ountry.
All was now ready for the descent to St. Louis. The
boats, lashed together in pairs, were at the shore. Big
White was surrounded by his friends, seated in a circle,
solemnly smoking. The women wept aloud; the little
children trembled and hid behind their mothers.
More courageous than any, Shahaka immediately sent his wife and son with their baggage on board. The interpreter, Jussaume, with his wife and two children, accompanied them. Yes, Madame Jussaume was going to Washington!
Sacajawea, modest princess of the Shoshones, heroine of the great expedition, stood with her babe in arms and smiled upon them from the shore. So had she stood in the Rocky Mountains pointing out the gates. So had she followed the great rivers, navigating the continent.
Sacajawea's hair was neatly braided, her nose was fine and straight, and her skin pure copper like the statue in some old Florentine gallery. Madonna of her race, she had led the way to a new time. To the hands of this girl, not yet eighteen, had been intrusted the key that unlocked the road to Asia.
Some day upon the Bozeman Pass, Sacajawea's statue will stand beside that of Clark. Some day, where the rivers part, her laurels will vie with those of Lewis. Across North America a Shoshone Indian Princess touched hands with Jefferson, opening her country.
All the chiefs had gathered to see the boats start. "Stay but one moment," they said.
Clark stepped back. Black Cat handed him a pipe, as if for benediction. The solemn smoke-wreaths soon rolled upward.
"Tell our Great Fader de young men will remain at home and not mak' war on any people, except in self-defence."
"Tell de Rickara to come and visit. We mean no harm."
"Tak' good care dis chief. He will bring word from de Great Fader."
It was a promise and a prayer. Strong chiefs
