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  "It is bilious colic," Meri said. Then he shook his head and clenched his fists in great frustration.

  Every man was attentive to Floyd, York principally. York remained steadfastly by Sergeant Floyd's side throughout his last hours. There were tears in York's eyes at the suffering he could not allay.

  On the morning of Monday, August 20, York and I were dull and heavy, having been up the greater part of the night with Sergeant Floyd, who was as bad as a man can be and yet live.

  On that same day Charles Floyd died. We buried him on a hill that we named Sergeant Floyd's Bluff. There was a fine long view of the river there. We could see the way we had come together, and the longer way the rest of us still would go on without him. We placed a red cedar post over his grave. He was the first of our brave company to die, and we feared that he would be far from the last.

  We had yet to come to the most perilous part of our journey. We had yet to meet the Sioux.

  ***

  Things had begun to go badly for us. Not only had we lost one of our best men, but a few days later Private George Shannon, the youngest of our party, did not return from hunting. No one believed that Shannon would run away, for he was always eager and happy to be among our company. But he was the worst hunter and the poorest woodsman. It was clear that he had become lost.

  Colter was sent out to find him. He returned a day later with no success. Shannon could not be found. We could delay no longer. So we pressed on. On to the land of the Dakotas.

  Our first encounter with the Sioux was with the Yanktons. On August 27 old Dorion told us we were now in the territory of his Yankton friends. A fire was set on the prairie as a signal, and soon a Yankton boy appeared on the other side of the river. He swam out to the white pirogue and spoke with Dorion, who knew him. We put in to shore, where other boys appeared, telling us a large camp of Yanktons was close by. Dorion and Sergeant Pryor set out for the camp to set up a meeting at Calumet Bluffs, a place farther up the river.

  ***

  It seemed a good omen, and when we reached that place two days later, we saw something else that filled us with hope. There on the banks of the river were tracks leading upstream. Drouillard identified them as those of Private Shannon. Thinking we had passed by him, he was following the river upstream, not knowing he was actually ahead of us.

  I set up my writing desk, dipped my pen in ink, and sat down to write out some remarks to be made to the Yanktons. At 4:00 P.M., Dorion and Pryor appeared on the opposite bank, at the head of a band of seventy Yanktons. The Indians were eager to welcome us. We sent presents over and told them that we would meet in the morning. All through that next day we talked. When the evening came a fire was made and their young men began to dance about it, telling of their brave deeds in war. They were bold-looking people, the men stout and well made, much decorated with paint and porcupine quills and feathers, all with buffalo coats of different colors.

  Among them was a society of men like no other I had met before. They all had taken a vow that when they went into battle they would never give back, let the danger be what it may. No man of them would retreat from the enemy. There had been twenty-two of them at first. Just in that past year alone, eighteen of them had died in battle. They were stout-looking fellows and they stayed by themselves, fond of mirth and assuming a degree of superiority.

  "Have you ever seen the like of them?" I said to Captain Lewis.

  Meri gave me one of those bright, knowing smiles of his and nodded. "I can think of one group of men," he said. Then, taking his meaning, I laughed with him.

  ***

  The Yanktons showed great friendship to us, even though they, too, demanded far more than we could supply, especially guns and powder to protect them from their many enemies. We could agree to just one of their requests. We would leave their friend old Dorion with them. He would help them arrange peace with other tribes. Then, when spring came, he would guide a delegation of their chiefs to Washington. Thus it was that we set out toward the Teton Sioux with high hopes—and no one among us who could truly speak their language.

  By early September we were in the land of short-grass prairie. On September 11 we rounded a bend and saw a familiar figure seated on the riverbank. It was Shannon, exhausted and nearly starved to death. He had given up on ever catching up to us and was waiting in the hopes that traders coming downriver would save him. We felt great joy, though I was amazed that a man had like to starve to death in the midst of such a land of plenty for want of bullets or something to kill his meat.

  There were so many wonders to see in this land new to our eyes. For the first time we saw prairie dogs and that swift goat whose running is like the flight of birds, the pronghorn antelope. We finally managed to bring down one of those small, furtive wolves we had been seeing along the river, a coyote.

  As always, Meri walked the banks more than he rode in the boats, carrying his notebooks with him everywhere, writing down all that he saw. While it was my job to pay special attention to the land itself, its geography, Captain Lewis had been trained in every other natural science. He was determined to carry a detailed description of all that he saw back to President Jefferson, who was like a father to him.

  On September 23 the Teton Sioux found us. Three boys were the first. They swam across the river to greet us. The next morning John Colter came back from hunting to tell us that one of his horses had been stolen by Indians. It was what we should have expected. The Tetons, we would learn, are known as pirates of the river.

  That afternoon, when a group of chiefs and warriors came in to talk to us bearing a gift of buffalo meat, we discovered that we could not understand each other. Pierre Cruzatte, who had said he spoke their language, was wrong. He knew only a few simple words. More by signs and gestures than by speech, we tried to communicate with the Tetons. We marched for them, fired off our guns, gave them presents. They were not impressed. They were also not happy with what we gave them. Their three chiefs demanded more. We invited the chiefs onto the keelboat and gave them whiskey. Black Buffalo, the one we deemed their head chief, seemed willing to parley with us. But the one we called the Partisan was not. After a few sips of whiskey, he pretended to be drunk and was most disagreeable. At last we decided to put them in to shore.

  They climbed into the red pirogue with me and soon we touched the shore. But then the Partisan refused to leave the boat. He pretended to stagger against me and pushed me. He demanded a canoe full of presents and threatened our lives. Three of his men grabbed hold of our rope and another wrapped his arms around the mast of the red pirogue. But I refused to accept such behavior. Thrusting the man back, I drew my sword.

  "All hands to arms!" I shouted.

  On the keelboat Captain Lewis readied the guns, aiming them at the great mass of warriors that had gathered on the shore, their arrows nocked and ready to let fly. We were much outnumbered, but we were prepared to sell our lives dearly. Save only one time, that one tragic time when Captain Lewis and I took separate paths, it was the closest we came to bloodshed on our whole journey. We would not go back.

  But the Teton Sioux did. Black Buffalo sprang forward and pulled the rope from the hands of the three who were holding it. He motioned for the man who had hugged the mast to let go. The Partisan withdrew to the bank with his warriors.

  I felt myself warm, and I spoke in positive tones. "We are not women but warriors," I shouted. "We have medicine on our boat that can kill twenty such nations as yours. We must and will go on!"

  Black Buffalo and the other chiefs spoke among themselves on the bank. Then, as we started to leave, Black Buffalo and two of his warriors waded after us, asking to be taken aboard. They said that all they wished from us was respect. They begged us to come to their village. Finally things grew calmer and the danger was past. The next day we would visit their village, eat with them, watch them dance. But we would never trust them.

  When we tried to leave, they again grabbed hold of our towline, begging us to give them tobacco—but wa
nting more than that. The two days we had spent with them were wasted. It was clear to us that these Teton brigands would still be the enemies of trade. And it is still that way to this day, my boy. But one day we will break their power.

  7. SACAJAWEA

  Little Mice

  One day long ago, a woman was coming back home with a carrying basket filled with the roots and seeds she had taken from the granaries of the mice. When the woman heard someone crying in a small voice, she put down her carrying basket and knelt.

  "Why are you crying, Little One?" she said to a tiny mouse on the ground.

  "Big One, lam crying because my children will starve this winter," the little mouse said.

  "Why will they starve, Little One?"

  "Big Ones such as you take all the food we gather. So my people will all starve. None will be left to gather the roots and seeds." The little mouse put its face into its paws and began again to weep.

  "What can I do to help you?" the woman said.

  The little mouse looked up at the woman and stopped crying. "Big One," the little mouse said, "do not take all of our food. Leave us some. We always gather more than we need. We are happy to share. Also," the little mouse added, "you might leave us a gift to show that you appreciate our sharing."

  "Ah," the woman said, "I understand."

  Then she went back to the mouse's granary and put back enough so that the mouse and her children could survive. She also left a small present to show the little mouse that she was thankful. She told her people about this and they agreed to do the same.

  So it is to this day.

  WHEN DID I FIRST SEE the captains? I remember the first day we saw them. It was the Moon when the Leaves Fall from the Cottonwoods. Word had spread that their great boat filled with good things was still coming up the river. They had passed through the lands of the Dakotas. They had visited the earth lodges of the Arikaras, those who raid the Mandan villages from the south. The Arikaras had welcomed them and, it was said, made an alliance with them. Now the strange white warriors were again on the move. Their boats were coming up the river again. Perhaps they were going to join the Arikaras and make war on the Mandans and Minnetarees. Word about their travels had spread like a fire across the dry autumn grass of the prairie.

  Then, that day, a group of boys came running into Mitutanka, the lower village of the Mandans. We were there that day, Otter Woman and I, along with your father, Charbonneau. He had brought us along to carry the things he was trading for.

  "They are almost here," the boys shouted. "The boat with many guns is almost here."

  All other things were forgotten. Everyone rushed to the river. Men and women, children and elders, even former captives such as myself and Otter Woman. Charbonneau, your father, called to us.

  "Wait for me, mes petites wives," he shouted.

  Otter Woman and I looked at each other. Then we laughed and ran harder, leaving him far behind. The strange white men and their boats were still a long way below the villages, but no one minded that journey. Our curiosity made the distance grow short.

  "Hurry up," Otter Woman said to me as we ran. "Are you too fat now to run?"

  It was true. You were with me, Firstborn Son. Do you remember how I always talked to you, while you were growing and waiting till the day when you would take your first breath? I did so then.

  "Hah! The two of us can still outrun you," I said to Otter Woman. And then we did just that. I reached the place where the bluff looks out over the river while Otter Woman was still climbing the hill.

  People were lined up all along the river. They were shouting and waving at the men on the boats. The big boat was not as huge as some had said. Some had made it sound as if it was as big as a whole village, so large its sides would scrape the riverbanks on both sides. But it was still very big.

  While some of the men pushed with big poles and others paddled, still more men stood holding rifles in their arms. Their faces were serious.

  Even from the place on the bluff where we stood, we thought we could see who the most important ones were. There were three men who stood out from all the others because of their height and the way they carried themselves. One of them was painted black, or so we thought then, to show that he was their greatest warrior. The other two had hair that was a strange color, as red as paint. We could see by their hand gestures and the way they watched everything that they were the ones all the others listened to. Clearly, those two were the leaders.

  An Indian man whose clothing showed that he was an Arikara chief stood with his arms folded right behind them, his head lifted up with pride. It was an honor for him to be brought up the river in this way. So he stood where everyone could see him.

  Perhaps it was true that the Arikaras and the white men had joined together to make war on the Mandans and the Minnetarees. Or perhaps the other story we had heard, the one that was so hard to believe, was true. Perhaps the white warriors were bringing that man to make peace and stop the fighting between the nations.

  Otter Woman and I raised our arms and called out to them, making those high ululating cries that our women make to call attention or give honor.

  One of those two leaders did not look up. His face was serious and he looked worried. Yes, that one was Captain Lewis. But the other man seemed to find it harder to be serious. His head lifted up and he saw us and his face opened into a smile that seemed to have as much light in it as the rising sun.

  Do you remember what I said to you then, Firstborn Son? I spoke it in a low voice so that Otter Woman could not hear. "That is the one," I said to you. "That laughing man with the sun in his hair is the one we will follow."

  8. WILLIAM CLARK

  Making Peace

  31st of October Wednesday 1804

  the Chief of the Mandans sent a 2nd. Chief to invite us to his Lodge to receive Som corn & here what he had to say I walked down, and with great ceremoney was feeted on a roabe by the Side of the Chief, he drew a handsom Roabe over me and after smoking the pipe with Several old men around, the Chief spoke

  Said he believed what we had told him, and that peace would be general, which not only gave him satisfaction but all his people, they could now hunt without fear & there womin could work in the field without looking everry moment for the enemey, and put off their mockersons at night....

  JOURNAL OF WILLIAM CLARK

  MANDAN VILLAGES, NORTH DAKOTA

  NO, POMP, IF JANEY, YOUR MOTHER, was there along the riverbank waving at us, I did not see her. Or, if I did, I did not know who she was then. You must remember how great the confusion was. We had passed one deserted village after another as we came up the river. Smallpox had struck the Mandans and Arikaras well before our visit. Where once, only twenty years before, there had been eighteen villages of Mandans, now only two remained. The sickness was brought to them by the Spanish. Smallpox is a terrible sickness, Pomp. Whole villages die when it comes among them.

  But we were prepared for smallpox. Look here, upon my arm. You see this small round scar? If you scrape your arm to make it bleed, then rub in some of the matter from cowpox, the smallpox will not harm you. President Jefferson had told us that we must prepare ourselves this way, to protect both ourselves and the Indians we would meet. We had even thought to bring some of the cowpox matter along with us to administer to the Indians. One of our great men, Attorney General Levi Lincoln, had suggested this. But Doctor Rush, the one who fitted up Men so well with his thunder pills and all the other medicines, was not able to provide it to us. How does it work? Well, my boy, think of it as a good luck charm or a helper. What, Pomp? A poha. Is that how you say it, poha} Yes, it is a power. Yes, like the pouch your mother has placed around your neck to protect you.

  ***

  But let me continue with my tale of how we came to the Mandans. Suddenly, after no Indians at all, they were everywhere, on both sides of the river. Men and women alike, they shouted at us from the riverbanks, watched us from the high bluffs. They waved for us to come in. But we
were careful. We did not know yet what these Mandans intended.

  Why were we uncertain? After our perilous encounter with the Sioux, we had come to the Arikaras. We found them a totally different people. They were not bullies and thieves. They were friendly to us, open to the cause of peace.

  "No one," said Chief Kakawissassa, "would ever dare to put a hand upon the rope of your boat. No!"

  The road to peace, said the Arikaras, was open among them. They were good people, they said. But the Mandans, they said, were not. Those Mandans that we hoped to spend our winter among, the Arikaras told us, were not trustworthy. They were dangerous people. But because we had asked and we were their friends, the Arikaras said they would try to make peace with them. So it was that one of the Arikara chiefs agreed to come with us on our boat. He would speak to the Mandans about peace with us and with his people. But, he told us, we must be wary. And so we were.

  There were other things we had to worry about, too. Not only might the Indians be unfriendly, there were white traders there who could be our enemies. You see, my boy, there are different kinds of white men. We are Americans. Americans can be trusted. But those white men already on the upper Missouri were not Americans. They were Frenchmen and Canadians and Englishmen. We had just fought a war to gain our freedom from the Englishmen, and we may yet fight another war against the English. The English like nothing better than to stir up the Indians who would otherwise be our friends. Captain Lewis, in particular, spoke often about how we must not trust the English.

  Remember, too, Pomp, what we were doing. We were coming to tell all the tribes that they must trade with the Americans who would follow us. They must no longer deal with the French or the English. Because of us those English and Canadians who worked for the Northwest Company would lose their trade. So we had to worry about what those other white men would do.