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![]() When Pierre woke up, in a cold and empty house, he found his options considerably reduced. So, presumably with some reluctance, he presented himself as agreed a few days later, ready to embark on the expedition. During this time Marie had been hiding out in the nearby woodlands with the two boys. When she saw that Pierre was going to honor his obligations, she strolled out of the woods and resumed her place at his side as if nothing had happened. One thing, though, would never be the same. As author Bill Gulick puts it, “There is no record that Pierre Dorion ever attempted to beat his wife again.” There is, by the way, another version of this story. In it, Pierre beats Marie to punish her for reluctance to join the expedition, and she, after fleeing into the woods for a day or two, returns chastened and ready to obey him. This version may be accurate, but given what we know of Marie’s temperament and character, it seems most likely that it’s just a cover story that Pierre told to explain her extended absence. On the other hand, Marie may have had good reason not to want to go on this journey. Living in St. Louis as the Native American wife of a French-Canadian interpreter, she almost certainly moved in the same circles as the Shoshone wife of a French-Canadian interpreter living in St. Louis at the time — none other than Sacagawea, who had just returned from a similar expedition a few years before. And Sacagawea may have known about a thing Meriwether Lewis did on the journey back — a deed that was like a modern echo of Odysseus’ taunting of the blinded cyclops in The Odyssey, and that had not-entirely-dissimilar results. While the Lewis and Clark party had been traveling through the lands of the Blackfeet tribe in northern Montana, a group of young Blackfeet had slipped up and tried to steal a horse and some rifles. They were spotted, and combat was engaged, and one Blackfeet man was stabbed and another shot and gravely wounded. The brazenness of the incident put Lewis into a paroxysm of how-dare-they wrathfulness. So he hung a Jefferson Peace Medal around the corpse’s neck, so that when it was found, the Blackfeet would know who had killed him. This was a terrible idea. Theft, by the moral code of the Blackfeet, was more or less a lark. The tribe viewed its members’ attempt to steal horses and guns from another group the way modern Americans would view a group of local high-school kids climbing the town water tower in the night to paint it John Deere green. But the moral code of the Blackfeet treated killing much more seriously. They were a warlike tribe. Blood was answered with blood. And the extra little touch of decorating the corpse with a medal made them furious. Since that time, Blackfeet had been sworn enemies of the European-Americans from down the river. That meant the turf was burned, and the Astor party would not be able to follow in the footsteps of the Lewis and Clark expedition. They would have to find another way. Hunt, the expedition’s leader, did not know this yet. But he would soon find out. And if Marie knew about it, possibly from talking to Sacagawea, she certainly would have had good reason not to want to go. Nonetheless, when the time came, she and the two boys were there with Pierre, ready to do their part. We’ll talk about the journey that lay before them in next week’s column.
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