Part 5

Sometimes sailing, sometimes rowed, and sometimes towed by heavy ropes on which the men hauled, from the banks, the three boats had been steadily advancing up-river. Peter was feeling quite at home. Everybody was kind to him――especially Pat, who had been elected sergeant in place of Charles Floyd, and young George Shannon, who was only seventeen.

Two horses followed the boats, by land, for the use of the hunters. George Drouillard, a Frenchman, who had lived with the Omahas, was chief hunter. At the evening camps Pierre Cruzatte, a merry Frenchman with only one eye, and a soldier by the name of George Gibson, played lively music on stringed boxes called violins. Each night the two captains, and Pat and other soldiers, wrote on paper the story of the trip. York, the black man, was Captain Clark’s servant. Early in the morning a horn was blown to arouse the camp. During the days the captains frequently went ashore, to explore.

It was well, thought Peter, that Pierre Dorion, a trader who lived with the Sioux, was aboard the boats, for the fierce Sioux Indians did not like strangers. Still, who could whip the United States?

In the afternoon of the eighth day after leaving Chief Little Thief, old Pierre, from where he was standing with the two captains on the barge and gazing right and left and before, cried aloud and pointed.

“Dere she is!”

“What, Dorion?”

“De Jacques, w’at is also call de Yankton River; my people de Yankton Sioux lif on her. Mebbe soon now we see some.”

The barge, flying its white peace flag, bordered with red and blue, ploughed on. All eyes aboard were directed intently before. The mouth of the river gradually opened, amidst the trees.

“We’ll halt there for dinner,” ordered Captain Lewis. “That looks like a good landing-place just above the mouth, Will.”

Captain Clark nodded, and the barge began to veer in; the two pirogues or smaller boats imitated.

“I see one Injun,” said Peter. “You see him, Pat?”

“Where, now?” invited Patrick Gass.

“He is standing still; watch us, this side of Yankton River.”

“Faith, you’ve sharp eyes,” praised Pat, squinting. “Yis, sure I see him, by the big tree just above the mouth.”

Others saw him. And as the barge hove to, and led by Captain Clark the men leaped for the shore, to cook dinner, the Indian plunged into the water and swam across.

“’Maha!” quoth Peter, quickly, when, dripping, the Indian had plashed out and was boldly entering the camp.

“Oh, is he, now?” murmured Patrick Gass.

Pierre Dorion translated for him, to the captains. He said that he was an Omaha boy, living with the Sioux. While he was talking, two other Indians came in. They indeed were Sioux――straight, dark, and dignified, as befitted members of a great and powerful nation.

“Dey say de Yanktons, many of dem, are camp’ to de west, one short travel,” interpreted Dorion. “Dey haf hear of our comin’, an’ will be please’ to meet de white chiefs.”

“All right, Dorion. You go to the camp with these fellows, and tell the chiefs that we’ll hold council at the river. I’ll send Sergeant Pryor and another man along with you,” instructed Captain Lewis. “You’ll find us again about opposite where their camp is.”

“Good,” approved Pierre Dorion. “Now mebbe I get my wife an’ fam’ly one time more. My son, he dere, too, say dese young men.” For Pierre had married a Sioux woman.

The two Sioux, and Pierre, and Sergeant Nathaniel Pryor and Private John Potts left on foot for the camp of the Yanktons; but the Omaha boy stayed. Peter preferred to keep away from him. The Omahas, to him, were not to be trusted.

From the mouth of the Yankton River, which is to-day called the James River of South Dakota, the boats continued on up the Missouri, to the council ground. The red pirogue ran upon a snag, so that it almost sank before it could be beached. Then all the goods had to be transferred to the white pirogue. This took time, and it was not until nearly sunset that Captain Lewis ordered landing to be made and camp pitched.

The camp of the Sioux was supposed to be somewhere across the river. In the morning no Sioux had yet appeared for council, and Captain Lewis anxiously swept the country to the north with his spy-glass. However, Indians could not be hurried, as Peter well knew. But about four o’clock there spread a murmur.

“Here they come!”

“De Sioux! Dey come. Now for beeg talk an’ beeg dance! Hoo-zah!”

“Oui!” added George Drouillard, the hunter. “Mebbe fat dog feast, too!”

“Oh, murther!” gasped Pat. And, to Peter: “Did ye ever eat dog, Peter?”

Peter shook his head, disgusted. Not he; nor the Otoes, either. Only the northern Indians ate dog.

“There’s a t’arin’ lot of ’em, anyhow,” mused Patrick Gass. “I’m after wishin’ George was here. Sure, he’s like to get into trouble, wanderin’ about the country where all those fellows are.”

For two days back George Shannon had been sent out to find the horses that had strayed from camp, and he had not returned.

The Sioux made a brave sight indeed. They looked to be almost a hundred――ahorse and afoot, with gay streamers and blankets flying. Pierre Dorion and Sergeant Pryor and Private Potts were to be seen, mounted and riding with the principal chiefs in the advance. So evidently everything was all right.

They halted on the bank opposite the United States camp. Sergeant Pryor waved his hat, and the captains sent the red pirogue across for him. He and Pierre and Private Potts returned in it. They brought with them young Pierre, who was old Pierre’s son. He was half Sioux, and traded among the Tetons; but just now he was visiting among the Yanktons.

“They are friendly, are they, Sergeant?” inquired Captain Lewis.

“Yes, sir. They treated us very handsomely, and the head chief is yonder, waiting to talk with you,” informed Sergeant Pryor.

“Very good. You and young Dorion go back to them――we’d better send along some presents, hadn’t we, Will?――and tell the chiefs that we’ll speak with them in the morning. ’Twon’t do to let them think we’re in any more of a hurry than they are.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Sergeant Pryor.

He took over presents of corn and tobacco and iron kettles, with young Pierre to do the translating for him, and returned. Both camps settled down for the night.

“Did yez have a rale good time with the Sioux, Nat?” queried Patrick Gass, that night around the fire, after a hearty supper on cat-fish. During the day a number of huge cat-fish had been caught, some of them weighing sixty pounds. Now all the men were curious to hear more from Nat Pryor and John Potts.

“Tremendous,” declared Nat. “They wanted to carry us into camp in a blanket, but we told ’em we were not chiefs. They could wait and carry the captains. They gave us a fat dog, though, boiled in a pot――and I swear he was good eating.”

“None for me, thank ye,” retorted Sergeant Pat. “An’ how far is their camp, an’ what kind is it?”

“It’s about nine miles back, near the Jacques. All fine buffalo hide lodges――some elk hide, too――painted different colors. Fact is, they’re about the best Indians we’ve met yet.”

“Ye didn’t learn anything of Shannon or the horses, then?”

“Not a word. But I think he’ll be safe if only the Sioux find him.”

The next day dawned so foggy that nobody could see across the river. The captains made preparations for the grand council. A pole was set up, near to a large oak tree, and a new flag hoisted to the top of it. The flag was striped red and white; in a corner was a blue square, like the sky, studded with stars. ’Twas the great flag of the United States nation――and Peter thought it beautiful.

The two captains dressed in their best. Captain Lewis wore a long coat of dark blue trimmed with light blue, down its front bright brass buttons, and on its shoulders bright gold-fringed epaulets. Captain Clark’s coat was dark blue faced with red; it, too, had the brass buttons and the bright epaulets. Both wore their cocked hats, and their long knives, or swords.

The men also were ordered to put on their best, and to clean up even if they had no “best.” Presents were laid out. By the time the fog lifted, at eight o’clock, the camp was ready.

Now it could be seen that over in the Sioux camp, also, the chiefs and warriors were preparing.

“They’re painting and polishing, Merne,” remarked Captain Clark, who had levelled the spy-glass, to peer.

That was so. Peter needed no spy-glass. He could make out figures of the chiefs and warriors sitting and plaiting their hair and painting their faces and chests and arms.

The two captains waited until nearly noon. Then the red pirogue was dispatched, under Sergeant Pryor, accompanied by old Pierre, to bring the chiefs and warriors. The white pirogue was loaded with goods, but the red pirogue had been emptied for repairs. Even then the Sioux so crowded it that it scarcely could be rowed. A number of the young Sioux waded into the river and swam across.

Now there were more Sioux than white men in the United States camp. But they were armed mainly with bows and arrows, while the United States were armed with rifles; and Peter’s sharp eyes observed that the cannon in the bow of the barge was pointed right at the camp, ready for business.

Broad-chested and sinewy were these Yankton Sioux, and evidently great warriors. What struck Peter and the soldiers, especially, were the necklaces of claws stitched in bands of buckskin or red flannel, and hanging low on those broad chests. Many warriors wore them.

“D’you mean to say those are b’ar claws!” exclaimed John Shields, one of the Kentuckians.

“Oui, my frien’,” assured Drouillard, the hunter. “Dey claw of great white bear――so we call heem. Beeg! More beeg dan one ox. An’ ’fraid? He not ’fraid of notting. To keel one white bear make Injun beeg warrior.”

“And where do those critters live, then?” queried John.

“Up river. We meet ’em pret’ queeck, now. Sometime w’en we land――woof! Dere coom one beast――beeg as one ox――mouth he open; an’ mebbe eat us, if brush so t’ick we not see heem soon ’nough.”

The listening Kentuckians and other soldiers scratched their heads, as if a little doubtful.

“Faith,” said Patrick Gass, “some o’ them claws are six inches long, boys. ’Tis a country o’ monsters that we’re goin’ into.”

A group of the Sioux had been staring at black York, who, larger than any of them, was gaping back. Suddenly one stepped to him, wet his finger and swiftly drew it down York’s cheek; then looked to see if the black had come off.

“Hey, you man!” growled York. “Wha’ foh you done do dat?”

Another Sioux deftly snatched off York’s hat, and clutched the black curly wool underneath; but it would not come off, either. Much impressed, the circle widened respectfully, and Sioux murmured gutturally to Sioux.

“That’s all right, York,” warned Captain Clark, who had noted; for his own red hair had been attracting much attention. “They say you’re great medicine.”

“Oui; he black buffalo,” affirmed young Dorion.

After that York strutted importantly, alarmed the Indians by making fierce faces, and was followed about by a constant admiring procession.

The council was held at noon, under the great oak tree beside which floated the United States flag. The chiefs and the leading warriors sat in a half circle; the two captains sat facing them, Pierre Dorion stood before them as interpreter; and the soldiers and French boatmen sat behind in another half circle.

Captain Lewis made a welcoming speech――and a fine figure he was, standing straight and slim, in his tight-fitting, decorated coat, his cocked hat with black feather, his sword at his side.

“The land has changed white fathers,” he said. “The great nation of the Sioux, and all the other Indians, have a new white father, at Washington. That is his flag, the flag of the United States nation, which has bought this country. The new father has sent us, who are his children, to tell his red children that he wants them to be at peace with one another. I have given flags and peace gifts to the Otoes and the Missouris, and have sent word to the Osages and the Omahas and the Pawnees and the Kickapoos and other Indians, that there must be no more wars among the red children. I will give you a flag and gifts, too, so that you will remember what I say.”

Then the gifts were distributed. To the head chief, Weucha, or Shake Hand, a flag, and a first-grade silver medal, and a paper that certified the United States recognized him as the head chief, and a string of beads and shells, and a “chief’s coat,” which was a red-trimmed artillery dress-coat like Captain Clark’s, and a cocked hat with red feather in it. Weucha was immensely pleased; he put on the coat and hat at once.

The four other chiefs also were given gifts. Chief Weucha produced a long peace-pipe of red stone, with reed stem; it was lighted, he puffed, Captain Lewis and Captain Clark puffed; the four lesser chiefs puffed. After that the chiefs solemnly shook hands with the captains, and withdrew into a lean-to of branches, to consult on what they should reply to-morrow.

The Sioux stayed at the camp during the afternoon. The captains gave them a dressed deer-hide and an empty keg, for a dance drum. The deer-hide was stretched taut over the head of the keg; and that night, by the light of the fires, the Sioux thumped on the drum and shook their rattles, and danced. One-eyed Cruzatte and George Gibson played on their violins, and the United States warriors danced. But the Sioux kept it up almost all night, and nobody got much sleep.

In the morning after breakfast Weucha and his three sub-chiefs sat before the oak tree; each held a peace pipe in front of him, with the stem pointing at the spot where the captains were to sit. The names of the other chiefs were White Crane, Struck-by-the-Pawnee, and Half Man.

“He ver’ modes’,” explained One-eyed Cruzatte. “He say ‘I am no warrior, I only half a man.’”

Weucha spoke first, standing clad in his artillery coat and cocked hat. He said that the Yanktons were willing to be at peace, but were very poor.

White Crane, and Struck-by-the-Pawnee and Half Man likewise spoke. They agreed with what Shake Hand had said. They wanted powder and ball, and, their great father’s “milk”――which was whisky.

That evening the Sioux went back, across the river, well satisfied. Pierre Dorion and young Pierre went with them. Old Pierre promised that in the spring he would take some of the chiefs to Washington, that they might meet their new father.

Just as the Yanktons were leaving, Captain Lewis beckoned Peter to him.

“You had better go with Pierre. He will take you down river in the spring, if not before.”

“No, please,” objected Peter. “I rather stay.”

“But we’re going clear to the Pacific Ocean, my boy,” spoke Captain Clark. “It will be a hard trip.”

“I will go, too,” declared Peter. “Do not want to stay with Sioux. I am white.”

“What will you do, along with us, Peter?”

“I work. I can talk sign language,” answered Peter, proudly.

“There’s something in that, Merne,” laughed Captain Clark. “Now with Dorion gone we’ll need an interpreter to help Drouillard. I fancy Peter knows almost as much as he does.”

“You’ve got a kind heart, Will,” replied Captain Lewis, his eyes softening. “But game’s plenty; we’ll have meat enough――and that’s the main question. All right, Peter. You can come as far as the Mandan village, anyway. And in the spring we’ll see.”

Whereupon Peter resolved that he would make himself useful, so that they would take him clear to the Pacific Ocean, which lay, according to Patrick Gass and the other men, many, many days’ travel, far beyond the western mountains.

V

BAD HEARTS

Work, work, work! Through this the month of September, 1804, the boats had been toiling on up the sluggish Missouri River, in the present State of South Dakota. With the rains, the winds, and the shallows, everybody, even the captains, was wet all the day, from hauling on the tow-ropes, in and out of the water.

The weather turned cold and raw. Shelters of deer hides were stretched over the two pirogues, and in the camps the men made themselves hide coats and leggins and moccasins. Patrick and old Cruzatte together fitted Peter with a buckskin suit that felt much better to him than his other, clumsy garments.

After having been gone over two weeks, George Shannon appeared at last, riding through the rain, with only one horse. He had been lost, and had almost starved, and the other horse had broken down. All were glad to see George again.

But where, now, were the Teton Sioux? George reported that he had seen none.

The last week in September a great smoke was sighted in the distance; and that night three Indian boys swam the river, to enter the camp. They were Tetons, from two villages a few miles above.

“Give them some tobacco,” directed Captain Lewis. “Tell them to say to their chiefs that we will hold a council to-morrow morning, near the villages.”

On the way up, Reuben Fields, who had been hunting, horseback, returned afoot and signalled to be taken aboard. He said that some Indians had stolen his horse while he was dressing an elk.

“Oui,” chirped Drouillard. “Dose Tetons haf bad hearts. We best look sharp or dey take scalps, too.”

“We mustn’t let them have the idea they can plunder us,” spoke Captain Lewis, reddening. “This leaves us without horses.”

“Aren’t those several Indians, on the bank ahead?” presently queried Captain Clark.

Captain Lewis peered through his spy-glass.

“Five of them. We’ll stop and hail them, and hear what they have to say.”

“Do you think they’re the fellows who stole your horse, Fields?” asked Captain Clark.

“I can’t tell, sir,” answered Reuben. “I had only a glimpse of the thieves, and these Injuns mainly look alike, sir, till you get to know ’em.”

The five Indians on the bank stolidly waited, while the barge hove to, opposite.

“Are they Tetons, Drouillard?” inquired Captain Lewis.

“Oui,” nodded Drouillard. “Dey Tetons. Eh, Cruzatte?”

“Mais, oui,” confirmed One-eyed Cruzatte. “Beeg rascals.”

“All right. Tell them that some of their young men have stolen a horse from their great father at Washington, and we want it returned or we will hold no council. We’re willing to be friends, but we aren’t afraid of them.”

“I do not know much of dees Sioux tongue, but I will try,” engaged Drouillard. And by signs and a few words he delivered the message.

The Indians consulted a moment together; then one of them replied.

“I t’ink dey say dey haf not seen a hoss,” translated Drouillard. “But if it is found it will be return’.”

“I t’ink so, too,” added the funny Cruzatte――although everybody was aware that he did not understand a word of Sioux.

However, by the signs that were made, Peter would have interpreted the same as Drouillard. He and the Oto boys had practiced for hours, talking sign language.

The boats stopped for the night off the mouth of a river on the left or the south. This night only a few men were allowed ashore, to guard the cook fires; the remainder slept aboard the boats, with their guns ready. The captains named the river Teton River, but it was soon renamed Bad River, for very good reason.

In the morning everybody, except the boat guards, landed. The captains ordered the United States flag hoisted, again, on a pole, and the awning was stretched, as at the camp where the Otoes had been entertained. All the soldiers ashore were formed in rank, under arms, facing the flag-pole and the canopy; and soon the Tetons came in to council, from their village two miles up-river.

There were about sixty of them. They were not nearly so good-looking as the Yanktons, being smaller, with slim crooked legs and lean arms, and eyes set over high cheek-bones.

The council did not pass off very satisfactorily, because Drouillard knew little Teton talk, and scarcely could make himself understood when he talked for Captain Lewis. Still, the head chief, Black Buffalo, was given a medal, and a United States flag, and a red coat decorated with white lace, and a cocked hat with red feather. The second chief, Tor-to-hon-ga or Partisan, and the third chief, Buffalo Medicine, were given medals and beads and tobacco. Two warriors, Wah-zing-go, and Mat-o-co-que-pa or Second Bear, also were rewarded.

“What do you suppose those raven scalps signify?” asked George Shannon. For the two warriors wore each two or three raven skins fastened to their waists behind, with the tails sticking out, and on their heads was another raven skin, flattened with the beak to the fore.

“Dey special soldier,” explained old Cruzatte. “W’at you call――marshal. Oui. Dey boss. Obey nobody but chief.”

Then the captains took them all aboard the barge to show them the cannon and the air-gun that shot forty times, and other wonders. Captain Clark brought them ashore again in the red pirogue.

No sooner had the cable been carried on shore, to be held by Patrick Gass and Reuben Fields and George Shannon while the load was landed, and Captain Clark had stepped out, than three of the Indians grabbed it, and Wah-zing-go, the warrior, put his arms about the mast, as if to keep the boat there. Tor-to-hon-ga began to talk in a loud and angry voice. Captain Clark flushed.

“What does he say, Peter?” he appealed. For Drouillard was on the barge, and only Peter was near. When the five men had started to row the pirogue ashore, with the chiefs and Captain Clark, he had slipped in, too.

“The chief say you cannot go away till you give them more presents,” translated Peter, boldly; for he had picked up some Sioux words and he could read the gestures, also.

“What!” And Captain Clark was angry indeed. He had only five men, two in the boat and three ashore, but he was not afraid. “You tell him we will go on, and he can’t stop us. We are not squaws, but warriors. Our great father has medicine on those boats that will wipe out twenty Sioux nations.”

“The chief says he has plenty warriors, too,” interpreted Peter.

And at that moment the chief sprang for Captain Clark; the warriors spread right and left, jerked arrows from quivers and fitted them to strung bows. Out whipped Captain Clark’s bright sword――the long knife; and Chief Tor-to-hon-ga dodged. Captain Clark’s face was redder than his hair. He acted like a great chief.

“Watch out, Sergeant!” he cried, to Patrick Gass. “Rally on the boat; never mind the rope. Face them and stand together, men!”

Captain Lewis’s voice rang high and stern, from the barge. Out of the white pirogue a dozen men plashed into the shallows and wading and plunging, hastened to reinforce the red pirogue. Corporal Warfington and the six St. Louis soldiers who had been sent along to help as far as the Mandans were with them.

“Steady!” warned Captain Lewis. “Look sharp, Will.” And now the black muzzle of the cannon in the bows of the barge swung full at the shore. Behind it stood Gunner Alexander Willard, with lighted match.

This was enough. Head Chief Black Buffalo shouted an order, and his men left the cable and the pirogue and fell back. The “medicine” of the great father at Washington was, they realized, strong medicine.

To show that he was not afraid, and that he wished to be friendly, Captain Clark offered to shake hands with Black Buffalo and Partisan; but they surlily refused. So the captain laughed, and ordered the red pirogue to return to the barge. Then Black Buffalo and Partisan, and the warriors Wah-zing-go and Second Bear ran after, through the water, and climbed aboard, to go on the barge also.

“Rather a close shave, Will,” remarked Captain Lewis. “An instant more and I’d have helped you out with a round of grape.”

“They wished to try our metal,” smiled Captain Clark.

“We were afraid the white chiefs would go on and not stop at our village to show our squaws and boys the great father’s boats,” alleged Chief Black Buffalo.

“Tell him we are willing to be friends, and will stop,” directed Captain Lewis. “The soldiers of the great father do not fear the Sioux.”