The Mandans received them as beings back from the grave. The drums sounded, the feast-fires were lighted, and for a time the natives and their guests joined in rejoicing. But still Lewis's restless soul was dissatisfied with delay. He would not wait.
"We must get on!" said he. "We cannot delay."
The boats must start down the last stretch of the great river. Would any of the tribesmen like to go to the far East, to see the Great Father? Big White, chief of the Mandans, said his savage prayers.
"I will go," said he. "I will go and tell him of my people. We are poor and weak. I will ask him to take pity on us and protect us against the Sioux."
So it was arranged that Big White and his women, with Jussaume, his wife, and one or two others, should accompany the brigade down the river. Loud lamentations mingled with the preparations for the departure.
Sacajawea, what of her? Her husband lived among the Mandans. This was the end of the trail for her, and not the rudest man but was sad at the thought of going on without her. They knew well enough that in all likelihood, but for her, their expedition could never have attained success. Beyond that, each man of them held memory of some personal kindness received at her hands. She had been the life and comfort of the party, as well as its guide and inspiration.
"Sacajawea," said Meriwether Lewis, when the hour for departure came, "I am now going to finish my trail. Do you want to go part way with us? I can take you to the village where we started up this river--St. Louis. You can stay there for one snow, until Big White comes back from seeing the Great Father. We can take the baby, too, if you like."
Her face lighted up with a strange wistfulness.
"Yes, Capt'in," said she, "I go with Big White--and you."
He smiled as he shook his head.
"We go farther than that, many sleeps farther."
"Who shall make the fire? Who shall mend your moccasins? See, there is no other woman in your party. Who shall make tea? Who shall spread down the robes? Me--Mrs. Charbonneau!"
She drew herself up proudly with this title; but still Meriwether Lewis looked at her sadly, as he stood, lean, gaunt, full-bearded, clad in his leather costume of the plains, supporting himself on his crutch.
"Sacajawea," said he, "I cannot take your husband with me. All my goods are gone--I cannot pay him; and now we do not need him to teach us the language of other peoples. From here we can go alone."