The Captain's Dog

by Roland Smith

  The captains grabbed their rifles with the intention of putting her in the collection. I could not allow that. I jumped into the water and began barking at her.

  "No, Sea!" the Captain shouted.

  I pretended I didn't hear him and continued barking and swimming toward her. This finally got her moving, but it didn't prevent the captains from firing their rifles. Fortunately they both missed. Captain Lewis was cross with me for the rest of the day.

  August 15, 1804

  Fish Camp. The course of the river has started to bop back on itself. On the 12th we made 18¾ miles by boat. After we set up camp that evening I sent a man on foot back to our previous camp, and he reported it was a mere 974 yards away by land.

  We have decided to stay here a few days to await the arrival of Drouillard and the other men. I do hope they have had success in apprehending Private Reed.

  Captain Clark and some of the men constructed a net out of willow bark. They dragged this trap down the stream and caught nearly 800 fish....

  I WAS NOT particularly fond of the fish the men were eating. I managed to snap up a couple mice, but this was not nearly enough to cure my hunger. By the second morning at Fish Camp I was near to starving and started thinking about all the meat we had left at the previous camp, which was only a few miles away. I also started thinking about that pretty little prairie wolf. I regretted not getting to know her better and wondered if she was still feeding at our abandoned camps.

  An exhausted Private Labiche arrived at Fish Camp that evening. "We caught that scoundrel, Reed," he told the captains. "Drouillard and the others are about ten miles back and will bring him in tomorrow morning."

  "What about Little Thief?" Captain Lewis asked.

  "He'll be here, too, along with a couple other chiefs."

  I was hoping that Reed had escaped or that he'd been shot by Drouillard.

  "York, bring Labiche some fish," Captain Clark said. "Labiche, you've earned some rest. We'll send someone out early tomorrow to meet them and show them where we're camped."

  That someone was Joseph Fields, and when he set off the next morning I went with him. I was none too eager to see Reed again, but I wanted to get my teeth into some of the meat we had left behind. And I was hoping I might run into my prairie wolf as well.

  When we were about parallel with our previous camp, the crow with the white feathers called down to me from a tree. Joe continued walking without so much as a glance up at it. White Feather flew in the direction of our old camp, and I followed. When I got to the camp, the crow was nowhere to be seen, but I did find some old meat to fill my belly. When I finished eating, I sniffed around and picked up the scent of my little prairie wolf who had been feeding on our leavings. And there was another scent as well—canine to be sure, but a different type from the prairie wolf. I followed this new scent confidently to the other side of the spit of land, which led me to another of our old camps.

  When I got there, my bold confidence faded pretty quickly. The canines were gray wolves. The men had talked about these grays, but this was the first time I had seen them up close. They were three times bigger than the prairie wolf and there were nine of them in a circle around a pile of our old meat.

  At first they didn't notice me, because they were too busy snarling at each other over the food. I thought about sneaking off, but just as I was about to back away, the biggest wolf perked his ears up and looked in my direction. I was bigger than he was, but I knew I wasn't a match for the whole pack. The big wolf and I locked eyes. I knew better than to turn tail and run. That would just get them excited and they would be on me faster than a falcon on a rabbit. I stood my ground, though my legs wanted to jump.

  The big male made an odd sound deep in his throat and stood up. The other wolves stopped eating and followed suit. He moved toward me on stiff legs, with his tail standing straight up like a flagpole. This was not a good sign—something I had learned from dogs on wharves along the Ohio. The other wolves followed a step or two behind him.

  I allowed him to get within about five feet before letting out my best warning growl. He stopped in his tracks, which I was gratified to see, but some of the other wolves slunk around behind me. They kept their distance, but it was impossible to keep an eye on all of them at once, surrounded as I was. At that moment I wished I had wings! One of the wolves darted in behind me. I reeled around to face him, and another wolf came in from my rear. I whipped around again. There was only one thing to do.

  I snapped at the smallest of the wolves, a young female. My vigor disrupted the circle, and in that second I dashed through the opening.

  The pack pursued me. I knew that if I stopped or hesitated I was doomed. My stamina was as good as any wolf's in the pack, but they were faster and accustomed to pursuing game. They lunged at my flanks and snapped at my hind legs, trying to cripple me. The leader managed to get in front of me and went for my nose. I lowered my head and bulled him over.

  After a mile, two of the wolves dropped back, but the others were still right on my tail. I felt my legs begin to fail. I was going to have to stop and rest. I put on a burst of speed and pulled away from them, hoping to find a place I could put my tail against without them worrying me from behind, but there was no such place! They were going to take me in the open. Just as my legs started to go, I heard—

  "Caw! Caw! Caw!"

  White Feather swooped down upon us. At the time I wasn't certain if he was trying to help the wolves or hinder them, but his sudden appearance caused the leader to stumble, which threw the other wolves off the chase for a moment. And a moment was all I needed, because the next thing I heard were men's voices.

  It was the Fields brothers.

  "Caw! Caw! Caw!"

  White Feather flew right to them, and my weak legs followed without breaking stride.

  Startled at my sudden arrival, a couple of the Otos raised their war axes.

  "Friend!" Drouillard shouted. "Friend! It's the Captain's dog."

  I turned around, but the wolves were nowhere to be seen. Nor was White Feather.

  "I wondered where you'd got off to," Joe said. "If I came back without you, the Captain would hang me along with our friend here."

  I looked at Reed, as pleased as I ever would be to see him, but it was clear he didn't feel the same way about me. His hands were tied behind his back and he looked as if he had been towed through a dry streambed.

  As soon as we got back to camp, the court-martial commenced. Reed pleaded guilty to desertion and stealing a rifle, a shot pouch, powder, and balls. He was convicted and sentenced to run the gauntlet four times. He was also discharged from the permanent party. And for the rest of the summer he would travel in one of the pirogues with the French voyagers, with whom he would be sent back to Saint Louis in the spring. I was glad to hear this, as I wouldn't have to put up with him after that.

  Captain Lewis, through Drouillard, explained the punishment to Little Thief and the other chiefs. "The men will form two lines facing each other, holding sticks. Private Reed will run this gauntlet four times while the men beat him with the sticks."

  The chiefs were offended at the severity of the punishment and asked that Reed be pardoned. The captains stepped off by themselves to discuss the request.

  "If we let him off this early in our journey," Captain Clark said, "I'm afraid it will set a poor example for the other men."

  Captain Lewis nodded. "We are in for even harder times ahead. We must maintain discipline."

  They walked back over to the chiefs and Drouillard.

  "Tell the chiefs that desertion is our most serious offense," Captain Lewis said, so all the men could hear. "By his desertion Private Reed has not only jeopardized this expedition and wasted valuable time, he has also betrayed his fellow soldiers. Under our laws we could hang or shoot him for this. Running the gauntlet is the smallest penalty we can impose under the circumstances."

  Little Thief and the other chiefs seemed to accept this. The men lined up in two rows.
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  I disliked Moses Reed, but watching him run the gauntlet was horrible. After his first time through, I slipped away, but I stayed within running distance of camp in case I met up with that pack of wolves.

  August 19, 1804

  After meeting with Chief Little Thief we are proceeding on. Reed is in the white pirogue, no doubt suffering greatly. Although he deserved every stroke, I still feel some measure of pity for him.

  At the moment my greatest concern is Sergeant Charles Floyd, who is gravely ill. I am in the keelboat at his side as I write this. Captain Clark spent the entire night tending him and I am now doing what I can. He has a great deal of pain in his stomach region and all our attempts to relieve him have failed....

  THROUGHOUT OUR journey all the men suffered from various stomach ailments, but it was clear that Sergeant Floyd's sickness was something worse than a common bellyache.

  Captain Lewis came out of the cabin and told the men to row the keelboat to shore.

  "Start a fire and heat some water. I want to give Sergeant Floyd a warm bath to see if it will help him."

  Captain Clark and York carried Floyd to shore and laid him next to the fire. "You'll be just fine," Captain Clark told him.

  "I don't think so, Captain," Floyd said weakly. "I am going away. I want you to write a letter."

  Before Captain Clark could get his writing things, Sergeant Floyd closed his eyes for the last time.

  Above the shore was a high bluff. The men carried Floyd's body to the top, dug a deep hole, and lowered him into it. Captain Lewis read from his Bible and the men bowed their heads and prayed. When they finished filling the hole, Colter brought a piece of wood over to the mound to mark it.

  "What should I write?" he asked the Captain.

  "Something simple," Captain Lewis said sadly. "'Charles Floyd died here, 20 August 1804."'

  Not far from the bluff was a small river, which the captains named Floyd's River in honor of the sergeant. A vote was held and the men elected Private Patrick Gass to take Floyd's place as sergeant.

  The men were all affected by Floyd's death, but none more than Captain Lewis, who blamed himself for the sergeant's passing.

  "There must have been something I could have done to save him," he said to Captain Clark.

  "You did all that you could, Meriwether."

  The Captain did not believe it was enough.

  August 23, 1804

  After our recent loss, the men have been much out of spirits. But today we have something to celebrate—we shot our first buffalo....

  Colter looks up from the red book. "Remember when I killed that buff? That cheered us some."

  "I killed the first buff," Drouillard says.

  "In your dreams, partner. I remember that day clearly..."

  It was neither of them.

  JOE FIELDS ran into camp, shouting, "I killed me a buffalo! It's a huge beast!"

  There was no one more cheered by this news than me. The captains sent a dozen men out onto the prairie to help Joe bring the meat back to camp, and every one of them was needed.

  The buffalo was covered in woolly brown fur. It had a hump on its back, stubby horns, bulging brown eyes, and a beard, and it tasted better than anything I had ever had in my mouth. When we had all feasted to our satisfaction, the captains had the men cut the leftover meat into thin strips, salt them, then lay them in the sun to dry. They called this jerking. The dried meat was light to carry and didn't spoil.

  Despite having their bellies filled with buffalo, some of the men were still dispirited by the loss of Sergeant Floyd. Those closest to the sergeant, including the captains, seemed to be spending more time on their own than they had prior to his passing. In the evenings when the work was done, they would wander off and find a spot away from the others and sit for long periods of time preoccupied with their thoughts.

  August 27, 1804

  Private Shannon did not come back to camp last night, and we are greatly worried about him. We don't know if he's lost, had trouble with Indians, or has met with some accident. Reed's desertion, Floyd's death, and now the disappearance of the youngest member of the party...

  SHANNON WAS NOT a good hunter, and the Captain was afraid that he might starve to death if they didn't find him quickly. John Colter was sent out to look for him, but he came back without picking up his trail. Drouillard tried next, but he didn't have any luck, either.

  I started sniffing around and came to the conclusion that they were searching in the wrong direction. Shannon wasn't behind us. He was in front of us. He must have missed our camp and thought that we were ahead of him.

  When I made the discovery the captains were both aboard the keelboat. I tried to get one of the men walking onshore to follow me, but they were tired and hungry and in no mood to pay attention.

  "Quit pestering me!"

  "Shut up, Sea!"

  "Not now, you big skunk."

  Humans can be so dense at times! Even if I had gotten them to follow me, they probably would not have understood what I was trying to show them. I had found Shannon's moccasin prints and a dead fire where he had roasted a small rabbit. The captains, Drouillard, and Colter were probably the only men who would have recognized that the prints and fire were Shannon's and not some passing Indian's.

  I decided to wait for another opportunity and arrived back at the river in time to see three Indian boys jump in the water and swim out to the keelboat. Dorion spoke with them and told the Captain that they were Yankton Sioux boys. The rest of the tribe was a few miles upriver.

  "Good," Captain Lewis said. "We'll set up camp here. I want you and Sergeant Pryor to go up there and invite them to parley with us."

  That evening the Captain and I went out for a ramble and I picked up Shannon's trail again. I started barking and whimpering and carrying on to get his attention.

  "What is it, Sea?"

  I ran ahead, with the Captain following close behind. After half a mile I came across a clear moccasin print near some berry bushes where Shannon had been grazing. I barked at the print and the Captain bent down for a closer look.

  "No wonder we can't find Shannon," he said. "He's ahead of us! I wonder how far ahead?"

  Three days and moving quick, I knew, but I had no way to convey this information.

  When we got back to camp, Captain Lewis explained "his" discovery, and the following day he sent Colter out to catch Shannon, loaded with extra provisions, knowing that Shannon would likely have a hollow belly.

  Two days later Sergeant Pryor arrived with a group of Yankton Sioux.

  "These Yanktons are real friendly," he reported. "They wanted to carry me into their camp on a buffalo hide, but I declined, telling them that I wasn't the chief. When I got there they fed me a fat roasted dog. Delicious!"

  I looked around at the men, expecting to see them disgusted by this horror, but all of them just stood there grinning like a bunch of fools. At the time I thought they were just hiding their revulsion.

  That night, after Captain Lewis had given his speech and handed out gifts, the men built three large bonfires and had a party. The Yanktons put on their best buffalo robes and vests decorated with beads, feathers, and porcupine quills. They danced and sang in the firelight to the sound of skin drums and rattles made from deer hooves, which I liked much better than the squeak of the fiddle. The Yankton women danced next, waving around human scalps that had been taken by their fathers and husbands in battles.

  Not to be outdone, Private Cruzatte played some whiny tunes on his fiddle and the men danced to the music. One of the French boatmen showed the Yanktons how he could dance on his hands, then York got into the fray, dancing until he nearly collapsed, which impressed the Yanktons greatly. The young girls looked at the ground and covered their shy smiles every time York caught them staring at him in admiration.

  The next morning the Yankton chiefs met with the captains before we proceeded on. They told the captains they needed guns, not medals and beads, to protect them from their enemi
es. The captains said they could not give them guns, but assured them that their new father would give them gifts beyond their imagination if they would go to visit him in Washington. The chiefs said they would go, and Dorion stayed behind to guide them there.

  September 6, 1804

  Still no sign of our man Shannon ... This is truly the land of plenty. Everywhere we look there are deer, elk buffalo, and other creatures previously unknown to me. But Shannon is no hunter, and I fear he may be dead...

  ONE OF THESE new creatures was a small hoofed animal with stiff, buff-colored hair, large eyes, and short-pronged horns. It was an awkward-looking beast, but it was the fastest thing on hooves I had ever seen. It sped across the ground in long graceful bounds, faster than a bird could fly.

  "I swear to god," Colter said, "that animal can outrun a musket ball." It took several days and dozens of shots to prove this theory wrong.

  Another animal we discovered during this time was the whistling rat—at least that's what I thought it was when I first laid eyes on it.

  Captain Lewis and I were on a ramble one afternoon when I heard a strange whistling noise in the distance. I ran ahead to see what it was and I came across a whole town of rats. There were thousands of them popping in and out of these holes in the ground, warbling like a flock of songbirds. I tried to catch one to bring back to the Captain, but they dived down their hatches faster than I could snap my jaw closed.

  The Captain came along and watched me for a time, then said, "I think we'll need some help with this, Sea. Let's go."