In 1811, fur trader Henry Brackenridge recorded in his journal the presence of a Frenchman named Charbonneau and his wife, an Indian woman of the Snake Nation, who had accompanied Lewis and Clark to the Pacific and were of great service. He described the woman as “a good creature of a mild and gentle disposition, greatly attached to the whites, whose manners and airs she tried to imitate, but who had become sickly and longed to revisit her native country. ” That woman was almost certainly Sacagawea. ely over a year later, on December 20, 1812, Brackenridge noted”‘the wife of Charbonneau, a Snake squaw, died of the putrid fever.
She was a good and the best woman in the fort, aged about 25 years, and she left behind a fine infant girl. ” That infant was most likely Sacagawea’s daughter, Lizette, who—along with her older brother, John Baptiste—was eventually placed in the care of William Clark in St. Louis. Historians believe Lizette died while still very young.
aking of William Clark, sometime in the mid-1820s, he too would state that Sacagawea was dead. But rumors suggested otherwise. Legend has it that rather than dying, Sacagawea simply ran off on her husband, Charbonneau, and ended up marrying into the Comanche tribe, lived with him for quite some time, before returning to her own people, the Shoshone. She possibly resided at Fort Bridger for a spell, but would ultimately settle down at the Wind River Indian Reservation in Wyoming, where she supposedly passed away in the summer of 1884.
There is even a grave marker on the reservation dedicated to her. But how true is that? Is Sacagawea really buried at Wind River? n 1925, Dr.
Charles Eastman, himself a Native American physician, was tasked with locating Sacagawea’s final resting place. He interviewed several old-timers there at Wind River and determined that an old Comanche lady going by the name of Porivo was in all actuality Sacagawea. Apparently some of those who he spoke with stated that Porivo had described a long journey she went on with white men, and that she even had in her possession a silver peace medal featuring The likeness of Thomas Jefferson—the same type of medal that Lewis and Clark often handed out to the indigenous. At the end of the day, though, it just depends on who you’re willing to believe: Dr.
Eastman and the Shoshone, or William Clark and fur trader Henry Brackenridge. The fate of Sacagawea’s son, Jean Baptiste, and her not-so-nice husband, Toussaint Charbonneau, would take different paths, as would the fate of other members of the Lewis and Clark expedition—including the mysterious death of Meriwether Lewis, a story that is not for the faint of heart. aptain Meriwether Lewis was taking careful aim when the ball struck him, entering his left thigh about an inch below the hip joint and exiting out his right buttock. As Lewis described the pain,”very severe.
” He and Private Cruzatte had been out hunting when they wounded an elk. Looking to finish the job, the pair split up and began stalking the injured animal through the brush. Lewis spotted the elk first and just shouldered his rifle when, much to his surprise, it was he who got shot. Cruzatte was horribly nearsighted, and Captain Lewis initially figured that the damn fool had mistaken him for the wounded elk.
Lewis yelled for Cruzatte, but there was no answer. He hollered again with the same result. This was repeated a couple of more times, and Lewis started getting nervous, thinking now that perhaps he was wrong—and that his assailant was a native warrior, possibly looking for another shot. Lewis called out once more, this time instructing Cruzatte to make a run forward as he did the same.
Within minutes, Captain Lewis was back at the river and rallying the others to the private’s rescue—at this point he had pretty much convinced himself that they were under attack. Lewis attempted to join the relief party, but his leg finally gave up from underneath him, so instead he just crawled over into one of the canoes and prepared to quote”sell my life as dearly as possible. ” Thankfully, the men soon returned with an unharmed, yet seemingly confused, Private Cruzatte in tow. Not only did he swear up and down that it wasn’t him who shot Lewis, but he also claimed not to have even heard Lewis hollering.
For what it’s worth, Lewis did have the discharged ball—apparently it had lodged in his buckskin leggings—and it was of the exact same caliber is Cruzatte’s rifle. While Lewis would later write that he didn’t believe Cruzatte shot him intentionally, he also never bought into the private’s denials. As far as the wound, luckily no bones were hit, but still it was extremely painful, and Captain Lewis was effectively out of commission, relegated to laying on his belly in one of the canoes, ass up, the entire way down river till they met up with Captain Clark. The captains had split up back at Traveler’s Rest in early July, and unlike Lewis, Clark’s journey had been relatively uneventful.
The always valuable, and way underrated, Sacagawea had guided he and his men through the Bozeman Pass and down onto the Yellowstone. The only real problem they ran into was having about two dozen of their horses stolen. Nevertheless, they constructed a pair of large dugouts and were successful in navigating the Yellowstone to where it meets the Missouri in present-day North Dakota. It’s there, on August 12th, that the captains were finally reunited.
As for Sergeant Pryor and the three others who were tasked with taking the remaining horses to the Mandan, that didn’t exactly go as planned—they too had their horses stolen, all of them. Rather than continue on foot, they threw together a couple of bull boats, and by August 8th they hooked back up with Clark. A few days later, here comes Lewis—with his ventilated backside. For the first time in nearly a month and a half, the core of Discovery was whole again, save for a sizable chunk of flesh missing from Meriwether Lewis’s backside.
The expedition would arrive back at the Mandan villages on August 14th, at which point Charbonneau was discharged from duty and given a $500 payment for his services. As for his wife, Sacagawea, she’d receive exactly $0—sign of the times. But sadly, much like with Clark’s slave, York, Sacagawea, for all intents and purposes, was simply a piece of property, and thus not compensated. It was also there among the Mandan where the core of Discovery would say their goodbyes to Private John Colter.
Right around the same time that the expedition had reached the villages, they were met by a pair of Americans named Forest Hancock and Joseph Dixon. This enterprising duo had plans on trapping beaver along the Yellowstone and were hoping Colter would join them. He agreed, and even though his enlistment wouldn’t officially end for another two months, Captain Lewis granted permission. The dude had been away from civilization for over two years, and just as his companions were on their way back to soft beds and strong whiskey, Colter instead turned his face once more towards the west—and in doing so would come to be known as the first of a new breed called the mountain men.
The remaining members of the expedition, along with a Mandan chief named Big White, would depart on August 20th, and the return trip home was mostly without incident. They anticipated trouble from the Lakota, and at one point even thought they were being shot at, but it just turned out to be some friendly Yankton engaging in target practice. It’s worth pointing out that the peace Lewis and Clark had initially attempted to establish there along the Missouri did end up as an abject failure—in their absence out west, the Arikara had resumed fighting the Mandan, along with the Lakota and the Hidatsa, making raids against the Omaha, and the Shoshone, and damn near everybody else. Nevertheless, the core of Discovery would arrive at St.
Louis to a hero’s welcome on September 23rd, 1806—after 2 years, 4 months, and 10 days, they were finally home. Minus Sergeant Floyd and John Colter. Speaking of Floyd, they did stop at his grave on their way home and pay their respects. For the most part, despite the lack of peace on the upper Missouri, and despite their not finding an all-water route to the Pacific, or the territory of Louisiana not extending to the 50th parallel, the core of Discovery was considered a success.
Lewis and Clark had met their objective of reaching the West Coast, solidifying American claims not only to Louisiana but also the Pacific Northwest. Although their peace policy was largely in shambles, the captains had established trade diplomatic relations with at least a few tribes. They were also able to gain valuable information on the natural habitat, the flora, and fauna—in addition to bringing back numerous plant and mineral specimens—accurately describing over 200 new animal and plant species during the course of the expedition. Not to mention all the ethnographic studies they conducted among the natives—then of course, there was all the mapping, and topography.
Many a blank spot on the map was filled in thanks to Lewis and Clark. The expedition proved to be a huge win for the United States—and they only lost one man during the entire journey. Upon arriving in St. Louis, the men of the expedition were awarded land grants—320 acres a piece—along with double wages.
This meant that the sergeants ended up earning $16 per month, and the privates a whopping $10. Many of them would end up selling their land grants and drinking in the months, and years, to come. Some would even head back out west. George Drouillard, quite possibly one of the most capable men of the expedition, not wanting to stay put, headed up river again in 1807 with fur trader Manuel Lisa, helping to establish a trading post on the Yellowstone River.
He would even find himself on trial for murder—apparently Drouillard, on the orders of his boss Manuel Lisa, had shot a deserter who would later die of his wounds. The next time George was in St. Louis, he was slapped with a big, old, fat murder indictment. Luckily for him, one of the jury members was former core of Discovery alumni George Shannon, and ultimately Drouillard was fully acquitted.
Sadly, this luck would not hold out. After more than a few close calls with the Blackfeet, in the spring of 1810, many a Drouillard’s fur trapper buddies skedaddled on back to St. Louis. Not Drouillard, though—said he was too much of an “eagle” to be caught by the “eagles,” and as such he continued trapping there at Three Forks—at least he did till the Blackfeet punched his number in late May.
George Shannon, the youngest member of the Corps, in the fall of 1807, was with Sergeant Pryor and a few others attempting to bring Big White back to the Mandan. They ran into trouble with the Arikara, and Shannon ended up taking a ball to the leg. By the time he got himself some proper doctoring, the leg was turning sour, so the sawbones had to amputate. Despite spending the rest of his life walking on a peg leg, Shannon would go on to get his law degree and become a well-respected attorney.
Things took a turn for the worse in 1833, however, when his wife died from typhus. Shannon hit the bottle, and never found his way out, dying less than three years later at the age of 51. Sacagawea’s family had remained behind at the Mandan villages when everyone else headed back to St. Louis.
At the time, Captain Clark had put forth the idea of taking little Pompey back with him and seeing to it that he got a proper education, but Sacagawea declined the offer. That said, she and her husband would move to St. Louis the following year, and in 1809, when they headed back up to Missouri, this time they did leave little Pompey in the care of William Clark. His actual name was Jean Baptiste Charbonneau.
The youngster would end up getting an expensive education at a Jesuit Catholic school, and oddly enough, in 1823, at the age of 18, Pompey set sail for Europe—and ended up living among royalty in Germany for a number of years. Not a whole lot is known about his time in Germany, but by 1829 he was back in the US and employed as a fur trapper, working alongside the likes of Jim Bridger and James Beckwourth. In the years that followed, Pompey would work as a guide, hunter, and even a magistrate of sorts down in Southern California, before finally taking part in The Great California Gold Rush of the 1840s. At some point in the early 1866, Pompey decided to try his luck at the new gold diggings over in Montana, but he wouldn’t make it—ended up falling into the Owyhee river in present-day Northern Nevada, catching pneumonia, and passing away.
He was 61 years old at the time of his death. As for his father, Toussaint Charbonneau, old Toussaint would remain out west and work as a translator for several years, both as a government employee and for various fur companies. He would remarry—all total, Charbonneau had something like five Native American wives, and not a damn one of them were over the age of 16 when they got married. Apparently his last bride was a 14-year-old Atsina girl, when he was already over the age of 70.
Not a very well-liked guy, Toussaint Charbonneau, and rumor has it he was not very nice to the ladies. The exact timing or cause of his death is unknown, but in 1843, his son John Baptiste would settle his estate. William Clark would be appointed as Brigadier General of the Louisiana militia, as well as US agent for Indian Affairs, following his service in the War of 1812. Clark would then be appointed as governor of the newly formed Missouri territory.
In 1822, he would receive another presidential appointment, with Clark being named as superintendent of Indian Affairs—and then just a couple years later, he’d be appointed surveyor general of Illinois, Missouri, and the territory of Arkansas. Clark would end up marrying twice and having at least eight children, before passing away in September of 1838 at the age of 68. Finally, we come to Captain Meriwether Lewis. After returning to civilized society, Lewis was appointed as the governor of Louisiana Territory.
After a brief trip back East, he settled down in St. Louis to prepare his journal for publication—and suffice to say, things did not go as planned. Lewis tried, and failed, on more than one occasion to secure a wife. He was very slow on finalizing his journal, and he quarreled extensively with Louisiana Secretary Frederick Bates.
To further exasperate matters, Lewis began to drink to excess, as well as ingesting medicine laced with opium and morphine—whether this was due to the pain from that hip wound, or to treat a lingering case of malaria, is unknown. Lewis began to borrow heavily, his finances crumbled, and his behavior became increasingly more, and more, erratic. It was while in such a state that he left St. Louis on September 3rd, 1809, bound for Washington, DC.
The initial plan was to take the river down to New Orleans, and then catch a boat to the capital, but somewhere along the way, Lewis changed his mind, and instead chose to travel up The Natchez Trace. On September 11th, 1809, Lewis, then just 35 years of age, wrote out his last will in testament, leaving everything to his mother, Lucy. He also penned a final letter to his old friend, William Clark—a letter since lost to history, but there are some who think that it may have been a suicide note of sorts. Between leaving St.
Louis and arriving at Fort Pickering in Tennessee, Lewis had attempted to take his own life twice, and had to be restrained by the boat crew. It is not known in what manner Lewis attempted suicide—only that one of the attempts quote”nearly succeeded. ” Once at Fort Pickering, where the city of Memphis now stands, Lewis drank heavily while at the same time downing pills. This behavior, coupled with the recent incidents on the boat after departing St.
Louis, caused the officer in charge, Captain Gilbert Russell, to place Lewis on a 24-hour suicide watch. Finally, after six or seven days, Lewis did seem to improve. According to Captain Russell,”all symptoms of derangement disappeared, and he was completely in his senses. ” Evidently Lewis was deeply ashamed of his actions and swore to Russell that he would never drink again.
On September th, Lewis departed Fort Pickering via horseback, in the company of his personal servant, a freedman by the name of John Pernier; a Major James Neely, who was the US agent to the Chickasaw Nation; and Neely’s servant. They headed overland along The Natchez Trace, and covered 100 miles in 3 days. But at some point, Lewis began to once again hit the bottle, despite his most recent resolution not to. For some reason, they did make a slight detour south to the Chickasaw agency, not far from present-day Houston, Mississippi, where Major Neely recalled that Lewis “appeared at times deranged in mind.
” They rested at the agency for a couple of days, and proceeded onward, crossing the Tennessee River on October 9th. That evening, a couple of horses strayed, and as Neely went out to search for them, Lewis continued on alone, stopping at a place called Grinder’s, about 75 or 80 miles southwest of Nashville. Mr. Grinder was away at the time, but his wife, Priscilla, was running the place.
She asked Lewis if he was traveling alone, and he said no—there were two servants coming up the trail behind him. Sure enough, as he settled down to drink some”spirits,” here comes Pernier, along with Neely’s servant. Oddly enough, Lewis asked Pernier wheresthe gunpowder was, but Pernier wisely evaded the question. As the evening progressed, Mrs.
Grinder continued to note Lewis’s erratic behavior—said that he would pace back and forth, act as if he was walking up to her, and then just wheel around all of a sudden, and walk away as fast as possible. Then later on, as they sat down to eat dinner, Lewis began speaking to himself in what she described as a”violent manner. ” Eventually, Lewis arose, and stepped outside to light a pipe, remarking on how pleasant of an evening it was. Mrs.
Grinder began to prepare a bed for him, but he stopped her, and said that he would sleep on the floor, explaining that since his journey to the Pacific, he could no longer sleep on a feather bed. He had Pernier bring in his bearskins,and buffalo robe,and spread them on the floor. While Pernier was getting the bedding, Lewis found some gunpowder. Mrs.
Grinder went to the kitchen to sleep, and the servants went to the barn, some 200 yards distant. Lewis began pacing in his room. This went on for several hours. Mrs.
Grinder, who was frightened, and could not sleep, heard him talking aloud,”like a lawyer. ” Lewis got out his pistols. He loaded them, and at some point during the early hours of October 11th, shot himself in the head—the ball only grazed his skull. He fell heavily to the floor.
Mrs. Grinder heard him exclaim,”Oh Lord! ” Lewis rose, took up his other pistol,and shot himself in the breast—the ball entered and passed downward through his body, to emerge low down on his backbone. He survived the second shot, staggered to the door of his room,and called out,”Oh Madam, give me some water,and heal my wounds.
” Lewis staggered outside, fell, crawled for some distance, raised himself by the side of a tree,and then staggered back to his room. He scraped the bucket with a gourd for water, but the bucket was empty. He collapsed on his robes. At first light, the terrified Mrs.
Grinder sent her children to fetch the servants. When they got to Lewis’s room, they found him busily engaged in cutting himself from head to foot with his razor. Lewis saw Pernier,and said to him,”I have done the business, my good servant. Now give me some water.
” Pernier did. Lewis uncovered his side,and showed them the second wound. He said,”I am no coward, but I am so strong that it is hard to die. ” He said he had tried to kill himself, to deprive his enemies of the pleasure and honor of doing it.
He begged the servants to take his rifle,and blow out his brains, telling them not to be afraid, for he would not hurt them,and they could have all the money in his trunk. Shortly after sunrise, his great heart stopped beating. There are some who believe that what was described never happened, and that Lewis was in fact murdered. There are issues with Mrs.
Grinder’s account—even years after the fact, she would change certain aspects of her story. But as for the evidence, it strongly suggests that Lewis did indeed take his own life. What’s more, the two men that knew Lewis the best—William Clark,and Thomas Jefferson—felt the same way. They had both lived with the man for extended periods, were privy to the inner workings of his mind,and although they did express deep remorse, neither one of them ever thought that any kind of foul play was involved.
At the end of the day, Meriwether Lewis was a damn good man in a crisis—when Private Windsor fell off that cliff, Lewis knew exactly what to do. When confronted by rapids,and a fork in the river, stolen horses, or aggressive Blackfeet, Captain Lewis knew exactly what to do. He was without a doubt a man of action—and, as Thomas Jefferson described him, a man of courage,”undaunted. ” It was ordinary life that Lewis struggled with—the monotony of day-to-day, coupled with what most historians believed was a chemical imbalance of the brain,a noise in his head that he couldn’t turn off.
Once the expedition was over, I think the immense responsibilities and challenges of the expedition were enough to keep the demons in Lewis’s head at bay for a time. Then, once they were back home,and the”struggle” was over—when Lewis was no longer engaged with a cause larger than himself—that’s when he really began to unravel. There are other factors at work, sure—it’s widely believed that at some point Lewis had contracted malaria,and some cases of untreated malaria can result in the swelling of blood vessels in the brain, which can sometimes result in mental issues. There’s also all that mercury he was taking—remember, Lewis and the others were taking high doses of mercury, to treat any, and all, ills during the expedition.
Long-term exposure to mercury can result in neurological disorders that can cause everything from depression, to apathy, personality changes,and even delirium. But more than anything else, it was a chemical imbalance in his brain—something he had absolutely no control over—and it’s that brain of his, or what was left of it, that eventually did him in, there at Grinder’s Stand.
