Sacajawea (80 page)

The light from the fireplace flickered, making the sweat-streaked face of Bratton seem grotesque.

“Femme,
spank that child!” Charbonneau ordered. “He threw the soapy candle on the floor. He is responsible for this terrible accident. Warm his bottom with this.” He held a kindling stick in his hand.

“No, that is not making Bratton’s back whole again,” said Sacajawea, shaken. “That is cruel. I will not allow you to touch my baby.” She could never raise her voice to reprimand a child, and never used corporal punishment. What was treated as a catastrophic event by Charbonneau, a white parent, was regarded with casual calmness by Sacajawea, a Shoshoni.

“In that case you are responsible for that bloody candle on the floor. Where were your eyes?”

Sacajawea thought, You’re a cruel, cold-gutted, heartless bastard. She was hard put to hide her distaste. “I cannot bear to be near you!” She picked up the frightened Pomp and took him to her quarters, putting him to bed in his cradle. She searched in her sewing scraps and found a long, soft, leather strip.

She was certain she had not caused Bratton’s trouble, but she would do all she could to help him. She would not blurt out at her man because if she did she would surely lift his head right off his shoulders. In the mess hall she heard Chief Red Hair say, “He is like a tiger with boils on his ass, but I’ll give him some laudanum and he’ll behave himself.” To her relief she heard Lewis say, “Yes, he’ll be all right.”

Sacajawea gave Captain Clark the leather strip and suggested hot and cold packs be used alternately during the night after wrapping his back with the leather to give it some support.

In the morning and for the next couple of days, Bratton felt no better. Once she watched while Clark gave him more laudanum and sponged his face. She saw thetaut mask of Bratton’s face, the way he accepted the painkiller without pleasure and the cold towel with cold thanks.

Charbonneau kept looking at her as though it were her fault that the accident had taken place. Clark told him once, “Lay off her. It was something no one saw. The baby is too young to know what he did. The best we can do is take care of Bratton and see that he can walk again.”

She watched Charbonneau walk off talking to himself; she was furious that he wouldn’t help minister to Bratton. She managed to get some strips of cedar bark and long grass for weaving from the Clatsop women. She and York wove a sling to carry Bratton in. You’re foolish and without manners, she told herself, for expecting this man to smile and act grateful for all this fussing. He feels that the accident should not have taken place. He wants to be back with the other saltmakers instead of here where a baby runs the day’s activities.

“We are all sorry and would like to take away the time of the accident. But it has happened. Pomp meant no harm. He likes the yellow shells,” she sighed, her voice soft and honeyed so that even Charbonneau in one of his most foul moods would have been soothed. “It was my fault. I should keep my eyes on that child. He is into everything this winter.”

Bratton smiled but said nothing. During the next few days his face turned pale and he lost weight.

Day by day, the winds came up and warmed the land so that the marshes became softer and oozed. Clouds sat low and dark on the skyline. The grass began to grow taller, and out of somewhere came magpies. The days were dull at Fort Clatsop.

The Clatsop girls were providing amusement for the men. Lewis warned them time and again of venereal diseases.

“Those are the very germs that are responsible for the miseries of McNeal and Goodrich. Furthermore, we have little trade goods left. We won’t have anything for the home trip if you men trade it off for those Jezebels’ favors!”

Unanimously the men promised to have nothing todo with the girls they knew were afflicted, which were only two or three. All these young girls practiced only what they knew as notions of hospitality in their tribe, and a sort of fertility rite, in which their tribe might gain new and stronger bloodlines.

Sacajawea felt no compunction to keep the men’s activities a secret and pointed out to Clark that some of the Clatsops mixed pounded beaver castoreum with bear’s oil and rubbed it on their body to heal the scabs and ulcers of syphilis and the oozing of gonorrhea.

“Does it do any good?” asked Clark.

“The beaver glands do have an odor that travels ahead of the wearer some distance,” explained Sacajawea, “but it does not rid anyone of the sickness. He must endure it and die early.”

“Well, it would be a good idea to put medical dispensaries in American forts,” said Clark firmly. “Eyewash, salts, laudanum, and the new mercury salves could be stocked. I imagine it will take some months of fast talk and statistics to convince others of this need.”

“First, you could tell Captain Lewis.”

“That’s exactly what I will do.”

Life seemed to creep back into the men as the sap crept up into the tree trunks that spring. Since most of the men either smoked or chewed and they missed the tobacco habit, it was not long before the smokers discovered the inner bark of red willow mixed with bearberry and the chewers found the crabtree bark.

One March evening just after dusk, Chief Delashelwilt waddled nervously to the fort wearing a Hudson’s Bay multicolored blanket coat stained with fish oil and soot, to talk with Charbonneau. He also wore a little medicine bag suspended from a braided bit of moosehair that ran around his neck. In the bag, Delashelwilt was convinced, his immortal soul was lodged, and if he stroked the bag frequently, his influence over men would be invincible.

The men talked for some time until Delashelwit was told by the sentry the fort was closing for the night. Delashelwilt and Charbonneau shook hands. Charbonneau looked about as Delashelwilt left. The gate wasbarred, and Charbonneau quickened his step. He began to hurry to his quarters.

Sacajawea saw him come in and close the door. He dropped several gold coins on the top of his bunk. He began to dance in an awkward way in front of the coins.

“Is everything all right?”

“Oui,
everything is perfect.”

The next night Chief Delashelwilt came to visit Charbonneau again, but this time he was accompanied by half a dozen squaws.

When they left, Sacajawea asked, “What did that knife-scarred chief want with you?”

“We are friends.”

“What friends? I know friends—and I know enemies!” Sacajawea whirled back to Charbonneau. “They are paying you to make some kind of deal. I can feel it. Why don’t you let them crawl out of their holes and stand in front of the captains to make their deal?”

Charbonneau stared back malevolently.

“They are not friends. They will cause you trouble.”

“Why don’t you hide your head in a hole like a prairie dog when the hawk sails over him? Then you would not see what is my business, not yours!” He put several more coins in a leather bag with the others.

In her mind Sacajawea could see Delashelwilt’s woman—the big breasts, the big bottom, the little feet and fat wrists, and the hunger for goods. She did not like the faces of his squaw friends, nor their leering, jeering glances. And, most of all, she detested in them their lack of dignity, for they all wore more beads and shells and foofaraw than the chief himself did, and most of it came from the diminished stores of the expedition.

They are all childish and foolish, but what can one expect from a flea-bitten Chinook, she asked herself. The expedition is low on trade goods. What right does my man have to give it away? He does not collect shells to restock them. I cannot rant over these normal things and act like a madwoman. I need some plan. I have seen extraordinary things and have been to strange places. I must be able to think of something. I can only think of Chief Delashelwilt as a liar and cheat, and my man acts out his wishes with no thought of his own. Charbonneau, you are so stupid, Sacajawea wanted toshout. I want to tell you I hate you. You cause more troubles.

Chief Red Hair would have a solution. He would give her strength and release her from this torment.

“Come in,” Clark answered to the timid knocking. “Janey, I’m always glad to see you. Here, let me take my dancing boy, Pomp. He is getting brighter every day.” Clark hummed as he stood Pomp on the floor and skipped around. Pomp loved it. His feet kept time to the song as his eyes stayed fastened on Clark’s face. Sacajawea suddenly felt the familiar wild beating of her heart. She trembled.

“You came for something?”

“Ai,”
she said, wondering why she did not try some words to say while she was by herself. She felt miserable. “The Chinook squaws are unhappy, and we will make them happy.”

“Chinook squaws?”

“Ai,
the woman and friends of Chief Delashelwilt.” She glanced at the doorway, distracted as York came in.

“That moronic, flea-bitten buck. I told him not to come around here with those girls!” Clark was angry. York backed out the door and closed it softly. “That dumb Chinook! How did he get in?”

“He came as a friend.”

“You can find friends in the manure pile sometimes,” said Clark.

“He is not my friend,” she added quickly. “He brings coins to buy friendship and wants trade goods from the stores in return. The trade goods should not be handed to him. It can be used later for things the men need. Now the squaws would be happy if they had tiny pieces of colored ribbon to sew on their tunics. They will go home and cause no trouble. The chief will have to go home with them, and he can be given some of that new kind of tobacco the men are smoking. There will be no fight. Charbonneau will have his coins until he plays the stick game with Twiltch.”

“So—it was Charbonneau who was behind this. Who says there will be no fighting?” roared Clark, glaringpast her toward the door. “Who knows what tomorrow will bring?”

“Tomorrow is in the hands of the Great Spirit.”

Clark looked in bewilderment at Sacajawea. “Who cares about tomorrow!” He left his quarters with the door swinging wide open. Charbonneau’s the key. How are you going to handle him? he wondered. He slowed his pace. Janey told me how to avoid a battle. It is strange, but it is true. The plan will work. He strode to the front gate of the fort and was not surprised to see Charbonneau sitting on the outside watching Chief Delashelwilt come through the trees with his covey of females. His body stiffened and became straight. His face was gray with anger, but he did not falter.

“Sit still, you ape,” Clark said to Charbonneau when he strode past him to meet Delashelwilt. “Stop, you dogs!” The Chinooks could not understand his words, but his manner was unmistakable. “Delashelwilt, your scalp is loose on your head and I would like to take it!” Clark’s eyes shot toward Charbonneau, who was backing inside the fort. Clark’s muscular arm shot out and grasped Charbonneau’s hand. “Get red, white, and blue ribbon and a sharp knife from the stores. Right now!”

“Oui!”

Clark hoped Charbonneau could find an extra knife. The goods that the expedition was depending on for the purchase of food and horses during the four-thousandmile homeward trip could all be tied in two handkerchiefs.

Clark cut the ribbon into tiny pieces, almost like confetti, mixed the colors, and handed a few to each girl. The girls at once compared the number of various colors. One girl moistened a few on her tongue and stuck them to her face, to the delight of the others.

“Take the pouch of makeshift tobacco off your belt,” ordered Clark. “Give it all to the chief.” Clark then made the final cut-off sign with his hands and pointed toward the trees beyond the fort. “Go home before you spread your infection to any more of my men.” Then to Charbonneau he added, “I’m surprised a sensible man like yourself would be seen with scum like that. Especially those women who all have the clap.”

Behind him there was a growl of rage from Delash-elwilt when he found he could take the tobacco, but not the knife. The chief pulled his little medicine bag from the braided moosehair and stomped it into the ground. He pointed a finger at Charbonneau and said in plain English, “Paleface, jackass poop!”

Washington, U.S. of America. July 6, 1803

Dear Sir

In the journey which you are about to undertake for the discovery of the course and source of the Missouri and of the most convenient water communication from thence to the Pacific ocean, your party being small, it is to be expected that you will encounter considerable dangers from the Indian inhabitants. Should you escape those dangers and reach the Pacific ocean, you may find it imprudent to hazard a return the same way, and be forced to seek a passage round by sea, in such vessels as you may find on the Western coast but you will be without money, without clothes and other necessaries, as a sufficient supply cannot be carried with you from hence Your resource in that case can only be in the credit of the US for which purpose I hereby authorize you to drau on the Secretaries of State, of the Treasury, of War and of the Navy of the US, according as you may find your draughts will be most negociable, for the purpose of obtaining money or necessaries for yourself and your men and I solemnly pledge the faith of the United States that these draughts shall be paid punctually at the date the are made payable. I also ask of the consuls, agents, mer chants and citizens of any nation with which we have intercourse or amity to furnish you with those supplle which your necessities may call for, assuring them honorable and prompt retribution. And our own Consume in foreign parts where you may happen to be, are hereby instructed and required to be aiding and assisting you in whatsoever may be necessary for procuring you return back to the United States. And to give more entity satisfaction and confidence to those who may be dispose to aid you, I Thomas Jefferson, President of the Unite States of America, have written this letter of general credit for you with my own hand, and signed it with my name.

   Th. Jefferson       

To

Capt. Meriwether Lewis

E. G. Voorhis Memorial Collection,
Missouri Historical Society, St. Louis. Also in: