CHAPTER VII
THE MOUNTAINS
When William Clark returned from his three days' scouting trip, hisforehead was furrowed with anxiety. His men were silent as they filedinto camp and cast down their knapsacks.
"It's no use, Merne," said Clark, "we are in a pocket here. The othertwo forks, which we called the Madison and the Gallatin, both comefrom the southeast, entirely out of our course. The divide seems toface around south of us and bend up again on the west. Who knows theway across? Our river valley is gone. The only sure way seemsback--downstream."
"What do you mean?" demanded Meriwether Lewis quietly.
"I scarce know. I am worn out, Merne. My men have been driven hard."
"And why not?"
His companion remained silent under the apparent rebuke.
"You don't mean that we should return?" Lewis went on.
"Why not, Merne?" said William Clark, sighing.
"Our men are exhausted. There are other years than this."
Meriwether Lewis turned upon his friend with the one flash of wrathwhich ever was known between them.
"Good Heavens, Captain Clark," said he, "there is _not_ any other yearthan this! There is not any other month, or week, or day but this! Itis not for you or me to hesitate--within the hour I shall go on. We'llcross over, or we'll leave the bones of every man of the expeditionhere--this year--now!"
Clark's florid face flushed under the sting of his comrade's words;but his response was manful and just.
"You are right," said he at length. "Forgive me if for a moment--justa moment--I seemed to question the possibility of going forward. Giveme a night to sleep. As I said, I am worn out. If I ever see Mr.Jefferson again, I shall tell him that all the credit for thisexpedition rests with you. I shall say that once I wavered, and that Ihad no cause. You do not waver--yet I know what excuse you would havefor it."
"You are only weary, Will. It is my turn now," said Meriwether Lewis;and he never told his friend of this last letter.
A moment later he had called one of his men.
"McNeal," said he, "get Reuben Fields, Whitehouse, and Goodrich. Makelight packs. We are going into the mountains!"
The four men shortly appeared, but they were silent, morose, moody.Those who were to remain in the camp shared their silence. Sacajaweaalone smiled as they departed.
"That way!" said she, pointing; and she knew that her chief would findthe path.
May we not wonder, in these later days, if any of us, who reap socarelessly and so selfishly where others have plowed and sown, reflectas we should upon the first cost of what we call our own? The fifteenmillion dollars paid for the vast empire which these men wereexploring--that was little--that was naught. But ah, the cost in bloodand toil and weariness, in love and loyalty and faith, in daring andsuffering and heartbreak of those who went ahead! It was a few braveleaders who furnished the stark, unflinching courage for us all.
Sergeant Ordway, with Pryor and Gass, met in one of the many littleominous groups that now began to form among the men in camp. CaptainClark was sleeping, exhausted.
"It stands to reason," said Ordway, usually so silent, "that the wayacross the range is up one valley to the divide and down the nextcreek on the opposite side. That is the way we crossed theAlleghanies."
Pryor nodded his head.
"Sure," said he, "and all the game-trails break off to the south andsouthwest. Follow the elk!"
"Is it so?" exclaimed Patrick Gass. "You think it aisy to find a wayacross yonder range? And how d'ye know jist how the Alleghanies wascrossed first? Did they make it the first toime they thried? Things isaisy enough after they've been done _wance_--but it's the first toimethat counts!"
"There is no other way, Pat," argued Ordway. "'Tis the rivers thatmake passes in any mountain range."
"Which is the roight river, then?" rejoined Gass. "We're lookin' forwan that mebbe is nowhere near here. S'pose we go to the top yonderand take a creek down, and s'pose that creek don't run the roight wayat all, but comes out a thousand miles to the southwest--where are youthen, I'd like to know? The throuble with us is we're the first wansto cross here, and not comin' along after some one else has done thethrick for us."
Pryor was willing to argue further.
"All the Injuns have said the big river was over there somewhere."
"'Somewhere'!" exclaimed Patrick Gass. "'Somewhere' is a mighty longways when we're lost and hungry!"
"Which is just what we are now," rejoined Pryor. "The sooner we startback the quicker we'll be out of this."
"Pryor!" The square face of the Irishman hardened at once. "Listen tome. Ye're my bunkmate and friend, but I warn ye not to say that agin!If ye said it where he could hear ye--that man ahead--do you know whathe would do to you?"
"I ain't particular. 'Tis time we took this thing into our own hands."
"It's where we're takin' it _now_, Pryor!" said Gass ominously. "Acoort martial has set for less than that ye've said!"
"Mebbe you couldn't call one--I don't know."
"Mebbe we couldn't, eh? I mind me of a little settlement I had withthat man wance--no coort martial at all--me not enlisted at the toime,and not responsible under the arthicles of war. I said to his face Iwas of the belief I could lick him. I said it kindly, and meant noharm, because at the time it seemed to me I could, and 'twould be apleasure to me. But boys, he hit me wan time, and when I came to I wascareless whether it was the arthicles of war or not had hit me. Listento me now, Pryor--and you, too, Ordway--a man like that is liable tohave judgment in his head as well as a punch in his arm. We're saferto folly him than to folly ourselves. Moreover, I want you to say toyour men that we will not have thim foregatherin' around and talkin'any disrespect to their shuperiors. If we're in a bad place, let usfight our ways out. Let's not turn back until we are forced. I neverdid loike any rooster in the ring that would either squawk or runaway. That man yonder, on ahead, naded mighty little persuadin' tofight. I'm with him!"
"Well, maybe you are right, Pat," said Ordway after a time. And so themutiny once more halted.
The tide changed quickly when it began to set the other way. Lewis ledan advance party across the range. One day, deep in the mountains, hewas sweeping the country with his spyglass, as was his custom. He gavea sudden exclamation.
"What is it, Captain?" asked Hugh McNeal. "Some game?"
"No, a man--an Indian! Riding a good horse, too--that means he hasmore horses somewhere. Come, we will call to him!"
The wild rider, however, had nothing but suspicion for the newcomers.Staring at them, he wheeled at length and was away at top speed. Oncemore they were alone, and none the better off.
"His people are that way," said Lewis. "Come!"
But all that day passed, and that night, and still they found none ofthe natives. But they began to see signs of Indians now, fresh tracks,hoofprints of many horses. And thus finally they came upon two Indianwomen and a child, whom the white men surprised before they were ableto escape. Lewis took up the child, and showed the mother that he wasa friend.
"These are Shoshones," said he to his men. "I can speak with them--Ihave learned some of their tongue from Sacajawea. These are herpeople. We are safe!"
Sixty warriors met them, all mounted, all gorgeously clad. Again thegreat peace pipe, again the spread blanket inviting the council. TheShoshones showed no signs of hostility--the few words of their tonguewhich Lewis was able to speak gave them assurance.
"McNeal," said Lewis, "go back now across the range, and tell CaptainClark to bring up the men."
William Clark, given one night's sleep, was his energetic self again,and not in mind to lie in camp. He had already ordered camp broken,more of the heavier articles cached, the canoes concealed here andthere along the stream and had pushed on after Lewis. He met McNealcoming down, bearing the tidings. Sacajawea ran on ahead in glee.
"My people! My people!" she cried.
They were indeed safe now. Sacajawea found her brother, the chief ofthis ba
nd of Shoshones, and was made welcome. She found many friendsof her girlhood, who had long mourned her as dead. The girls andyounger women laughed and wept in turn as they welcomed her and herbaby. She was a great person. Never had such news as this come amongthe Shoshones.[5]
[Footnote 5: Cam-e-ah-wit was the name of Sacajawea's brother, theShoshone chief. The country where Lewis met him is remote from anylarge city today. Pass through the Gate of the Mountains, not far fromHelena, Montana, and ascend the upper valley of the Missouri, as itsweeps west of what is now the Yellowstone Park, and one may followwith a certain degree of comfort the trail of the early explorers. Ifone should then follow the Jefferson Fork of the great river up to itslast narrowing, one would reach the country of Cam-e-ah-wit. Here isthe crest of the Continental Divide, where it sweeps up from thesouth, after walling in, as if in a vast cup, the three main sourcesof the great river. Much of that valley country is in fertile farmstoday. Lewis and Clark passed within twelve miles of Alder Gulch,which wrote roaring history in the early sixties--the wild placer daysof gold-mining in Montana.
As for Sacajawea, she has a monument--a very poor and inadequateone--in the city of Portland, Oregon. The crest of the Great Divide,where she met her brother, would have been a better place. It washere, in effect, that she ended that extraordinary guidance--some callit nothing less than providential--which brought the white men throughin safety.
Trace this Indian girl's birth and childhood, here among theShoshones, who had fled to the mountains to escape the guns of theBlackfeet. Recall her capture here by the Minnetarees from the Dakotacountry. Picture her long journey thence to the east, on foot, byhorse, in bull-hide canoes, many hundreds of miles, to the Mandanvillages. It is something of a journey, even now. Reverse thatjourney, go against the swift current of the waters, beyond the GreatFalls, past Helena, west of the Yellowstone Park, and up to theContinental Divide, where she met her brother. You will find that thatis still more of a journey, even today, with roads, and towns, andmaps to guide you. Meriwether Lewis could not have made it withouther.
While he was studying the courses of the stars, at Philadelphia,preparing to lead his expedition, Sacajawea was learning the story ofnature also; and she was waiting to guide the white men when theyreached the Mandan villages. Who guided her in such unbelievablystrange fashion? The Indians sometimes made long journeys, their warparties traveled far, and their captives also; but in all the historyof the tribes there is no record of a journey made by any Indian womanequal to that of Sacajawea. Why did she make it? What hand pointed outthe way for her?
A statue to her? She should have a thousand memorials along the oldtrail! Her name should be known familiarly by every school child inAmerica!]
All were now content to lie for a few days at the Shoshone village. Abrisk trade in Indian horses now sprang up--they would be footmen nomore.
"Which way, Sacajawea?" Meriwether Lewis once more asked the Indiangirl.
But now she only shook her head.
"Not know," said she. "These my people. They say big river that way.Not know which way."
"Now, Merne," said William Clark, "it's my turn again. We have got tolearn the best way out from these mountains. If there is a big riverbelow, some of these valleys must run down to it. Their watersprobably flow to the Columbia. The Indians talk of salmon and ofwhite men--they have heard of goods which must have been made by whitemen. We are in touch with the Pacific here. I'll get a guide andexplore off to the southwest. It looks better there."
"No good--no good!" insisted Sacajawea. "That way no good. My brothersay go that way."
She pointed to the north, and insisted that the party should go inthat direction.
For a hundred miles Clark scouted down the headwaters of the SalmonRiver, and at last turned back, to report that neither horse nor boatever could get through. At the Shoshone village, uneasy, the men werewaiting for him.
"That way!" said Sacajawea, still pointing north.
The Indian guide, who had served Clark unwillingly, at length admittedthat there was a trail leading across the mountains far up to thenorthward.
"We will go north," said Lewis.
They cached under the ashes of their camp fire such remaining articlesas they could leave behind them. They had now a band of fifty horses.Partly mounted, mostly on foot, their half wild horses burdened, theyset out once more under the guidance of an old Shoshone, who said heknew the way.
Charbonneau wanted to remain with the Shoshones, and to keep with himSacajawea, his wife, so recently reunited to her people.
"No!" said Sacajawea. "I no go back--I go with the white chief to thewater that tastes salt!" And it was so ordered.
Their course lay along the eastern side of the lofty Bitter RootMountains. The going was rude enough, since no trail had ever beenhere; but mile after mile, day after day, they stumbled through tosome point on ahead which none knew except the guide. They came on anew tribe of Indians--Flatheads, who were as amazed and curious as theShoshones had been at the coming of these white men. They received theexplorers as friends--asked them to tarry, told them how dangerous itwas to go into the mountains.
But haste was the order of the day, and they left the Flatheads,rejoicing that these also told of streams to the westward up which thesalmon came. They had heard of white men, too, to the west, many yearsbefore.
Down the beautiful valley of the Bitter Root River, with splendidmountains on either side, they pressed on, and on the ninth ofSeptember, 1805, they stopped at the mouth of a stream coming downfrom the heights to the west. Their old guide pointed up this valley.
"There is a trail," said he, "which comes across here. The Indianscome to reach the buffalo. On the farther side the water runs towardthe sunset."
They were at the eastern extremity of that ancient trail, later calledthe Lolo Trail, known immemorially to the tribes on both sides of themountains. Laboriously, always pressing forward, they ascended theeastern slopes of the great range, crossed the summit, found the clearwaters on the west side, and so came to the Kooskooskie or ClearwaterRiver, leading to the Snake. And always the natives marveled at thesewhite men, the first they ever had seen.
The old Indians still made maps on the sand for them, showing them howthey would come to the great river where the salmon came. They werenow among yet another people--the Nez Perces. With these also theysmoked and counciled, and learned that it would be easy for boats togo all the way down to the great river which ran to the sea.
"We will leave our horses here," said Lewis. "We will take to theboats once more."
So Gass and Bratton and Shields and all the other artisans fell tofashioning dugouts from the tall pines and cedars, hewing and burningand shaping, until at length they had transports for their scantystore of goods. By the first week of October they were at the junctionof their river with the Snake. An old medicine man of the Nez Perces,Twisted Hair, a man who also could make maps, had drawn them charts ona white skin with a bit of charcoal. And on ahead, mounted runners ofthe Indians rushed down to inform the tribes of the coming of thesestrange people.
It was no longer an exploration, but a reception for them now. Bandsof red men, who welcomed them, had heard of white men coming up fromthe sea. White men had once lived by the Tim-Tim water, on the greatriver of the salmon--so they had been told; but never had any livingIndian heard of white men coming across the great mountains from thesunrise.
"Will," said Lewis, "it is done--we are safe now! We shall be firstacross to the Columbia. This--" he shook the Nez Perces' scrawledhide--"is the map of a new world!"