirogue overturns? We’d be in a hell of a fix without those drugs and medical supplies that Doc Saugrain and Ben Rush packed for us in Saint Louis.”

“What about me? Clark, I swear you’re impossible this morning.”

Both men laughed and walked together outside to look at the thermometer on the side of their quarters. The morning was clear and the sun shone bright; the snow crunched underfoot. The thermometer stood at twenty degrees below zero.

Lewis jogged around to keep warm. “Clark, are you wearing my extra woolen socks? They’re not in my foot locker where I laid them last.” Lewis led the way back inside their quarters. Their breath made vapor puffs in the cold air.

Clark sat on a packing crate and pulled at his pipe; the tobacco was cold. “Look, at the very least it is up to me to decide whether we want that old rascal Jussome or the Squawman, Charbonneau, with us as interpreter. I’ve thought some, and I say Charbonneau. He’s not as bright as Jussome, but he’s not as scheming, either, and I like the looks of his young wife.”

Lewis looked out of the corner of one eye at Clark. “You’re not—surely not! You’re not really thinking of taking that Frenchman’s woman! Who ever heard of any military expedition going into unknown land, into a foreign country, up an uncharted river, guided by a female—a pregnant squaw! Lord, that’s ridiculous. We’d never be able to hold up our heads in front of President Jefferson!”

Clark filled his pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it with a stick from the fireplace in the room. “We’ll do this with our eyes open. Nothing to be ashamed of. By spring the child will be here. You can record in your journals the plants she gathers and what she uses them for—mullein for cough syrup; crabapple bark for asthma and sneezing. She’ll be helping in a scientific way.”

Lewis bent down to look at the woolen socks Clark was wearing. ‘Those are mine. And those remedies aren’t new. Your grandmother knew all that. So did mine, and I’ve had my fill of each. We can find out from the various tribes we meet what they do with this grass or that twig, and I’ll write the information down for the President. I’ve already got enough information on the Mandans and Minnetarees for a book.”

“Lewis, I’ll give you back your socks if you’ll hear me out. That young squaw of Charbonneau’s is brighter than the usual. Look at the way she helped us today. What would you do if your dog, Scannon, had a snakebite? I’ll bet you she’d know how to save him. You wouldn’t want Scannon to die, would you?”

“Of course I wouldn’t. I’d be willing to let her advise me on what to do. But what do you think Jefferson would say to such a plan?”

Pulling off his moccasins, Clark took the outer pair of gray woolen socks from his feet and threw them at Lewis. “It’s a wonder I haven’t been frostbitten. Wish my moccasins were fur-lined. I bet those mountain folks, the Shoshonis, know how to keep the cold out. They haven’t seen many white men. Even the British are afraid of a Shoshoni brave, and those savages don’t even have guns. Our men would be at their mercy in the mountains. They are masters with a bow and arrow. An arrow could whang itself into your chest before you even knew they were around. You know that Charbonneau’s young squaw is a Shoshoni, don’t you?”

“Oh, Lordy, how could I forget when you keep mentioning it?”

“You saw how her eyes lit up when she spoke of her mountain home. She could help us restore our supplies, and if her people do have horses, we could make a deal.”

“The baby—what do we do with a baby on this expedition?”

Clark looked at Lewis in astonishment. “You’ve got to put your moccasins on right and think Indian. A papoose is no trouble. The squaw stuffs him in the cradleboard and shifts it to her back. Indian women are strong creatures, and they can fend for themselves. They are never ill, and they don’t complain. They are cheerful about taking orders and never talk back. You know how they behave.”

“Lord, you’re actually serious about this.”

Clark paused to relight his pipe. “Out here, among a different kind of people and a different way of living, values are not the same. Look — in an office in Washington or Saint Louis, this would be funny. I’d be the first to admit it, the first to laugh. But right now, here, it is the most logical thing in the world.”

“You want us—
me
—to hire a pregnant squaw to be counted in our expedition?”

Clark thought a moment. “I could give you half a dozen situations where a military operation has not always gone by the book. You know as well as I that sometimes it is impossible.”

“Maybe we could take Charbonneau’s older woman.”

“That’s the way! At least now you’re thinking, Lewis! But we want someone with spirit, not just a follower. Someone to follow orders cheerfully, but to be a bit creative and more than just a slave; someone useful as well as helpful. That other one won’t do, but Sacajawea has spunk. She is not afraid to speak out. Her people would be friends, and we could trade for supplies. She could speak to them for us. We might even leave her with her people until we return from the Pacific. Then we wouldn’t have a woman and child along for the whole expedition.”

Lewis looked at Clark in consternation, as if he wanted to argue but didn’t dare. Clark’s words had hit home. He thought, Maybe this young woman has some knowledge of the northern territory that would lead to the Saskatchewan territory from her homeland in the mountains. Jefferson had privately directed Lewis to solve this problem. Then he thought of trade with the Shoshonis in the mountains. A trading post in the heart of the Rockies was not a bad idea—or, better yet, a post in the Saskatchewan territory.

“This young woman will be a token of friendship. The tribes will not mistake our motives and always know we come in peace,” continued Clark.

“If we could develop trading posts, maybe at first east of the Continental Divide, in American Louisiana, perhaps her people would come down to them. Later we could set one up in the mountains for them, and then still later, when the system has grown in strength, posts could be established west of the Divide, in the home country of other tribes that would be our customers.”

Clark rose to his feet and stretched his big frame. “Lewis,” he said, “you’re a realist, and you know that that country isn’t American yet—you old son of a gun.”

“And you’re a sentimentalist! A broad-shouldered, red-haired, emotional sentimentalist.”

“And we both have to be smart, like the Indians. They have a way of thinking that pushes all trifles aside. From them comes a wisdom that we often overlook. So, that’s settled—we’ll take Toussaint Charbonneau as our interpreter and his young squaw to interpret in the homeland of her own people, the Shoshonis. Her papoose could be our talisman.”

“A baby for a good-luck charm? I see I was only half-right—you
are
sentimental, but you are also superstitious,” said Lewis with a twinkle in his eyes. “All right,” he said then, giving in, “I’ll talk to Charbonneau.”

Charbonneau entered the tepee, tossed his cap on the floor, and assumed a swaggering air. “I am going with the Americans in the spring. We plan the trip together. I am their chief interpreter.” He was pleased with the sound of these words.

The three women looked at him, their work interrupted.

“I will miss you,” sighed Corn Woman barely audibly.

Sacajawea looked at her bulging belly and thought, So, this is the way it will be. I will have a papoose but no man. There was nothing else to think about.

Otter Woman sprang to her feet, letting the nursing Little Tess slide to the floor. “You go to the land of the Shoshonis? Maybe I go, too?”

“Les capitaines disent non.
I tell them I take you — you are the best squaw, I say—but it is they who say
non.”
It was this part of the arrangement with Lewis and Clark that he did not like. It hurt him to think of leaving Otter Woman behind. “I must take the other one,” he said.

“So, then they want me to keep you fed and comfortable?” said Corn Woman, all smiles now.

“Non,
not you, and not anyone but Sacajawea. They make it clear.”

“So, you take the one big as a cow buffalo?” snapped Otter Woman. “The white men would not want her!”

Sacajawea looked up. She felt her child give a push inside her. It was a good sign. He was eager to begin his new life.

Otter Woman directed a couple of spitting shots at Sacajawea, but when she and Charbonneau seemed to ignore her, she spit again.

He leaped to his feet.
“Diable!
Why do that? I am not to blame, it is
les capitaines.”

“But they called for me to interpret for them,” shouted Otter Woman.

“And now they call for me and Sacajawea to come live in a wood hut,” Charbonneau said.

Otter Woman’s jealous rage mounted. She upset the stew kettle and tore Sacajawea’s bed, tossing the soft cornhusks here and there, like a gopher pushing the dirt high in the air so he can get into his burrow.

That evening, Sacajawea left the leather tepee and returned to the old earthen lodge. She built herself a fire to keep off the chill and lay near it on a buffalo robe. She wanted to think, to plan and dream. She knew she had won the contest, but she did not think about the cost. She owed thanks to the Great Spirit, yet she kept seeing the face with the summer-sky eyes and red hair. She was going back to the People, back to the Shining Mountains. She was dizzy with her championship.

February was a cold month. Men went hunting and came in with frozen fingers and toes. The northwest wind howled around the fort and kept the men busy chopping wood for the fireplaces.

Sacajawea stayed close to the fireplace in the room given to her and her man for sleeping quarters. She softened thin deerskin for a warm, soft robe for her coming papoose. York brought her stewed fruits and tea with plenty of sugar cubes. Women were never treated thus by the Indians. At first she was shy, but soon she began to like the attention.

Then one morning, she sat up, sobered. There was something oddly out of key. Instead of being famished, she felt dull and depressed. Her back ached, and she bent in the middle with a cramp. She looked for Charbonneau, then for Clark, but both men had gone on a hunting trip with Sergeant Gass and another man.

Patrick Gass was an old Army Regular who had fought Indians, had known Daniel Boone, and had become acquainted with the Clark family as early as 1793. He was a little man, standing only five feet seven, but broad-chested and sturdy. He was a good soldier and an experienced carpenter and had built the ladder to the loft with extra-wide rungs so that Sacajawea could go up to her sleeping couch more easily. However, he was quite resentful toward the captains for taking a woman on a trip with military men. But his sense of fairness won out when he saw the thick mat of dried grasses and hay under Charbonneau’s sleeping robe and nothing under Sacajawea’s. With a burst of spunk he pulled out much of the soft matting and arranged it under Sacajawea’s sleeping robe.