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Authors: Roland Smith
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horse would take what he got and trade it for something he and his family needed.
The Mandans were experienced traders. When we first arrived they offered us a few gifts of meat and corn, but after that it was all business. Dozens of Mandans showed up at the fort every day with bushels of corn and squash, meat, buffalo robes, furs, and other items. The men would sit down with them in the plaza and the long process of haggling over prices would begin.
It wasn't long before the cold descended and held us in its icy fist. The river froze solid and our men walked around with buffalo robes wrapped around themselves, the hair sides against their bodies. The Mandans didn't seem to be bothered by the cold. They wore thin moc
casins and often spent the night out on the windswept prairie without a fire or a robe to keep them warm. Because of my fur, I was not particularly bothered by the cold. In fact I preferred the cold to the heat of summer.
When the men were off duty they huddled around the fires in their huts, trying to keep the chill away, or walked over to the Mandan villages to visit with the women.
The captains spent most of their time inside the fort. Captain Lewis worked on his notes for President Jefferson, and Captain Clark refined the maps of where we had been.
One day a Frenchman named Toussaint Charbonneau showed up at the fort and walked in on Captain Lewis unannounced, catching him in the middle of working on his animal collection. Charbonneau did not know better than to disturb the Captain when he was working.
"My name is Toussaint Charbonneau," he said with a heavy accent. "I would like to be your interpreter."
Captain Lewis looked up and glared at the intruder for a full minute without uttering one word. Charbonneau had a bushy unkempt beard, shoulder-length gray hair, and a unique smell to him that I placed somewhere between a buffalo's and a raccoon's. He took his hat off. The top of his head was as bald as a newborn mouse
pup. While the Captain continued his silent stare, Charbonneau looked around the hut casually, without the slightest idea that his host was irritated.
"We already have an interpreter," Captain Lewis said finally, and looked back down at the skull he had been examining.
"You mean Drouillard?"
Captain Lewis looked up again as if he were surprised that Charbonneau was still standing there. "That's exactly who I mean."
"Ha!" Charbonneau slapped his ample belly.
Captain Lewis flushed in anger. He didn't like this loud Frenchman and he was about to throw him out of the hut when Captain Clark walked in.
Captain Lewis took a deep breath to calm himself. "We have a visitor," he said. "This is Toussaint Charbonneau."
"I've heard the name," Captain Clark said, putting his hand out. "You live up with the Hidatsas?"
"Yes, I do."
"He wants to be our interpreter," Captain Lewis said.
"But we have anâ"
"I have already told Mr. Charbonneau that George Drouillard is our interpreter. He was not impressed."
"Perhaps I should start again," Charbonneau offered, finally seeing the Captain's annoyance.
"By all means," Captain Lewis said.
"I didn't mean any offense. I'm sure your man Drouillard is a good man, but does he speak fluent Shoshone?"
The captains looked at each other in surprise, not sure they understood. None of us had ever even seen a Shoshone Indian. But the captains were depending on the Shoshone tribe to sell us horses when we reached the mountains next summer. Making peace with the Shoshones and trading for their horses would be critical to the success of the expedition. The captains had been talking about the problem just that morning over breakfast.
"And I suppose you speak fluent Shoshone?" Captain Lewis asked.
Charbonneau launched into an involved answer, but Captain Lewis didn't understand what he was saying. "Tabeau!" he called. Tabeau stuck his head into the hut. "Can you find out if this man actually speaks the Shoshone language?"
Charbonneau and Tabeau spoke in
The Mandans were experienced traders. When we first arrived they offered us a few gifts of meat and corn, but after that it was all business. Dozens of Mandans showed up at the fort every day with bushels of corn and squash, meat, buffalo robes, furs, and other items. The men would sit down with them in the plaza and the long process of haggling over prices would begin.
It wasn't long before the cold descended and held us in its icy fist. The river froze solid and our men walked around with buffalo robes wrapped around themselves, the hair sides against their bodies. The Mandans didn't seem to be bothered by the cold. They wore thin moc
casins and often spent the night out on the windswept prairie without a fire or a robe to keep them warm. Because of my fur, I was not particularly bothered by the cold. In fact I preferred the cold to the heat of summer.
When the men were off duty they huddled around the fires in their huts, trying to keep the chill away, or walked over to the Mandan villages to visit with the women.
The captains spent most of their time inside the fort. Captain Lewis worked on his notes for President Jefferson, and Captain Clark refined the maps of where we had been.
One day a Frenchman named Toussaint Charbonneau showed up at the fort and walked in on Captain Lewis unannounced, catching him in the middle of working on his animal collection. Charbonneau did not know better than to disturb the Captain when he was working.
"My name is Toussaint Charbonneau," he said with a heavy accent. "I would like to be your interpreter."
Captain Lewis looked up and glared at the intruder for a full minute without uttering one word. Charbonneau had a bushy unkempt beard, shoulder-length gray hair, and a unique smell to him that I placed somewhere between a buffalo's and a raccoon's. He took his hat off. The top of his head was as bald as a newborn mouse
pup. While the Captain continued his silent stare, Charbonneau looked around the hut casually, without the slightest idea that his host was irritated.
"We already have an interpreter," Captain Lewis said finally, and looked back down at the skull he had been examining.
"You mean Drouillard?"
Captain Lewis looked up again as if he were surprised that Charbonneau was still standing there. "That's exactly who I mean."
"Ha!" Charbonneau slapped his ample belly.
Captain Lewis flushed in anger. He didn't like this loud Frenchman and he was about to throw him out of the hut when Captain Clark walked in.
Captain Lewis took a deep breath to calm himself. "We have a visitor," he said. "This is Toussaint Charbonneau."
"I've heard the name," Captain Clark said, putting his hand out. "You live up with the Hidatsas?"
"Yes, I do."
"He wants to be our interpreter," Captain Lewis said.
"But we have anâ"
"I have already told Mr. Charbonneau that George Drouillard is our interpreter. He was not impressed."
"Perhaps I should start again," Charbonneau offered, finally seeing the Captain's annoyance.
"By all means," Captain Lewis said.
"I didn't mean any offense. I'm sure your man Drouillard is a good man, but does he speak fluent Shoshone?"
The captains looked at each other in surprise, not sure they understood. None of us had ever even seen a Shoshone Indian. But the captains were depending on the Shoshone tribe to sell us horses when we reached the mountains next summer. Making peace with the Shoshones and trading for their horses would be critical to the success of the expedition. The captains had been talking about the problem just that morning over breakfast.
"And I suppose you speak fluent Shoshone?" Captain Lewis asked.
Charbonneau launched into an involved answer, but Captain Lewis didn't understand what he was saying. "Tabeau!" he called. Tabeau stuck his head into the hut. "Can you find out if this man actually speaks the Shoshone language?"
Charbonneau and Tabeau spoke in
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