CHAPTER XI
THE BEE
"Captain, dear," said honest Patrick Gass, putting an arm under hiswounded commander's shoulders as he eased his position in the boat,"ye are not the man ye was when ye hit me that punch back yonder onthe Ohio, three years ago. Since ye're so weak now, I have a good mindto return it to ye, with me compliments. 'Tis safer now!"
Gass chuckled at his own jest as his leader looked up at him.
The boiling current of the great Missouri, bend after bend, vistaafter vista, had carried them down until at length they had reachedthe mouth of the Yellowstone, and had seen on ahead the curl of bluesmoke on the beach--the encampment of their companions, who werewaiting for them here. These wonderful young men, these extraordinarywilderness travelers, had performed one more miracle. Separated byleagues of wild and unknown land, they met now casually, as though itwere only what should be expected. Their feat would be difficult eventoday.
William Clark, walking up and down along the bank, looking everupstream for some sign of his friend, hurried down to meet the boats,and gazed anxiously at the figure lifted in the arms of the men.
"What's wrong, Merne?" he exclaimed. "Tell me!"
Lewis waved a hand at him in reassurance, and smiled as his friendbent above him.
"Nothing at all, Will," said he. "Nothing at all--I was playing elk,and Cruzatte thought it very lifelike! It is just a bullet through thethigh; the bone is safe, and the wound will soon heal. It is luckythat we are not on horseback now."
By marvel, by miracle, the two friends were reunited once more; andsurely around the camp fires there were stories for all to tell.
Sacajawea, the Indian girl, sat listening but briefly to all thesetales of adventure--tales not new to one of her birth and education.Silently and without question, she took the place of nurse to thewounded commander. She had herbs of her own choosing, simple remedieswhich her people had found good for the treatment of wounds. As if thecaptain were her child--rather than the forsaken infant who lustilybemoaned his mother's absence from his tripod in the lodge--she tookcharge of the injured man, until at length he made protest that he wasas well as ever, and that they must go on.
Again the paddles plied, again the bows of the canoes turneddownstream. It seemed but a short distance thence to the Mandanvillages, and once among the Mandans they felt almost as if they wereat home.
The Mandans received them as beings back from the grave. The drumssounded, the feast-fires were lighted, and for a time the natives andtheir guests joined in rejoicing. But still Lewis's restless soul wasdissatisfied with delay. He would not wait.
"We must get on!" said he. "We cannot delay."
The boats must start down the last stretch of the great river. Wouldany of the tribesmen like to go to the far East, to see the GreatFather? Big White, chief of the Mandans, said his savage prayers.
"I will go," said he. "I will go and tell him of my people. We arepoor and weak. I will ask him to take pity on us and protect usagainst the Sioux."
So it was arranged that Big White and his women, with Jussaume, hiswife, and one or two others, should accompany the brigade down theriver. Loud lamentations mingled with the preparations for thedeparture.
Sacajawea, what of her? Her husband lived among the Mandans. This wasthe end of the trail for her, and not the rudest man but was sad atthe thought of going on without her. They knew well enough that in alllikelihood, but for her, their expedition could never have attainedsuccess. Beyond that, each man of them held memory of some personalkindness received at her hands. She had been the life and comfort ofthe party, as well as its guide and inspiration.
"Sacajawea," said Meriwether Lewis, when the hour for departure came,"I am now going to finish my trail. Do you want to go part way withus? I can take you to the village where we started up this river--St.Louis. You can stay there for one snow, until Big White comes backfrom seeing the Great Father. We can take the baby, too, if you like."
Her face lighted up with a strange wistfulness.
"Yes, Capt'in," said she, "I go with Big White--and you."
He smiled as he shook his head.
"We go farther than that, many sleeps farther."
"Who shall make the fire? Who shall mend your moccasins? See, there isno other woman in your party. Who shall make tea? Who shall spreaddown the robes? Me--Mrs. Charbonneau!"
She drew herself up proudly with this title; but still MeriwetherLewis looked at her sadly, as he stood, lean, gaunt, full-bearded,clad in his leather costume of the plains, supporting himself on hiscrutch.
"Sacajawea," said he, "I cannot take your husband with me. All mygoods are gone--I cannot pay him; and now we do not need him to teachus the language of other peoples. From here we can go alone."
"Aw right!" said Sacajawea, in paleface idiom. "Him stay--me go!"
Meriwether Lewis pondered for a time on what fashion of speech he mustemploy to make her understand.
"Bird Woman," said he at length, "you are a good girl. It would painmy heart to see you unhappy. But if you came with me to my villages,women would say, 'Who is that woman there? She has no lodge; she doesnot belong to any man.' They must not say that of Sacajawea--she is agood woman. Those are not the things your ears should hear. Now Ishall tell the Great Father that, but for Sacajawea we should all havebeen lost; that we should never have come back again. His heart willbe open to those words. He will send gifts to you. Sometime, Ibelieve, the Great Father's sons will build a picture of you in iron,out yonder at the parting of the rivers. It will show you pointing onahead to show the way to the white men. Sacajawea must never die--shehas done too much to be forgotten. Some day the children of the GreatFather will take your baby, if you wish, and bring him up in the wayof the white men. What we can do for you we will do. Are my words goodin your ears?"
"Your words are good," said Sacajawea. "But I go, too! No want to stayhere now. No can stay!"
"But here is your village, Sacajawea--this is your home, where youmust live. You will be happier here. See now, when I sleep safe atnight, I shall say, 'It was Sacajawea showed me the way. We did not goastray--we went straight.' We will not forget who led us."
"But," she still expostulated, looking up at him, "how can you cook?How can you make the lodge? One woman--she must help all time."
A spasm of pain crossed Lewis's face.
"Sacajawea," said he, "I told you that I had made medicine--that I hadpromised my dream never to have a lodge of my own. Always I shall liveupon the trail--no lodge fire in any village shall be the place forme. And I told you I had made a vow to my dream that no woman shouldlight the lodge fire for me. You are a princess--the daughter of achief, the sister of a chief, a great person; you know about awarrior's medicine. Surely, then, you know that no one is allowed toask about the vows of a chief!
"By and by," he added gently, "a great many white men will come here,Sacajawea. They will find you here. They will bring you gifts. Youwill live here long, and your baby will grow to be a man, and hischildren will live here long. But now I must go to my people."
The unwonted tears of an Indian woman were in the eyes which looked upat him.
"Ah!" said she, in reproach. "I went with you. I cooked in the lodges.I showed the way. I was as one of your people. Now I say I go to yourpeople, and you say no. You need me once--you no need me now! You sayto me, your people are not my people--you not need Sacajawea anymore!"
The Indian has no word for good-by. The faithful--nay, loving--girlsimply turned away and passed from him; nor did he ever see her more.
Alone, apart from her people, she seated herself on the brink of thebluff, below which lay the boats, ready to depart. She drew herblanket over her head. When at length the voyage had begun, she didnot look out once to watch them pass. They saw her motionless figurehigh on the bank above them. The Bird Woman was mourning.
The little Indian dog, Meriwether Lewis's constant companion, now,like Sacajawea, mercifully banished, sat at her side, as motionlessas she. Both
of them, mute and resigned, accepted their fate.
But as for those others, those hardy men, now homeward bound, theywere rejoicing. Speed was the cry of all the lusty paddlers, who, hourafter hour, kept the boats hurrying down, aided by the current andsometimes pushed forward by favorable winds. They were upon the laststretch of their wonderful journey. Speed, early and late, was allthey asked. They were going home--back over the trail they had blazedfor their fellows!
"_Capitaine, Capitaine_, look what I'll found!"
They were halting at noonday, far down the Missouri, for the boilingof the kettles. Lewis lay on his robes, still too lame to walk,watching his men as they scattered here and there after their fashion.It was Cruzatte who approached him, looking at something which thevoyager held in his hand.
"What is it, Cruzatte?" smiled Lewis.
He was anxious always to be as kindly as possible to this unluckyfollower, whose terrible mistake had well-nigh resulted in the deathof the leader.
"Ouch, by gar! She'll bite me with his tail. She's hot!"
Cruzatte held out in his fingers a small but fateful object. It was abee, an ordinary honey-bee. East of the Mississippi, in Illinois,Kentucky, the Virginias, it would have meant nothing. Here on thegreat plains it meant much.
Meriwether Lewis held the tiny creature in the palm of his hand.
"Why did you kill it, Cruzatte?" he asked. "It was on its errand."
He turned to his friend who sat near, at the other side.
"Will," he said, "our expedition has succeeded. Here is the proof ofit. The bee is following our path. They are coming!"
Clark nodded. Woodsmen as they both were, they knew well enough theIndian tradition that the bee is the harbinger of the coming of thewhite man. When he comes, the plow soon follows, and weeds grow wherelately have been the flowers of the forest or the prairie.
They sat for a time looking at the little insect, which bore sofateful a message into the West. Reverently Lewis placed it in hiscollector's case--the first bee of the plains.
"They are coming!" said he again to his friend.