Sacajawea (75 page)

“Here I am,” called Sacajawea, brushing the sand from her brown-leather skirt and the large old blue coat. Her hair was neatly braided and wound about her head. She wore no ornament except the small, sky blue stone on the thin thong of her throat. To wear many ornaments was the prerogative of the male, she believed. Her baby laughed as she grasped him about the middle and swung him into her arms. Her son clung to her and snuggled himself into the folds of the coat. He put his arms deep into the wide pockets.

She began to feel better, watching the carefree baby. He poked one wiggly brown foot into a pocket. His round face was solemn. She knew he was playing a game and enjoying himself immensely, yet he was not loud or riproarish. He played entirely for the fun of it, because he had nothing but the present moment to worry him. She spoke aloud to herself: “Like my son—I’ll take each sunrise as it comes.” In her resolve she must have squeezed her baby, for he gave a little yelp.

She sat with Pomp in her lap on the damp sand and looked over the expedition’s camp. It was a good place even with the sand in the clothing, bedding, and food Pomp’s eyes were heavy with sleep. He stubbornly refused to lie on the big blue coat, denying that he was sleepy. Sacajawea coaxed him to curl up in her lap; one arm was still in a pocket.

The day was still, and she felt drowsy. She though of the latest talk among the men. They wanted salt for their food. Chief Red Hair had spoken of it more than once. And they wanted a better campsite for the winte months. She knew the expedition was going to stay in this area through the winter because no one would survive the trip back upstream and over the mountains a this time of year. Anyway, the men were exhausted Sacajawea could see the fatigue in their eyes. Their clothing was in shreds and they all needed red meat in their diet.

Shannon came out on the sand and sat beside her. He was quiet for a time; then he said, “I hope a trading ship or two come before spring. Maybe we wouldn’t have to go up the Columbia and over those blasted mountains if it did. We could all get on that ship and sail home.”

Sacajawea looked at Shannon in disbelief.

“Well, I heard the captains talking about it. You know Captain Lewis has a letter of credit from the American government, so there would be no trouble in dealing with traders who might come to our camp from some seagoing vessel. I think the captains hope the traders can supply them with trade goods, trinkets, for the different tribes on our return trip. You know there’s a shortage of colored beads, looking glasses, and combs. The captains just gave away too much. And to make it worse, these Chinooks ask for too many fish hooks and awls for their wormy salmon.”

“Shannon,” she said seriously, “we will collect all the seashells to use for trading. The river tribes love them.” She picked up two small pink shells and handed them to Shannon.

“That’s an idea!” He made a heap of them beyond the tide line. “Hey, I almost forgot, there’s some Chinooks in camp. Let’s see what they are talking about.”

Everyone seemed to be talking at once, using hand signs, to find where the best hunting was. “Deer,” one Chinookian answered, “is most plentiful farther up the river.” “Elk,” another Chinookian said, “are found on the south shore of the bay. Everyone knows elk are larger, give better meat, and are easier to kill.”

After the evening meal there was a council. The men discussed the best site for the winter camp. Each member of the expedition was given a chance to talk if he wished. Ben York suggested laying in a large supply of elk hides so that he and Janey could sew moccasins, so there would be enough for the return trip. Shannon spoke up and said he would be willing to help Sacajawea make trousers if they could be stored in a dry place so that they would not have green mold when they were ready to be worn. “Damn damp climate,” the nineteen-year-old snorted.

“Would you rather camp in them mountains?” hooted Pete Wiser.

“If they are drier,” said Shannon.

“We get to them mountains and there’s bound to be ten, fifteen feet of snow. I had enough of froze feet, myself,” said York.

“A camp on the south shore would be best for making contact with a trading ship that might come by,” offered Sacajawea, surprising everyone. “And I’m in favor of a camp where plenty of
quamash
roots can be dug for bread and beer.”

“Hooray!” shouted Pat Gass. He was on his feet hopping around in a show-offish manner, and the men laughed, waking Pomp.

Pomp climbed off his mother’s lap and trotted after his father, then with a giggle seated himself in Captain Clark’s lap.

Gass knocked a toe against a rock, hopped around, holding his toe with both hands and cutting loose with curse words. “Something in that damn rock got it in for me!” He eased his foot down. “Damned ambusher, that rock!”

Captain Lewis raised his arms, announcing that there would be a vote on the place for the winter campsite. “For a yes, raise your right hand. Who would like to stay here?”

A little moment of silence came. No one moved. Then Sacajawea, who had stood up, put in a question. “Here? No one wants to stay here. We all know the south shore is best. Anyone who does not raise his hand for the south shore can stay here and eat fish.”

Clark laughed into his hand and was so amused by Janey speaking out in quite good English in the expedition’s council that he set her words down in the official journal that evening.

Captain Lewis was not so amused. “Wasn’t it a bit irregular to have a squaw and her man, who’s a citizen of Canada, and your manservant, York, and Shannon, a boy barely nineteen, vote as though they were U.S. citizens with the rest of us on this military expedition?” He paused and took a deep breath. “This was an important decision.”

“Now, Lewis,” pacified Clark, as the sweetest of smileswreathed his lips, “isn’t this whole expedition unorthodox in so many ways?”

“Oh, Lord! You’re so right! But I must say I call it bad manners—downright bad manners—for that squaw to speak up so—” He broke off abruptly and cast a glance at Clark.

Clark ran a finger along the neck of his leather shirt, as if to ease his throat. “A woman! A mere girl at that—she took the words from your mouth. Go ahead, admit it. You were going to say the exact words in your next breath. You wanted the men to vote for the south shore and plenty of elk meat!”

“Yes, I did! But Lord help me, the next time she speaks up and asks for something—”

‘Takes the words from your mouth, you mean,” teased Clark. “You’ll probably grant her wish. You know she doesn’t ask much. I daresay your grandchild won’t read the history of the United States without reading of you and me and of her, with fearless men crossing the prairies and mountains, enduring hardship and privation. We are a close-knit group with a terrible and rigid goodness that comes with work and self-denial.” Clark feigned enormous dignity.

Lewis looked a little sheepish and said, “For Lord’s sake, forget I said a thing.”

There was more rain and high waves as the expedition crept back along the shore the way they had come, looking for a place where the estuary was narrow enough to cross to the south shore. It was hard to find firewood that was dry enough to burn. The blankets were wet again and mildewed. The big leather tent was in shreds and no protection at all. Some of the men used their frayed blankets to make crude lean-tos, but they were so full of holes that nothing was kept dry.

During the last of November, there were a few days that were warm, when the leaves browned, and the grass ripened in the sun, and the reflection of light from the water lasted until long after nightfall. But afterward the sky blackened and rain fell, and from that time until spring the rain never totally stopped and sunlight never shone over the land or sea. Except on the line of surf, the sea itself was like ink. The tremendous winds that blew out of it carried fierce twisters of rain that turned everything inside out as they passed. The shifting winds blew smoke from the campfire into the men’s eyes, which soon became painful from that irritation. Then they began to wonder how they were going to get along when they found deer but no elka even geese were wary of hunters.

Ben York noticed that the weather was hard for the papoose. He was by turns unruly and listless. He told Pomp tales that were Negro folklore, handed down by word of mouth through the years. Like the songs Sacajawea remembered her grandmother singing, these were primitive accounts of the sorrows and tribulations of a wronged people and their inevitable reward in the afterlife.

“And the angel say to him, he say, ‘Mose, come up on this here throne and eat ‘cause you are hungry, and drink ‘cause you are thirsty, and rest you weary and aching feet.’”

Sometimes Pomp rode on Clark’s back and heard stories that invariably began with the magic words, “Once upon a time just like this—” There would follow a nursery tale or one of Aesop’s fables. Pomp remembered the English words and repeated them—“fox, rabbit, wolf, horse, man, woman.” That the listener was hardly a year old and incapable of comprehending what he heard made no difference to Clark. He was determined that the boy learn English and was pleased when he responded so quickly.

A few days later, the expedition, tired and wet from riding in the canoes, came to a knob of land projecting about a mile and a half toward a shallow bay, and about four miles around. The neck of land, which connected it to the main shore, was more than fifty yards wide. Lewis called the projection Point William
²
for William Clark, and there the men landed the canoes and set up another temporary camp. The stones on shore were brilliant reds and greens and white. Sacajawea scooped up handfuls for Pomp to play with.

One of the canoes had a wide split and needed repairing. Before that job was finished, the wind shifted to the northwest and blew with such fury that trees were uprooted near the camp. “We must move out ofhere right away,” said Sacajawea. That night there was rain and hail; sleep was fitful and miserable.

The next day, the rain let up, for several hours. Sacajawea spread out blankets and clothing to dry, then sat on the beach to watch the birds. Eagles, hawks, ravens, and crows picked up small salmon floundering on the shore where they were washed in. She liked the beach. It was clean, away from the snakes, lizards, and spiders, but not the sand fleas that seemed to follow her everywhere. Then there was rain that night and the next day. Her nerves wore thin as she bucked mud, sand, and wet brush for the sake of a bit of dry land.

Captain Clark sighed, “How long? Can it rain forever?”

Even the Chinooks turned short-tempered and asked for two axes, three knives, and a good blanket for one fifty-pound fish, though they had been around this area for generations of continuous residence to get accustomed to the climate.

The men lost weight and color, and squabbled incessantly. Captain Clark’s stomach became upset, probably from so much pounded fish and salty water.

Sacajawea, always watchful, pulled out a soggy piece of bread from under her blanket folds. It was made of wheat flour, not the wapato roots everyone had come to loathe. She had been saving the good bread for Pomp. She now offered it to the ailing Chief Red Hair. The ancient and dubious biscuit was a little sour, but Clark ate it with relish, saying, “That is the only bit of food I’ve had in weeks that was not fishy or salty and that sits firm inside my stomach.” He tweaked Pomp’s little brown nose. “I ate your muffin.”

Pomp replied with a wide, baby grin, “Num, num, num.”

The next afternoon, soon after the canoes were beached, Sacajawea lay Pomp on the blue coat for a nap while she hunted colored seashells. Clark sat with her and put some he found in an empty canister. The two became so engrossed with the beauty of the shapes and designs and colors, and the small, smooth stones of agate they saved, that they did not at first see the dark clouds forming to warn them of the coming storm. Sacajawea jumped up and pointed skyward and began torun toward camp with Pomp. Clark followed. York came toward them and took Pomp in his arms and hurried him safely back to camp. Sacajawea and Clark followed. Then both stopped to look back. There was the black center of the storm coming in from the water and churning the flat water into a wall of foam ten or twelve feet high. Clark started on to keep the wave from overtaking them, but Sacajawea was fascinated and climbed to a high, flat stone.

“Let’s let it catch us!” she called, daring him. “It won’t hurt us here—will it? Come see what it does.”

Suddenly the wind hit so hard that Clark staggered and had to sit down. Sacajawea ran to him, and water plastered them in a solid sheet. Through it she saw in a kind of blur that Clark was laughing. When she opened her mouth to talk, the water beat on it and stopped it so she could not say a word. The rain slackened and passed on, and the two ran down the beach, now trying to overtake it and face it down again, but it outran them. They were drenched but laughing. He drew a great breath and let it out again as Sacajawea ran into his arms. He pushed the hair from her eyes and smiled at her. The touch of his firm, callused hand was like running fire.

“You smell good, like the crushed ginger weed.” He sniffed and sighed, still holding her. He found himself suddenly throbbing with love. He thrust his right hand behind her head and bent to kiss her full on the mouth. She took hold of him and held her arms tightly around the small of his back, not wanting to let him go. His lips were warm, and she marveled at the strength of them and how their strength was transferred to her own lips.

“You have used sorcery on me, Janey. I could not help myself,” said Clark, pulling away and smiling into her eyes. “We must hurry back now, before it is too late.” He looked sideways at her and felt a rush of gentleness toward her because she, too, was trying to hold back the power that had risen with the beating of their hearts.

“Ai,
York will come looking, thinking the ocean has swallowed us.” She felt her lips and wondered how theycould feel like burning coals and her knees weak as water.

She’s got me roped as tight as a horse plowing a field in spring, and I don’t know that I have any more to gain than the horse, he thought as he followed the figure in the brown tunic with his eyes until she disappeared in the trees this side of the camp.