{"product_id":"across-the-endless-river-isbn-9780767931731","title":"Across the Endless River","description":"Born in 1805 on the Lewis and Clark expedition, Jean-Baptiste Charbonneau is the son of Sacagawea and Toussaint Charbonneau. He is raised both as William Clark’s ward in St. Louis and by his parents among the villages of the Mandan tribe on the far northern reaches of the Missouri river. In 1823 eighteen-year-old Baptiste is invited to cross the Atlantic with the young Duke Paul of Württemberg, whom he meets on the frontier. During their travels throughout Europe, Paul introduces Baptiste to a world he never imagined, and Baptiste ultimately faces a choice: whether to stay in Europe or return to the wilds of North America. As we follow this young man on his intriguing sojourn, this remarkable novel\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eresonates with the richness of three distinct cultures, languages, and customs.\u003cp\u003e“The son of Sacagawea . . . Jean-Baptiste is made whole for us; he falls in love, he feels apart from all cultures\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003ethe native or the American or the European.” \u003ci\u003e—Los Angeles Times\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Carhart is a skilled and graceful writer. . . . \u003ci\u003eAcross the Endless River\u003c\/i\u003e should appeal to lovers of history and historical novels alike.” \u003ci\u003e—The Huntington News\u003c\/i\u003e (West Virginia)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Richly detailed.” —\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eAcross the Endless River\u003c\/i\u003e is filled with vivid descriptions of city streets, palaces and country estates, while the plot moves at a reflective, inner level.”\u003ci\u003e —\u003c\/i\u003eHistorical Novels\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Gracefully done. . . . Sensitively compares and contrasts the Old World with the New.”\u003ci\u003e —Kirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Riveting.” —Reuters \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e“Marvelously captured. . . . Stirring.” —\u003ci\u003ePublisher's Weekly \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The list of novels chronicling the Lewis and Clark expedition is long, but . . . Carhart provides a fresh perspective. Fans of historical fiction with a romantic storyline, such as the novels of Anya Seton, should enjoy this.” —\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA dual citizen of the United States and Ireland, Thad Carhart lives in Paris with his wife, the photographer Simo Neri, and their two children.\u003c\/p\u003eOne\u003cbr\u003eFebruary 11, 1805\u003cbr\u003eOn the banks of the Missouri, 1,200 miles\u003cbr\u003eupriver from St. Louis\u003cbr\u003eAll afternoon her cries could be heard throughout the small\u003cbr\u003ewooden enclosure they called Fort Mandan, winter quarters for\u003cbr\u003ethe expedition across the river from one of the tribe's villages. Two\u003cbr\u003erows of huts faced each other at an oblique angle within the stockade,\u003cbr\u003eand from one of these the guttural shrieks emerged with a grim regularity.\u003cbr\u003eIn and around the other huts the men kept to their business—\u003cbr\u003eskinning game, cutting wood, cleaning guns—but each flinched\u003cbr\u003einwardly when the next cry reached his ears.\u003cbr\u003e\"It's her first,\" René Jesseaume said as he ground an ax blade on a\u003cbr\u003ewhetstone inside his hut. \"She can't be more than fifteen; it's no wonder\u003cbr\u003eshe has been at it for so long.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"All you can do is wait,\" said the young soldier across from him,\u003cbr\u003eshaking his head. He continued to dress the elk meat they had hunted\u003cbr\u003etwo days before.\u003cbr\u003e\"Maybe,\" Jesseaume said. He put down the ax, oiled the stone, and\u003cbr\u003elet himself out into the biting cold.\u003cbr\u003eHe crossed the central space enclosed by the palisade. On the river\u003cbr\u003eside the American flag snapped fiercely on its pole above the roughhewn\u003cbr\u003egatehouse, its edges already frayed. Hunched against the bitter\u003cbr\u003ecold wind, he approached the door to the captains' quarters opposite\u003cbr\u003ehis hut. As he prepared to knock, the door opened and Charbonneau,\u003cbr\u003ethe squaw's husband, emerged in a daze. His eyes were rheumy, his\u003cbr\u003elook distracted; he passed Jesseaume without appearing to see him.\u003cbr\u003eJesseaume knocked lightly on the half-open door and let himself in to\u003cbr\u003ethe close confines of the room.\u003cbr\u003eCaptain Lewis looked up from where he sat by a low pallet covered\u003cbr\u003ewith a buffalo robe. His features were worn. The young woman lay\u003cbr\u003ebeneath a woven blanket, her face turned away from the candle at\u003cbr\u003eLewis's side. Lewis began to say something but the woman cried out\u003cbr\u003esuddenly, a long howl that paralyzed both men before it tapered off in\u003cbr\u003ea whimper. Jesseaume approached and knelt by Lewis's side.\u003cbr\u003e\"Captain, my wife' s tribe has a potion in such cases where the labor\u003cbr\u003eis long and difficult.\" Lewis nodded for him to continue. \"They crush\u003cbr\u003ethe tail of a rattler, mix it with water, and have the woman drink it. I\u003cbr\u003ehave never seen it fail.\"\u003cbr\u003eAt length Lewis said, \"I have given her as much tincture of laudanum\u003cbr\u003eas I dare. I don't suppose the Mandan remedy you propose can\u003cbr\u003ekeep nature from taking its course.\"\u003cbr\u003eHe rose and walked to the other side of the hut, its interior dank\u003cbr\u003ewith the smell of sweat, blood, and wood smoke. On one wall a profusion\u003cbr\u003eof pelts, tails, snakeskins, and bones hung on the rough timber.\u003cbr\u003eHe produced a knife from his pocket and snipped the rattles from the\u003cbr\u003etip of a snakeskin. Then, setting his cup on an adjacent plank, he ladled\u003cbr\u003eout a quarter measure of water and returned to where Jesseaume\u003cbr\u003ecrouched beside the woman.\u003cbr\u003e\"Will this serve?\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Very well, Captain. I thank you.\"\u003cbr\u003eJesseaume neatly snapped two of the rattles from the tail, dropped\u003cbr\u003ethem into the water, and broke them into tiny pieces, using his thumbnail\u003cbr\u003eas a mortar to the tin cup's pestle. Kneeling low to the pallet, he\u003cbr\u003eraised the young woman's sweat-drenched head in one hand and whispered\u003cbr\u003ein her ear in Mandan, \"New Mother, the power of the snake will\u003cbr\u003etell your body how to work. Drink this, and let the snake show your\u003cbr\u003ebaby the way out.\" He held the cup to her lips then, and she raised her\u003cbr\u003ehead to drink it, her matted hair stretched across her mouth. Gently,\u003cbr\u003ehe pulled the strands clear and she drank the cloudy liquid, slowly at\u003cbr\u003efirst, then in one long swallow. She lay down as if the effort of drinking\u003cbr\u003ewas a new source of exhaustion. A short while later her body contracted,\u003cbr\u003eher knees rose to her chest, and she let out a shriek.\u003cbr\u003eLewis said, \"I am going out for a short while. I fear our vigil may yet\u003cbr\u003ebe long.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"It may, Captain,\" Jesseaume whispered. \"But in case it is not, could\u003cbr\u003eyou ask my wife to attend? She is at the gatehouse with Black Moccasin\u003cbr\u003eand his squaws.\"\u003cbr\u003eA quarter of an hour later the girl they called the Bird Woman,\u003cbr\u003eSacagawea, brought forth a fine and healthy boy. Charbonneau was\u003cbr\u003efound dozing in one of the soldiers' huts. He returned, tearful and\u003cbr\u003esmiling, and cradled the infant, wrapped in a blanket of fox fur, as he\u003cbr\u003eannounced proudly to all, \"We will name him Jean- Baptiste, like my\u003cbr\u003egrandfather.\"\u003cbr\u003eHis father called him Baptiste, but his mother called him Pompy, \"Little\u003cbr\u003eChief,\" the Shoshone name she chose to honor the tribe into which\u003cbr\u003eshe had been born. Her knowledge of the Shoshone language was the\u003cbr\u003ereason Charbonneau had been hired as an interpreter for the expedition,\u003cbr\u003eafter all. He didn't speak it, but her girlhood had been spent with\u003cbr\u003ethe Shoshone, the Snake tribe, at the foot of the Great Stony Mountains\u003cbr\u003eto the west. They were the only tribe in the area with horses to\u003cbr\u003etrade, and the captains and their men would need horses to cross the\u003cbr\u003emountains on their way west. She would be the go- between when they\u003cbr\u003eleft the river and started to climb.\u003cbr\u003eAs she lay with her newborn and suckled him in those first few\u003cbr\u003edays, she thought of the new paths that lay ahead for her and her baby,\u003cbr\u003eone of which might lead to the place where she had been born. Four\u003cbr\u003esummers earlier she and three other Shoshone girls had been carried\u003cbr\u003eoff during the seasonal buffalo hunt by a Hidatsa raiding party. They\u003cbr\u003ewere after horses and young women, in that order of importance, and\u003cbr\u003eafter killing several hunters and their squaws, including her parents,\u003cbr\u003ethey galloped off with Sacagawea and the others tied to their mounts.\u003cbr\u003eThey rode eastward for many days, through land that was different\u003cbr\u003efrom anything Sacagawea had seen, broad and open, with swift rivers\u003cbr\u003ecut into the ground and tall grasslands in every direction. When they\u003cbr\u003ereached the Hidatsa and Mandan villages on the river they called the\u003cbr\u003eKnife, she had not seen mountains for a long time. She knew that her\u003cbr\u003ekinsmen could never rescue her from this powerful tribe so far away\u003cbr\u003efrom their lands. She wondered if she could live the life that had now\u003cbr\u003ebecome hers.\u003cbr\u003eIn a dream her bird spirit came to her and pecked at her tongue,\u003cbr\u003esharp and insistent, and she woke with the taste of blood on her teeth.\u003cbr\u003eSacagawea must speak with a new tongue, the bird told her. She\u003cbr\u003eclutched the small obsidian figure her mother had placed in her medicine\u003cbr\u003ebundle, a tiny bird, all that was left to her from her first life. \"I\u003cbr\u003emust do this,\" she said, over and over, in those first months of captivity.\u003cbr\u003e\"I must do this.\"\u003cbr\u003eGradually she met other girls who had been stolen from their tribes\u003cbr\u003ein that summer when all followed the herds: a pair of Assiniboin sisters,\u003cbr\u003eseveral Crow and Gros Ventre, even a Nez Percé girl from across\u003cbr\u003ethe Stony Mountains who wept for weeks until the brave who had captured\u003cbr\u003eher beat her into a watchful silence. Each of the Mandan and\u003cbr\u003eHidatsa villages was far bigger than any Shoshone encampment she\u003cbr\u003ehad known, with thirty or forty large earth-and- timber lodges grouped\u003cbr\u003earound a central clearing. Both tribes kept extensive fields of corn,\u003cbr\u003esquash, and beans. It was a dark time, a time of silences when Sacagawea\u003cbr\u003eunderstood almost nothing of the new language she would have\u003cbr\u003eto learn, but she noticed right away something that set these people\u003cbr\u003eapart from the Shoshone: no one went hungry. As large as the villages\u003cbr\u003ewere, there was food for all.\u003cbr\u003eShe held Pompy close and looked in his eyes, gray-blue like his father's,\u003cbr\u003eand thought, \u003ci\u003eYou are the only thing I can truly call my own, little\u003cbr\u003eone. Soon we will leave this place and you will have neither tribe nor village.\u003cbr\u003eYou and I will be part of this band of wanderers, headed to the far\u003cbr\u003eedge of the land, to the place the Shoshone call The Big Lake That\u003cbr\u003eSmells Bad. The Pacific, the captains name it. So begins your first life, on\u003cbr\u003erivers and trails. Will it always be so?\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eTwo months after she gave birth, Sacagawea set off up the river as part\u003cbr\u003eof the Corps of Discovery together with Charbonneau and her infant,\u003cbr\u003estrapped to her back on the cradleboard she had fashioned at Fort\u003cbr\u003eMandan. Its cedar slats gave forth an aroma that pleased her with its\u003cbr\u003esweetness. She felt like a mother.\u003cbr\u003eThere were better men than Charbonneau, she knew, but far more\u003cbr\u003ewho were worse. A year after they were taken, he had bought Sacagawea\u003cbr\u003eand another Shoshone girl from the Hidatsa warrior who had\u003cbr\u003ecaptured them. They became Charbonneau's squaws, maintaining a\u003cbr\u003elodge for him in the Mandan village and sharing in the women's work\u003cbr\u003eof the tribe. He took his pleasure with them by turns, sometimes for\u003cbr\u003elong hours, but never roughly like the warrior from whom she had\u003cbr\u003elearned what it was to lose one's body. Over time she came to accept\u003cbr\u003ehis ways, but she was often glad that Otter Woman was there, too,\u003cbr\u003ewhen it suited Charbonneau.\u003cbr\u003eShe was jealously protective of her right to accompany Charbonneau\u003cbr\u003eon some of his trading trips along the river. He didn't often take\u003cbr\u003eher, but when he did she felt more alive than at any other time, delighting\u003cbr\u003ein the departure from her routine chores in the village and\u003cbr\u003ekeen to see what the world looked like elsewhere. She worked doubly\u003cbr\u003ehard to be sure he knew her worth, gathering firewood, cleaning the\u003cbr\u003etrade goods, brushing the pelts, cooking his food. The presence of a\u003cbr\u003ewoman, she knew, was by itself a message that men of all tribes understood:\u003cbr\u003eno fighting was intended. She took pride in her role as the\u003cbr\u003ecompanion of the white trader, a free agent who could pass from tribe\u003cbr\u003eto tribe without causing alarm.\u003cbr\u003eIn this, she realized that Charbonneau possessed a quality that the\u003cbr\u003eFrench \u003ci\u003evoyageurs \u003c\/i\u003eoften showed but that was rare among the American\u003cbr\u003eand British traders: he was persistent, and infinitely patient. When, in\u003cbr\u003ethe heat of negotiations over furs or beads, horses or guns, the chiefs\u003cbr\u003ewould use hard language and refuse to be moved, more often than not\u003cbr\u003eCharbonneau knew what words to use to veer away from an ending, to\u003cbr\u003ehear \"maybe\" when the chiefs had said \"no.\" He was like water in a\u003cbr\u003estream, finding its way around a boulder, and then another and an-\u003cbr\u003eother, mindful that suppleness was more useful than speed, keeping\u003cbr\u003ethe talk going until everyone had something he wanted. He was sometimes\u003cbr\u003ecriticized for it by other whites, usually the English. Even the\u003cbr\u003ecaptains had called him \"unreliable\" or \"unprincipled\" at times because\u003cbr\u003ehe would not confront an adversary directly. But his ways were\u003cbr\u003emore like Indian ways, and the proof of his effectiveness was that he\u003cbr\u003econtinued to be welcome where the path had been closed to other\u003cbr\u003ewhites by many tribes. He was three times Sacagawea's age when\u003cbr\u003ePompy was born, a man who had seen more than forty-five winters.\u003cbr\u003eShe knew that despite his faults he was far more likely to see many\u003cbr\u003emore than some of his rash counterparts, who believed that confrontation\u003cbr\u003eand strength were the best way of dealing with the tribes.\u003cbr\u003eJune 16, 1805\u003cbr\u003eBelow the Great Falls of the Missouri\u003cbr\u003e\"If we lose her, the baby dies, too.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"I know it,\" Lewis said grimly. \"He is not even close to being\u003cbr\u003eweaned, and he would not last a day on what we eat.\" He looked at\u003cbr\u003eClark and gave voice to the thought that passed between them. \"So we\u003cbr\u003emust do all we can to make sure she lives.\" What was foremost in their\u003cbr\u003eminds remained unsaid: if Sacagawea died, the negotiations with the\u003cbr\u003eShoshone for horses would be impossible. The Shoshone had had almost\u003cbr\u003eno contact with white men. No one else spoke a word of their\u003cbr\u003elanguage, and without horses the party would not be able to cross the\u003cbr\u003emountains. The expedition would fail.\u003cbr\u003eLewis continued his examination. Sacagawea lay on a deer skin in\u003cbr\u003ethe tepee under a light blanket, her breathing labored and irregular,\u003cbr\u003eher skin hot to the touch. One of her arms twitched convulsively. She\u003cbr\u003egrimaced as a wave of pain passed through her belly, an unfocused\u003cbr\u003estare in her half-open eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\"She won't bear being bled again,\" Lewis murmured, \"but if we can\u003cbr\u003ecause her to perspire, I think the fever may yet subside. I propose to\u003cbr\u003econtinue the bark poultice you commenced. I should also like her to\u003cbr\u003etake some water from the sulfur springs we passed on the opposite\u003cbr\u003ebank. Drouillard can fetch some this afternoon.\" His face was drawn,\u003cbr\u003ehis mounting concern apparent. \"Perhaps you could tell Charbonneau\u003cbr\u003eto occupy himself with the child while I change the poultice.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"I can watch the boy,\" Clark answered quickly, moving to lift the\u003cbr\u003ebaby from where he lay in the crook of his mother's arm. The infant\u003cbr\u003estarted to fuss as Clark lifted him gently, and the captain held him\u003cbr\u003eclose to his chest, looking down into the clear eyes that were inquisitive\u003cbr\u003eand somber.\u003cbr\u003e\"Come now, Pomp, come to Captain Clark and be a good boy. Captain\u003cbr\u003eLewis will help your mama feel better,\" he cooed, swaying lightly\u003cbr\u003eas he stepped away from Sacagawea's prostrate body, his hair the color\u003cbr\u003eof a fox pelt standing up from his forehead.\u003cbr\u003eSacagawea's menstrual flow seemed to be blocked, causing pain\u003cbr\u003ethroughout her pelvic region. While Clark talked to the infant in\u003cbr\u003esoothing tones, Lewis set to work assembling his meager supplies on a\u003cbr\u003epiece of elk hide spread open on the ground. He poured warm water\u003cbr\u003efrom the kettle into a shallow tin basin and tore several strips from a\u003cbr\u003elength of clean linen. He then removed the blanket and cautiously\u003cbr\u003eraised her knees, spreading her legs as he did so. Lifting away the\u003cbr\u003edarkened mass that lay at the opening of her vulva, he wetted a strip of\u003cbr\u003ecloth and carefully bathed the entire area with a steady hand. He fashioned\u003cbr\u003ethe new poultice as he kneeled at her side, placing three small\u003cbr\u003epieces of Peruvian bark on a clean strip of linen and rolling it into a\u003cbr\u003esoft cylinder. Onto its surface he sprinkled twenty drops of laudanum,\u003cbr\u003ethe tincture of opium whose small bottle was counted among the most\u003cbr\u003eprecious medicines in the rudimentary apothecary he had assembled\u003cbr\u003efor the expedition. Satisfied that her inner thighs had dried sufficiently\u003cbr\u003eafter his cleansing, he inserted the poultice and slowly lowered her\u003cbr\u003eknees, covering her body once again with the blanket. When Drouillard\u003cbr\u003ereturned with a canteen of sulfur water, Lewis urged her to take\u003cbr\u003esmall sips until she had downed two cupfuls.\u003cbr\u003eThat evening when he felt for her pulse as she slept, at her wrist\u003cbr\u003eand again at her neck, it beat strong and regular to his touch. Her face\u003cbr\u003ewas covered with tiny beads of perspiration and her skin was not as hot\u003cbr\u003eas before. The tremors in her arm had stopped, and her face no longer\u003cbr\u003ebore the mask of pain that had covered it for days. When he withdrew\u003cbr\u003ehis hand she opened her eyes and looked into his, and put her hand on\u003cbr\u003ehis fingers. Neither spoke the other's language but all was understood\u003cbr\u003ein that long moment. \u003ci\u003eI will live and Pompy will live, \u003c\/i\u003eshe told him with\u003cbr\u003eher eyes, \u003ci\u003eand it is your doing. Your spirit is strong.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eAugust 17, 1805\u003cbr\u003eAt the head of the Jefferson River\u003cbr\u003eFour months after they left the Mandan villages, the party of thirtyone\u003cbr\u003emen, one woman, and a baby boy reached the land of the\u003cbr\u003eShoshone, among the first hills of the great mountain range that stood\u003cbr\u003ebetween them and the western ocean. To cross those mountains—the\u003cbr\u003eGreat Stonies, the Rockies, the Bitterroots—they would need to trade\u003cbr\u003efor this tribe's horses.\u003cbr\u003e\"You talk to your people in Shoshone, then tell me in Mandan,\"\u003cbr\u003eCharbonneau said to Sacagawea as they approached the Three Forks\u003cbr\u003earea early in the morning with Captain Clark's group of men. They\u003cbr\u003ehoped to rendezvous with Lewis, who had gone ahead to join the\u003cbr\u003eShoshone. \"Then I'll tell Labiche in French and he can speak English\u003cbr\u003eto the captains.\" She agreed. Even compared to the parleys among several\u003cbr\u003etribes, this was a complicated arrangement, but it was the only\u003cbr\u003eone they had. She was in a dream, she felt, seeing on this voyage, as if\u003cbr\u003efor the first time, lands that she recognized, places she had known as a\u003cbr\u003egirl. Who would be left from that time? What would they make of her?\u003cbr\u003eWhat if they could not find her tribe?\u003cbr\u003eThey had not walked more than a mile when they saw several Indians\u003cbr\u003eon horseback coming in their direction. Sacagawea and Charbonneau\u003cbr\u003ewalked slightly ahead of the others, and suddenly Sacagawea\u003cbr\u003ethrew up her arms and let out a wail of joy, circling Charbonneau with\u003cbr\u003elittle dancing steps as she looked from the mounted Indians back to\u003cbr\u003eClark and the rest of the party. \u003ci\u003eThese are my people! \u003c\/i\u003eshe signed again\u003cbr\u003eand again to Clark, and he understood at once. She ran to the approaching\u003cbr\u003egroup and addressed one of the braves in Shoshone, and he\u003cbr\u003econfirmed that he was a member of her childhood clan. Accompanying\u003cbr\u003ethem was one of Lewis's men, who explained that the others were less\u003cbr\u003ethan a mile distant. The Indians sang all the way to the nearby camp,\u003cbr\u003ejoined at times by Sacagawea whose red- painted cheeks glistened with\u003cbr\u003etears.\u003cbr\u003eThat afternoon Lewis had the men stretch one of the large sails\u003cbr\u003eoverhead as a shield from the sun, and robes were spread out beneath\u003cbr\u003eit so that he, Clark, and the principal Shoshone chief, Cameahwait,\u003cbr\u003ecould confer and negotiate for horses. By now they had parleyed with\u003cbr\u003ethe chiefs of several tribes and they prepared the setting for these talks\u003cbr\u003ewith care. It was important that a sense of hierarchy prevail, that they\u003cbr\u003ebe seen as chiefs from the great nation whose distant father had set\u003cbr\u003ethem on their path. The three men smoked a pipe and made the formal\u003cbr\u003estatements of respect and good will necessary before any bargaining\u003cbr\u003ecould begin. The chain of languages took time—Shoshone to\u003cbr\u003eMandan to French to English, and back again—but all was going well,\u003cbr\u003eboth captains agreed, in the first part of this negotiation that had to be\u003cbr\u003esuccessful.\u003cbr\u003eSuddenly Sacagawea rose up from her place, ran to where Cameahwait\u003cbr\u003ewas seated between Clark and Lewis, and threw her blanket over\u003cbr\u003ehis shoulders, wailing his name repeatedly as she embraced him. Although\u003cbr\u003ehis formal mien and the chief ' s ceremonial headdress of otter\u003cbr\u003efur and eagle feathers had masked his features, she had finally recognized\u003cbr\u003ehim. It was like the way one of the small mirrors the captains offered\u003cbr\u003eas gifts—things like solid water—dazzled the eye with sunlight,\u003cbr\u003eand in the next instant showed you your face. He was her brother.\u003cbr\u003eThe captains offered coats, leggings, ax heads, knives, tobacco, and\u003cbr\u003ethe usual mix of minor trade goods that often sealed the bargain:\u003cbr\u003ebeads, flints, handkerchiefs, and the like. Cameahwait was presented\u003cbr\u003ewith a medal bearing the likeness of President Jefferson who, he was\u003cbr\u003etold, was now the Great Father to him and his people. On its reverse,\u003cbr\u003eClark pointed out as he placed it around the chief 's neck, the clasped\u003cbr\u003ehands of an Indian and a white man stood out in relief beneath a\u003cbr\u003ecrossed pipe and tomahawk. Around these symbols were inscribed the\u003cbr\u003ewords \"Peace and Friendship.\" In return the Shoshone provided\u003cbr\u003etwenty-nine horses, all they would need.\u003cbr\u003eDuring the several days of preparation for the trek across the mountains,\u003cbr\u003eSacagawea discovered that she was a curiosity to her tribe, a go-\u003cbr\u003ebetween whom they asked to explain the white man to them. Why did\u003cbr\u003ethey have fur on their faces? Was the one they called York from the\u003cbr\u003espirit world, with his curling hair and skin the color of a beaver? They\u003cbr\u003ewondered if Lewis's huge black dog was a kind of bear cub, they wondered\u003cbr\u003ehow the rifles and the air gun threw their power to any far place.\u003cbr\u003eAnd they asked about Pompy: why did he have his mother's hair and\u003cbr\u003eskin, but eyes the color of the evening sky?\u003cbr\u003eWhen she was alone in the tepee with her baby, she thought about\u003cbr\u003eall their questions and her attempts to explain. \u003ci\u003eThey have not seen what\u003cbr\u003eI have seen. How can I tell them? \u003c\/i\u003eThe joy of her return to the people\u003cbr\u003eshe had grown up with was tempered by a new awareness. \u003ci\u003eThese are\u003cbr\u003emy people, but this is not my home anymore. \u003c\/i\u003eCharbonneau was French,\u003cbr\u003eshe told herself, but he lived with the tribes and on the river more than\u003cbr\u003ehe did with his people. So did René Jesseaume and Georges Drouillard.\u003cbr\u003eThey were whites who didn't live like other whites. It was a path\u003cbr\u003ethey had chosen or, rather, two paths that made them something else.\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI have two paths also, \u003c\/i\u003eshe thought. \u003ci\u003eI am Shoshone and not- Shoshone,\u003cbr\u003eMandan and not- Mandan. And I travel with a voyageur. This is my life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eThe day before the departure, when all was ready, Clark took her\u003cbr\u003eand Charbonneau aside in the camp. He looked into her eyes and said,\u003cbr\u003e\"Cameahwait wants you to spend the winter with your people while\u003cbr\u003ewe cross the mountains to the Pacific. It would be safer for you and\u003cbr\u003eyour baby.\"\u003cbr\u003eShe waited for Charbonneau to interpret Clark's statement into\u003cbr\u003eMandan, but she had understood its sense. Without hesitating she\u003cbr\u003esaid in English, \"We go.\" She held Pompy in her arms and said the\u003cbr\u003ewords in Mandan that came without thinking. \"We will go across the\u003cbr\u003emountains and back. Our path is with you.\"\u003cbr\u003eJanuary 8, 1806\u003cbr\u003eFort Clatsop\u003cbr\u003eIn November the Corps of Discovery descended the Columbia River\u003cbr\u003eand reached the Pacific Ocean, completing the outward-bound leg of\u003cbr\u003eJefferson's enterprise. They spent some weeks along the river's estuary,\u003cbr\u003ebattered in their makeshift camps by perpetual winter storms. In early\u003cbr\u003eDecember they chose a sheltered cove and built a winter camp, Fort\u003cbr\u003eClatsop, where they would wait for spring before beginning the return\u003cbr\u003ejourney. Most of the men visited the coastal beaches on hunting parties\u003cbr\u003eor to collect salt, but by January Sacagawea had not yet been to\u003cbr\u003ethe ocean's edge. One evening in that first week of the new year, Captain\u003cbr\u003eClark entered the hut where Charbonneau, Sacagawea, and\u003cbr\u003ePompy were quartered.\u003cbr\u003e\"A group of Tillamook report a whale has washed up onto the beach\u003cbr\u003esouth of our salt camp,\" he told Charbonneau. \"Tomorrow I want you\u003cbr\u003eto go with me and ten other men to see what meat and oil we might\u003cbr\u003etake from the carcass.\" Understanding part of what was said, Sacagawea\u003cbr\u003epressed Charbonneau for details. Clark turned to leave but she\u003cbr\u003eput her hand on his elbow and spoke rapidly, her eyes wide with anger\u003cbr\u003eand impatience.\u003cbr\u003e\"She says she has traveled very far to see the Great Waters; she has\u003cbr\u003ewalked as swiftly as the others and carried her baby without complaint,\" \u003cbr\u003eCharbonneau told Clark, surprised at the forcefulness of her\u003cbr\u003ewords. \"Now there is a huge fish lying on the very edge of the ocean. It\u003cbr\u003eis unlike you, Captain, to keep her from seeing either. She would take\u003cbr\u003eit hard.\"\u003cbr\u003eClark met Sacagawea's imploring gaze, which was full of indignant\u003cbr\u003edismay. \"Very well,\" he said. \"Tell her to be ready to go with us at\u003cbr\u003edawn.\"\u003cbr\u003eWhen they reached the low sand flat where the whale had been\u003cbr\u003ebeached, they found not a carcass but a skeleton. The whale had been\u003cbr\u003estripped bare by the Tillamook, the structure of its bones intact on the\u003cbr\u003emuddy inlet, but all the blubber, skin, and oil already taken away.\u003cbr\u003eClark overcame his initial disappointment and set to measuring the\u003cbr\u003eanimal's remains. \"One hundred and five feet in length,\" he announced\u003cbr\u003ewith awe. He wrote all the numbers in his book, as he always\u003cbr\u003edid. \"It is so that the animals and plants we see can tell their story to\u003cbr\u003eothers,\" he explained to Sacagawea through Charbonneau. Then he\u003cbr\u003eset out on foot to the nearby village to see if he could buy some blubber\u003cbr\u003eor oil.\u003cbr\u003eSacagawea stayed on the wide beach with Pompy and looked out\u003cbr\u003eupon the water, constantly rolling toward her in blue and black waves\u003cbr\u003estreaked with white, like an endless storm on the river. Some called it\u003cbr\u003eThe Big Lake That Smells Bad, others The Great Waters or the River\u003cbr\u003eWithout Banks, but to Sacagawea it was more like the sky: you could\u003cbr\u003estand at its edge and look at it, but you could never cross it. Before the\u003cbr\u003eothers returned she held Pompy in her arms and stood upright between\u003cbr\u003ethe whale's ribs, as one might stand in a sizeable room. She\u003cbr\u003etalked to her child as she nuzzled and kissed him, turning this way and\u003cbr\u003ethat so his wide eyes could see what surprising creatures sometimes\u003cbr\u003eemerged from the belly of the earth.\u003cbr\u003eJune 30, 1806\u003cbr\u003eThey were over the mountains. The Bitterroots had still been covered\u003cbr\u003ewith snow, but on the return they had Nez Percé guides and never lost\u003cbr\u003etheir way. Their horses had grass on every day but one of the six it took\u003cbr\u003eto get across. Now they were camped at the place the captains called\u003cbr\u003eTraveler's Rest, a valley on the eastern slope that afforded the party\u003cbr\u003eplentiful game in a series of grass- covered meadows along the mountain\u003cbr\u003estream.\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWe will live, \u003c\/i\u003eSacagawea allowed herself to think. \u003ci\u003eI have not been the\u003cbr\u003ecause of my baby's death. After this voyage we will return to the Mandan\u003cbr\u003eand make our lives on the river with Charbonneau. \u003c\/i\u003eShe knew that perils\u003cbr\u003estill lay ahead—dangerous rapids, unseasonable storms, hostile Indian\u003cbr\u003eraiding parties—but the mountains had threatened them more than\u003cbr\u003eanything else, and the fear had been lifted from their shoulders like a\u003cbr\u003eheavy burden that had fallen away. Even the captains allowed themselves\u003cbr\u003eto smile and walked with a light step.\u003cbr\u003eThe evening of their second day there, the warmth of the sun stayed\u003cbr\u003ein the valley until dusk, and the men made a fire by the stream. They\u003cbr\u003esat along the banks and lay on the grass, talking and arguing in an easygoing\u003cbr\u003eway. Captain Clark stood with Pompy at the water's edge, a shallow\u003cbr\u003estretch of back current with a gravel bottom. He was a robust\u003cbr\u003ebaby, almost seventeen months old, despite all the ordeals of the expedition.\u003cbr\u003eHe stood facing the small river, holding each of Clark's massive\u003cbr\u003ethumbs for support, and ventured into the water, where he stamped\u003cbr\u003ehis feet in delight.\u003cbr\u003eCruzatte had begun to play his fiddle, one of the old Breton tunes\u003cbr\u003ethe men favored, and Pomp stamped half- rhythmically to the music.\u003cbr\u003eHe gave forth little squeals, surprised and pleased at the explosions of\u003cbr\u003ewetness that his feet made upon the captain's leggings. It turned into a\u003cbr\u003edance as Clark lifted his feet and turned the boy back and forth. Seaman,\u003cbr\u003eClark's good- natured Newfoundland, barked and wagged his\u003cbr\u003etail, striding into the water to join in the fun. Everyone laughed, Clark\u003cbr\u003emost heartily of all, and Sacagawea saw that more than one man had to\u003cbr\u003eturn away to hide moist eyes. The winter had been wet, cold, and\u003cbr\u003echeerless, and they were still far away from home, but for the first time\u003cbr\u003ethey could taste the end of the voyage. This vision of the child's joy in\u003cbr\u003ethe surrounding warmth of others made each man conjure a memory\u003cbr\u003eof his family. They needed to be among their own: sweethearts and\u003cbr\u003esiblings, parents and elders. Each one missed his home most sharply\u003cbr\u003ethat night.\u003cbr\u003eAugust 14, 1806\u003cbr\u003eThey reached the Mandan villages in the late afternoon, coming down\u003cbr\u003ethe river like boatloads of visitors appearing from the spirit world. It\u003cbr\u003eseemed impossible to the Indians that all those who had set off sixteen\u003cbr\u003emonths before in search of a route to the Great Waters had reached\u003cbr\u003etheir goal and returned safely, including the squaw and her newborn.\u003cbr\u003eIt gave her and her \u003ci\u003evoyageur \u003c\/i\u003ehusband a new status in the eyes of the\u003cbr\u003eMandan, and everyone agreed that the boy was destined to lead. \"In\u003cbr\u003ehis first year he has been where none of us has been,\" the Mandan\u003cbr\u003echief Black Cat announced when the captains smoked a pipe to mark\u003cbr\u003ethe reunion. \"His spirit has breathed in the trail to the west, and we\u003cbr\u003ewill learn from it.\"\u003cbr\u003eThe news from the tribes was not good. While they had been gone,\u003cbr\u003ethe Arikara had attacked white traders as well as Mandan and Hidatsa\u003cbr\u003ecanoes below the villages, making any travel south along the river extremely\u003cbr\u003ehazardous. The Sioux, too, were acting warlike, and several\u003cbr\u003ebands had raided the Mandan and Hidatsa lodges. Anxious to return\u003cbr\u003eto St. Louis and to get news of the expedition's successful conclusion\u003cbr\u003eto President Jefferson, the captains assured the Mandan of their support.\u003cbr\u003eThey convinced the Mandan chief Sheheke to accompany them\u003cbr\u003edownriver and then continue to Washington to visit the Great Father,\u003cbr\u003ethe better to make known his people's grievances against the Arikara\u003cbr\u003eand the Sioux.\u003cbr\u003eTwo days later the captains said their goodbyes and prepared to\u003cbr\u003eleave. Charbonneau and Sacagawea had decided to remain with\u003cbr\u003ePompy in the Mandan villages, promising to journey to St. Louis when\u003cbr\u003eriver travel was safer. Lewis was ailing and gave a feeble handshake\u003cbr\u003efrom the makeshift litter on which he lay. As the last of the canoes was\u003cbr\u003ebeing loaded, Clark drew the couple and their son to one side at the\u003cbr\u003eriver's edge.\u003cbr\u003e\"Do not forget, Toussaint Charbonneau, my pledge to you: bring\u003cbr\u003eyour darling boy to me in St. Louis and I will raise him as my own and\u003cbr\u003esee to his proper education.\" He shook Charbonneau's hand and\u003cbr\u003eturned to Sacagawea, who held Pompy close. During their sixteen\u003cbr\u003emonths together on the trail, Clark had formed a strong attachment to\u003cbr\u003ethe baby. \"Let him learn the white man's ways,\" he said to her, pleading\u003cbr\u003ewith his eyes. His hand reached out and stroked the boy's hair\u003cbr\u003elightly, then he strode away quickly and the boats shoved off.A Novel","brand":"Anchor","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300505407717,"sku":"NP9780767931731","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780767931731.jpg?v=1767721032","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/across-the-endless-river-isbn-9780767931731","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}