New Found Land: Lewis and Clark's Voyage of Discovery

by Allan Wolf

Overview

"This amazing work presents the adventure of Lewis and Clark through the eyes of its participants." — School Library Journal (starred review)

In powerful, lyrical language, here is the journey of Lewis and Clark told by themselves and their diverse crew — from a one-eyed French-Indian fiddler to Clark’s African-American slave; from Sacagawea to Lewis’s Newfoundland dog, a "seer" whose narrative resonates long after the book is closed.

An American Library Association Best Book for Young Adults

An International Reading Association Children’s Book Award Notable

A New York Public Library Book for the Teen Age

A School Library Journal Best Book of the Year

A Lion and the Unicorn Honor Winner for Excellence in North American Poetry

Two starred reviews (Kirkus, School Library Journal)

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780763632885
Publisher:	Candlewick Press
Publication date:	09/11/2007
Edition description:	Reprint
Pages:	512
Product dimensions:	6.50(w) x 9.00(h) x 1.31(d)
Lexile:	850L (what's this?)
Age Range:	12 - 14 Years

About the Author

Allan Wolf is a member of the national touring company Poetry Alive!, and is able to recite hundreds of poems from memory. Perhaps it is unsurprising, then, that he chose to write this novel in poetic form. As he says, "During the four years it took to research and write New Found Land, my head was constantly crowded with the novel's fourteen voices. They talked to me as I made breakfast, as I dressed the baby, as I delivered newspapers, and as I brushed my teeth. They talked and talked. Alone in my car I began to talk back. And together all fifteen of us worked out the details of the story. Happily, my head is now quiet, the voices having moved to their permanent home within this book." New Found Land is Allan Wolf's first novel.

Read an Excerpt

SACAGAWEA
THE BIRD WOMAN

After my eleventh winter
I was kidnapped by our enemies and made to be their slave.

My people, the Shoshone, were in hiding in the Shining Mountains at the place where three rivers become one.
In times of war, we never left the camp unescorted.
That day the young brave Split Feather watched over my cousin and me.
Split Feather kept lookout from atop his horse while we two girls crouched by a creek mashing pah-see-goo roots with a heavy stone.

We were filled with hope. Spring had arrived.
We would soon return to the plains to hunt the buffalo.
Soon there would be skins to cover our tepees.
Soon there would be meat to fill our stomachs.

I was yet a young girl, but a strong one.
Cousin was older and due to marry Split Feather soon.
They brought joy to each other and their union was a blessing to our family.
Long ago my father had promised me to Sitting Hawk,
an important Shoshone scout.
I was to become his wife,
but not until I reached womanhood.

Despite our hunger, Cousin and I were always laughing.
That day was no different.
She held her basket, filled with roots, against her stomach.
"Look, Watches the Sky," she said, joking.
"I am pregnant with many small children."
Even serious Split Feather cracked a smile.

Suddenly we heard the sound of the hawk.
It was Sitting Hawk, at watch in the forest,
signaling to the tribe that the enemy was near.

Every bird ceased its singing.
My cousin and I fell silent too.
We were still as the trees.
Split Feather raised his head to listen-

the high whine of a flying arrow.
The thud of arrow hitting flesh, cracking bone.
Split Feather’s chest erupted in blood;
his eyes were wide; he died instantly.
The arrow passed through him as if his body had been river mist.

Cousin ran across the water and vanished into the woods at the far side of the creek.
I remained crouching by the stream.
Try as I might, I could not move.
Split Feather slumped onto his horse.
His eyes, open in death, watched me.
His body slid to the ground.

A Hidatsa warrior broke through the thicket.
He sat high atop a white horse.
In his left hand he held the rein.
In his right hand he held a long battle club.
He gestured with the club as if to say,
Now bow your head — you are mine.

Instead I stood.
I remembered the rock in my hand.
And I hurled it.
I managed to hit him between the eyes.
The warrior’s expression was fear and surprise.

But then he smiled.
Blood streamed down his painted face,
across his white teeth.
He licked it from his lips,
his grin turning red.
As if in a dream I turned, like a doe, to leap as the warrior on the white horse raised his club and, still smiling,
brought it down against my head.

GEORGE SHANNON

THE KID

I’m a talker.

My mom always said George,
if you were a blackberry,
you could talk your way out of a hungry bear’s mouth.
So I came to Pittsburgh to stay with Uncle Will while I went to school to study the law.
At least that’s what my mother thinks.
The past few weeks I’ve been working as an apprentice at the Tarascon Brothers Shipyard.
My plan was to eventually hop on a ship bound for the open ocean.
I figure I can always become a lawyer later but for now I want to live a little,
see the world,
get my feet wet.

Anybody can become a lawyer.
I want to become something special.
I want to accomplish something that no one else can top.

I want to read my story in the history books.

Not like my father.
He worked like a dog doing ordinary things and then he up and died just like that.
Well, that’s not for me.

Now, today down at the Green Tree Tavern the boys are all talking about this officer come to town to have a keelboat built to sail himself on an expedition of discovery to explore certain secret stretches of our great country that no other civilized man has yet seen.
Well, that sounds like the boat George Shannon has been waiting for.

Table of Contents

Part 1	Washington, D.C., to St. Charles: June 1803-May 1804	1
Part 2	St. Charles to the Teton Sioux May 1804-September 1804	101
Part 3	The Teton Sioux to Fort Mandan September 1804-April 1805	197
Part 4	Fort Mandan to Maria's River April 1805-June 1805	267
Part 5	Maria's River to the Rocky Mountains June 1805-October 1805	309
Part 6	The Mountains to the Sea October 1805-November 1805	375
Part 7	Home November 1805-July 1819	409
	Notes	479
	Author's Note	481
	What Became of Them?	482
	The Corps of Discovery	491
	Native American Nations Encountered	492
	Expedition Miscellany	494
	Further Reading	495
	Glossary	497
	Acknowledgments	501

Editorial Reviews

SACAGAWEA

THE BIRD WOMAN



After my eleventh winter

I was kidnapped by our enemies

and made to be their slave.



My people, the Shoshone, were in hiding

in the Shining Mountains

at the place where three rivers become one.

In times of war, we never left the camp unescorted.

That day the young brave Split Feather

watched over my cousin and me.

Split Feather kept lookout from atop his horse

while we two girls crouched by a creek

mashing pah-see-goo roots with a heavy stone.



We were filled with hope. Spring had arrived.

We would soon return to the plains to hunt the buffalo.

Soon there would be skins to cover our tepees.

Soon there would be meat to fill our stomachs.



I was yet a young girl, but a strong one.

Cousin was older and due to marry Split Feather soon.

They brought joy to each other

and their union was a blessing to our family.

Long ago my father had promised me to Sitting Hawk,

an important Shoshone scout.

I was to become his wife,

but not until I reached womanhood.



Despite our hunger, Cousin and I were always laughing.

That day was no different.

She held her basket, filled with roots, against her stomach.

"Look, Watches the Sky," she said, joking.

"I am pregnant with many small children."

Even serious Split Feather cracked a smile.



Suddenly we heard the sound of the hawk.

It was Sitting Hawk, at watch in the forest,

signaling to the tribe that the enemy was near.



Every bird ceased its singing.

My cousin and I fell silent too.

We were still as the trees.

Split Feather raised his head to listen-



the high whine of a flying arrow.

The thud of arrow hitting flesh, cracking bone.

Split Feather’s chest erupted in blood;

his eyes were wide; he died instantly.

The arrow passed through him as if

his body had been river mist.



Cousin ran across the water and vanished

into the woods at the far side of the creek.

I remained crouching by the stream.

Try as I might, I could not move.

Split Feather slumped onto his horse.

His eyes, open in death, watched me.

His body slid to the ground.



A Hidatsa warrior broke through the thicket.

He sat high atop a white horse.

In his left hand he held the rein.

In his right hand he held a long battle club.

He gestured with the club as if to say,

Now bow your head — you are mine.



Instead I stood.

I remembered the rock in my hand.

And I hurled it.

I managed to hit him between the eyes.

The warrior’s expression was fear and surprise.



But then he smiled.

Blood streamed down his painted face,

across his white teeth.

He licked it from his lips,

his grin turning red.

As if in a dream I turned, like a doe, to leap

as the warrior on the white horse raised his club

and, still smiling,

brought it down

against my head.





GEORGE SHANNON

THE KID



I’m a talker.



My mom always said George,

if you were a blackberry,

you could talk your way out of a hungry bear’s mouth.

So I came to Pittsburgh to stay with Uncle Will

while I went to school to study the law.

At least that’s what my mother thinks.

The past few weeks I’ve been working

as an apprentice at the Tarascon Brothers Shipyard.

My plan was to eventually hop on a ship

bound for the open ocean.

I figure I can always become a lawyer later

but for now I want to live a little,

see the world,

get my feet wet.



Anybody can become a lawyer.

I want to become something special.

I want to accomplish

something that no one else can top.



I want to read my story in the history books.



Not like my father.

He worked like a dog doing ordinary things

and then he up and died just like that.

Well, that’s not for me.



Now, today down at the Green Tree Tavern

the boys are all talking about this officer

come to town to have a keelboat built

to sail himself on an expedition of discovery

to explore certain secret stretches of our great country

that no other civilized man has yet seen.

Well, that sounds like the boat George Shannon has been waiting for.

From the Publisher

In the flood of volumes marking the bicentennial of the epic journey, Wolf manages something fresh and alive-a mammoth novel of poetic narratives in 14 voices that treats the trek to the Pacific and back as a drama of many players, many voices. Voices such as Sacagawea's sadness and longing, the spirited dialogues of the Field brothers, the chatty observations of 16-year-old George Shannon, William Clark's gentlemanly tone, his slave York's restrained commentaries, and the Newfoundland dog's sensory descriptions. Some characters are made up and the personalities of others are exaggerated for effect to bring readers right into the mind, heart, and soul of the crew. Abundant detail and sharply defined characters are the fruits of four years of research, represented by an excellent author's note, a fascinating "What Became of Them?" section, good maps, and a list of the crew and the Native American nations encountered. The volume's size may intimidate some readers, but this is a must for libraries, a treasure for classrooms. (expedition miscellany, bibliography, Internet resources, glossary) (Fiction. 10+)

Kirkus Reviews