“Give way,” he cried, standing beside Captain Clark; and out were shoved the eight boats together. Captain Lewis nodded at Gunner Willard.
“Boom!” spoke the swivel cannon, in farewell to the shore.
Sha-ha-ka and other Indians had come over in skin canoes to bid the Long Knife and the Red Head goodby. They stood, and gazed, and made no sign. They would wait, and take care of the white fathers’ fort.
“We’ll be back,” declared the buoyant George Shannon, as he bent to an oar. “Stay where you are, old fort. We’ll be back in the fall and light your winter fires again.” For the captains thus had figured.
“We locked the gates, but sure the Injuns’ll be climbin’ over the fince before we’re out o’ sight,” grunted Sergeant Pat.
The wind was almost dead ahead. With oars and paddles the men settled to their work. Now the party numbered thirty-three, and Peter.
There were the two captains—Captain Meriwether Lewis and Captain William Clark (to each other “Merne” and “Will”), from Virginia and Kentucky; and Sergeants John Ordway, of New Hampshire, Nathaniel Pryor and Patrick Gass; and Privates William Bratton of Captain Lewis’s state (Virginia); Alexander Willard from John Ordway’s state, and John Shields, of Kentucky, the three smiths; Reuben Fields and Joseph Fields, brothers, John Colter, Joseph Whitehouse, William Werner, who like Pryor and Shields, were from Captain Clark’s state, Kentucky; John Collins, of Maryland; John Thompson, the surveyor, from Indiana; Robert Frazier, of Vermont; the handsome, merry George Shannon from Ohio and Pennsylvania both; George Gibson, the fiddler, Hugh McNeal, John Potts, Peter Wiser, all from the same place as Pat and George—Pennsylvania; Silas Goodrich and Thomas Howard and Hugh Hall, of Massachusetts; Dick Windsor, said to hail also from Massachusetts.
Peter knew them all; fine men; but he liked Pat and George Shannon the best.
Then, there were the Frenchmen: gay old Cruzatte, with his one eye and his lively fiddle; Francois Labiche, the boatman who danced on his head; Baptiste Lepage, who joined at the Mandan villages to take the place of one Liberté who had run away; George Drouillard, the hunter; Chaboneau and Sa-ca-ja-we-a, the Bird-woman, who was to help the party into the mountains and make friends of the Snakes. And little Toussaint, the beady-eyed baby—a great pet.
And York, black, enormous York, the great medicine, whom all the Indians so highly respected.