by Roland Smith
We stayed with the Nez Percé for several weeks, preparing for the last leg of our journey to the Pacific Ocean.
During most of that time Captain Lewis was so sick he could not sit up. I stayed with him most nights, but during the day I spent my time with Mountain Dog and his friends, who had built a shelter close to the canoe camp so they would not miss any of the excitement of having us there.
They took me hunting with bows and arrows, although we rarely saw any game. Hunting was just an excuse to get on horseback and race each other to the tops of hills. They took me upriver, where they speared salmon, which were more numerous than the buffalo east of the mountains. In some spots the fish were so thick you could have crossed the river on their fins. They took me up into the mountains, a place Mountain Dog knew very well, and with him I lost my fear of the mountains' bite. And there I discovered something.
Mountain Dog and his friends were on foot tracking a deer up a draw when I heard "Caw! Caw! Caw!" I had not seen White Feather since Traveler's Rest. He was perched in a lightning-struck tree. I stopped and barked.
"He's scaring the deer!"
Mountain Dog ignored his friend's complaint and looked up at the tree. "What's he looking at?" he asked.
I stared at Mountain Dog. Surely he and his friends could see and hear White Feather.
"Perhaps he sees his spirit guide," one of his friends said, laughing.
"A dog with a spirit guide?" the other scoffed.
"Caw! Caw! Caw!"
I was bewildered. How could they not see and hear White Feather? Mountain Dog and his friends continued up the draw after the deer, but I stayed below the tree staring up at my companion, trying to make sense of what had just occurred. I thought back to all the other times White Feather had appeared, trying to remember if my human companions had ever acknowledged his presence. If they had, I didn't recall it. It would be some time before I discovered what this meant.
The men began complaining about having nothing to eat except salmon and camas roots. They killed a horse to eat, but this did not slake their appetite. One day as I returned to camp from a ramble upriver with Mountain Dog, I smelled meat roasting, but it was not horse or any other animal flesh I had smelled before. I hurried along and when I got there, I found the men standing around the fires pushing meat into their mouths. Captain Lewis was with them, and so was Bird Woman. She had Pomp in her lap and was feeding him little pieces she had pulled off a bone.
"I believe this is the most delicious meat I've ever eaten," the Captain said between mouthfuls. "It is far superior to either deer or elk, and it is certainly better than horse."
Several Nez Percé stood off to the side. They were trying to hide their smiles and whispering to each other as they watched the men eat.
I walked up to the Captain, happy to see he was feeling better, and hoping he might part with a morsel or two.
"You've been out with those Indian boys again," he said, seeing my wet fur. "Don't forget whose dog you are. Try this." He tossed a meaty bone about twenty feet away from me.
I ran over to it, and I was about to try this new food for myself when Sergeant Pryor came into camp pulling a whimpering Indian dog behind him with a rope. He cinched the poor dog to a stump, pulled his knife out, and slit the dog's throat.
I stared in disbelief, too horrified to even bark. I looked at the men. They continued talking and didn't even glance in the dog's direction as he bled out. When the dog stopped struggling, Reubin untied the rope and gutted him like a deer.
I looked down at the bone. I looked at the meat roasting above the fire. I looked at the Nez Percé, still smiling and whispering. The Nez Percé did not eat dog. In fact the very idea disgusted them, but this did not stop them from selling every dog they could get their hands on to our tribe.
I left the canoe camp and did not return that night or the next.
I had never been so sorry to leave a place in my life as I was when we left the Nez Percé. Mountain Dog stood on the bank with Watkuweis and waved to me with tears in his eyes as the Clearwater River pushed us westward to the Pacific Ocean.
For the first time in our journey we floated with the current instead of struggling against it, which presented new challenges and no small amount of fear, especially among the men who could not swim. Instead of portaging around the rapids, we took our dugouts down the center of these chaotic flows, which at times scared everyone, including me. Old Toby, who had decided to travel downriver with us a ways, spent the first evening around the fire removing splinters from his hands, buried there by gripping the sides of the canoe. By the second evening he'd had all he could take. He left without claiming the two horses the captains promised him for guiding us through the mountains.
After Old Toby left, Twisted Hair and another chief joined us and rode in the lead canoe to tell the Indians downriver we were coming and we were friendly.
Wood for our campfires was as scarce as game along the river. We proceeded down the Clearwater onto the Snake River, stopping every night to buy wood from the Indians, and dogs to cook over the fires. The captains did not want to take the time to send the men out hunting for other meat. The only thing on their minds was to get to the Pacific Ocean as fast as the current would take us. Not wanting to eat dog, I spent a good portion of my evenings scrounging for food among the Indians.
When we reached the broad Columbia River we met the Chinook Indians. They crowded around our camp every night, more curious about our goods than they were about us.
Little items started to disappear from our supplies—a tomahawk, a spoon—which made the men very angry, but none more than Captain Lewis, who treated the Chinooks very roughly for stealing our things. Once again he had been overtaken by one of his dark moods, but this time he was not alone. In their hurry to reach the Pacific, all of the men seemed to have lost their patience with the Indians. The men's mood was not improved when Twisted Hair told us that he had heard the Indians below intended to kill us and take our goods.
The Indians below did not try to kill us. They thought the water would take care of that for them.
Below Celilo Falls, where Twisted Hair and the other chief said their good-byes and headed back upriver, was a narrow chute of raging water. Rather than portage around it, the captains decided to float right down the center of it, against the advice of several Chinooks who said that not even they would attempt such a feat.
Those who could not swim were put on shore with the captains' papers, instruments, and other valuable items.
"See you on the other side!" Captain Lewis shouted up to them.
It was a wild ride, but all of our canoes made it through unscathed, much to the disappointment of some of the Indians waiting below.
A wolf howls. I open my eyes. Such a sweet sound. Another howl comes from the west. I look at the Nez Percé camp. No light comes from the tepees. The fires have died down to embers and smoke.
I think about getting up and going to Mountain Dog's tepee, but I am so comfortable where I am. I close my eyes again....
WHEN AT LAST we reached the Pacific Ocean, the bad weather took some of the joy away from achieving that long sought-after goal, but not all of it. The men shook hands, laughed, and clapped each other on the back. According to Captain Clark we had traveled 4,142 miles from the mouth of the Missouri River.
Our first week there, we were stranded in a large estuary, unable to move because of severe winds, high tides, and fog. The men went hunting every day but could find nothing to shoot.
Once again we were helped by Indians. A group of Clatsops appeared at our camp and sold us food. Their sleek canoes were better designed than our dugouts and they had little trouble managing the rough water.
As we had traveled down the Columbia we had started to see white trade goods—iron kettles, old muskets, blue coats with brass buttons, even a sailor's cap or two—brought upriver from trading ships anchored in the mouth of the river. The captains had hoped and expected there would be a ship they could
buy supplies from anchored in the bay. They had even talked of putting a man or two aboard the ship to take their maps and journals back to the East Coast, around the horn of South America. But there was no ship.
At a spot they named Cape Disappointment the captains gathered the tribe around them and listed our options.
"We can winter where we are, at the mouth of this river," Captain Lewis said. "We can cross the bay to the south shore, where the Clatsops say there are plenty of elk and deer, and build a fort there. Or we can proceed back upriver to Celilo Falls and winter with the Chinook."
"We've decided to put it to a vote," Captain Clark said.
Everyone voted, including York and Bird Woman. We decided unanimously to explore the south side of the bay.
"What if we don't find a good place for a fort over there?" Private Shields asked.
"That leaves the two other choices," Captain Lewis said.
They voted again, half saying they would want to stay at the mouth of the river and the other half saying they would want to return to Celilo Falls. We didn't have to resort to either, though, because we found a good site on the southern shore and built a fort, which the captains named after the Clatsop Indians.
The morning sun warms my fur and I smell buffalo meat cooking. I stand, stretch, yawn, and pee, then return to camp and to Mountain Dog's lodge to get some food. His wife, Little Deer, smiles when she sees me.
"Yahka," she scolds. "Mountain Dog looked all over for you this morning, but you must have been out courting wolves. He rode off to meet Twisted Hair without you."
I heard him ride away and thought about joining him, but I want to spend the day with Drouillard and Colter. After they finish trading, they will leave, and who knows when I will see them again. Little Deer gives me a buffalo bone. When I finish it I head off to find Drouillard and Colter.
They have spread their blankets and are setting trade goods out on them. Beads, buttons, knives, looking glasses ... The people are already gathering to see what they have.
"Hey, dog," Colter says, and grabs the fur on the sides of my face.
An hour later Twisted Hair arrives with several people from our other camp. The trading begins and doesn't conclude until after dark.
When the trading is finished and the camp is settling down for the evening, Mountain Dog and Watkuweis again come to Colter and Drouillard's fire, but they are not alone. Twisted Hair and several others are with them.
"Got a full house tonight." Colter takes the red book from Mountain Dog and opens it. "The grand finale," he says, and begins to read....
January 1, 1806
Our fort is now complete. We were awoken this morning by the men firing their rifles in front of our quarters. This was the only respect we paid this important day. All of us are eagerly anticipating January 1, 1807, when we will be back with our friends and family....
IT RAINED AND stormed nearly every day. Nothing ever seemed to dry out, and the men were constantly sneezing and coughing from the damp coldness of that place. The weather aggravated my injured leg, making it difficult to run on some days.
The Clatsops and other Indians were regular visitors, bringing food and other items to trade. They were friendly, but our men were not the first white men they had traded with. As a result they drove hard bargains, reducing our remaining trade goods to nearly nothing by the time we left them.
The men went out hunting every day and brought back elk and deer, but they quickly tired of this meat, and not a day passed without at least one of the men mentioning his hankering for a slice of buffalo tongue. They also continued eating dogs when they could get them from the Indians.
Captain Lewis and Captain Clark spent almost all of their time in the little room they shared, Captain Lewis working on his animal collection and the official journal, Captain Clark drawing detailed maps of where we had been. The men had built the captains a small desk in front of the window so they could keep an eye on the fort while they worked.
Captain Lewis was unusually quiet the entire time we were at the fort. He woke up early, checked on the men, ate breakfast, then sat at the desk scratching words until evening, when he would check on the men again, eat dinner, then return to the desk and work by candlelight until he went to sleep. I began to wonder if this was what the Captain was like when he was at home. It was pleasant lying next to the warm fire in his room, but I wasn't sure I would like this every day. I had gotten used to rambling.
Whenever I could, I went out hunting with Drouillard. I also joined Colter hunting from time to time, and watched him perfect his bull-elk bugling in those thick, dark green coastal forests. He became so good at it that all he had to do when he wanted an elk was to find a comfortable spot to sit, let out a bugle, and choose which elk to kill.
About the only long excursion I took while I was there was with Captain Clark. The Clatsops told us a giant whale had washed up on shore south of us. Captain Clark wanted to go down and get some of its meat and oil to add a little zest to our diet.
Bird Woman asked to go with him.
"I don't think so, Janey," Captain Clark said gently. Janey was his nickname for her.
Bird Woman looked Captain Clark in the eye. "I did not come all this way to miss a chance to see such a giant fish. I am going!"
"Well," he said, somewhat flustered at her response, "I guess you are."
By the time we got down to see the whale, the Indians had stripped most of the meat, but the skeleton was still there. I had seen a number of whales spouting in the ocean when I was a pup, but I had no idea how huge these beasts were until I stood next to those bones. That creature made salmon look like fleas.
February 17, 1806
This afternoon Privates Shannon and Labiche brought in a buzzard they wounded I believe it to be the largest bird in North America. From wing tip to wing tip this one measured 9 feet, 2 inches, and it weighed 25 pounds. It was a poor specimen and I suspect it would have weighed ten pounds more had it been in good flesh. We saw a number of these magnificent birds soaring above us as we descended the Columbia River.
Pomp had his first birthday last week and I would venture to say that he has seen more of this country than any boy his age. One of the men asked for a few of the buzzard feathers so he could make the boy a headdress....
POMP HAD GOTTEN his feet under him and was running around like a young squirrel, which kept Bird Woman busier than a hen with a dozen chicks. Her husband, Charbonneau, was little help to her, but Captain Clark spelled her every once in a while so she could get some rest.
Captain Clark was like a different person when he was around that pup. He took him for walks, played with him, tickled him, and always seemed a little sad when he had to give him back to his mother.
White Feather made several appearances during the long winter when I was out rambling by myself or with one of the men. I tried to draw attention to him, but the men were deaf and blind when it came to that crow. He seemed invisible to all but me. I hunkered down in Fort Clatsop as the gray days dripped by, listening to the men talk about going home and what they were going to do when they got there. Several of them, including Colter and Drouillard, had no intention of working the land the army had promised them upon their return. Their intention was to sell their land as quickly as they could, outfit themselves with the proceeds, and travel back up the Missouri to trap and hunt until the day they died.
As far as I could tell, the captains had no intention of going back up the Missouri after they returned home. They were going to set up residences in Saint Louis, publish their findings, and along with fulfilling whatever official duties they were given, perhaps enter into the fur business.
I wondered what the Captain's plans meant to me. There was a time, when I was with Brady, that I envied dogs that lived in houses with their masters, getting regular meals and kind words. But this feeling had faded with every step I had taken into the wilderness.
March 22, 1806
Tomorrow morning we will leave Fort C
latsop. It has been a difficult winter, but our time here has been productive. Captain Clark has completed his map, and although we did not find a Northwest Passage, I am confident that we have found the most direct navigable route to the Pacific Ocean.
We are all eager to get home....
THE MEN WERE absolutely busting to leave Fort Clatsop. The only thing on their minds was to get upriver as quick as they could paddle, cross the mountains, shoot a buffalo or two on the other side, then race home so they could get on with their lives.
The following afternoon we climbed into the dugouts and set off, but the Columbia had something to say about how quick our trip was going to be. By Captain Lewis's estimate, the river had risen nearly twenty feet since our descent, and once again we were paddling against the current.
We heard that the Chinooks farther upriver were going hungry because the salmon had not arrived. As we made our slow way up the Columbia, the captains sent parties out hunting every day, hoping to store up enough jerked meat to get us past the Indians.
The men killed deer or elk here and there, but there wasn't enough meat left over to jerk. They ate dog when they could buy it. I survived by eating deer entrails and whatever else I could scrounge alongshore.
