Original subtitles

Downloaded From www.AllSubs.org

Hello. I'm James Michener.

And those peaks are part of a majestic mountain range we call the Rockies.

Granite giants that have been a part of this land forever,

that symbolize our nation's strength and freedom.

I suppose my primary reason for writing the book Centennial

was to ask us, you and me,

if we're aware of what's happening right now to this land we love,

this earth we depend upon for life.

It's a novel, of course,

and its characters and scenes are imaginary.

But there were French trappers from Canada,

like the man who called himself Pasquinel.

There were mountain men from Scotland like the man named Alexander McKeag.

There was a silversmith in St. Louis like Hermann Bockweiss,

an Army officer like Maxwell Mercy,

a militia commander like Frank Skimmerhorn,

a Texas trail boss like R.J. Poteet,

and certain background incidents and characters are real.

In the 1820s and '30s, the mountain men did hold

an annual rendezvous in the Rockies.

In 1851, there was a great convocation at Fort Laramie

that saw 10,000 Indians gather to approve a treaty with our government.

In 1864, there was a massacre

that is to this day one of our nation's greatest tragedies.

And the same decade did see the great longhorn trail drives north from Texas.

The cattle would bring a need for a town.

A town like the one I call Centennial.

This is the story of that town.

It's a big story

about the people who helped make this country what it is,

and the land that makes the people what they are.

And it's a story about time.

Not just as a record, but also a reminder.

A reminder that during the few years allotted to each of us,

we are the guardians of the earth.

We are, at once, the custodians of our heritage,

and the caretakers of our future.

Stay with us for the great adventure of the American West.

NARRATOR: When the Earth was already ancient,

of an age incomprehensible to man,

an event of basic importance occurred in the area

which would later be known as Colorado.

One billion, seven hundred million years ago,

an irresistible power broke through the crust of the Earth to form a basement rock.

That rock would endure to this very day.

Upon it would be built the subsequent mountains.

Across it would wander the rivers.

Brawling, undisciplined, violent arteries of life

that are part of an endless cycle of building up and tearing down,

of stripping away old deposits

and laying down new rock,

using the same material again and again.

By the year 15,000 B.C., the major characteristics

of the land around what was to become Centennial were fairly well determined.

Some miles northwest was a chalk cliff,

beds of limestone infinitely older than the Rockies.

To the west and slightly to the south was a gemlike mountain valley

where nuggets of gold had been raked from the crevices of the rocks by a glacier

and hidden at the bottom of a stream.

Another special place was on the western bank

of a wandering, muddy stream where Centennial was to be.

A small underwater cave that might never have been found

except for a murder committed over 11,000 years after its creation.

And finally there is the river.

A sad, bewildered nothing of a river,

a sand bottom of wandering afterthought.

Its name is as flat as its appearance.

The South Platte.

Yet for a while it was the highway of empire.

It was the course of stirring adventure

and the means whereby the adventurers lived.

And so the stage is set,

the land has become a home for living things.

One of the most loveable and stubborn of all creatures

came to thrive in the streams of Colorado.

One of the most deadly and terrifying took refuge in its rocky sanctuaries.

The horse returned to the vast plains that were its place of origin.

And a version of the bison trekked from Asia

to roam the area that would one day be Centennial.

This shaggy beast would become the center of culture for the American Indian,

a nomadic people that migrated from Asia 12,000 years ago

and stayed to develop a primitive social order

and a deep appreciation of the land.

In the year 1756,

a sliver group of a tribe, who referred to themselves only as Our People,

faced a major crisis.

The Indians surrounding them had horses,

making them more mobile in their hunting and more powerful in war.

War between the various tribes on the plains was

a kind of dangerous game that seldom resulted in death.

What was important was a display of courage.

Bravery was shown by touching or striking an enemy with hand or weapon,

a practice later to be known as counting coup.

But the bravest act of all

was for a warrior to stake himself out to face his enemy.

Held to the ground by bison thongs and his own pledge

to fight so long as his strength lasted.

Because of its bold disdain for the enemy,

this act would almost certainly end in the warrior's death

and was practiced only under desperate conditions.

(SHOUTING)

For Our People, the year 1756 was such a time,

because they had no horses and they knew they could not survive long without them.

(IN ARAPAHO) My father...

(IN ARAPAHO) I am your father.

My real father, where is he?

He is not coming.

Why? Where is he?

Listen to me.

Only the rocks live forever.

(IN ENGLISH) Only the rocks live forever.

(IN ENGLISH) Gray Wolf. My father.

I am your father now.

NARRATOR: This young Indian was nine years old when he first encountered death.

It was a thing he could not fathom,

but he would learn to face it without fear.

You didn't get any horses? No.

Then my father died for nothing.

Sun-at-Noon staked himself out.

He counted many coup.

I am proud he was my brother.

You can be proud he was your father.

And we should both hope to die such a death.

Only the rocks live forever.

NARRATOR: He was called Lame Beaver,

and he was destined to become a great leader

at a time when a force the Indian could not imagine

was moving slowly inexorably toward him.

A force that would change his way of life forever.

(PASQUINEL SINGING IN FRENCH)

(GROWLING)

(SPEAKING FRENCH)

(GROWLING)

(YELLS)

(LAUGHING)

(SINGING)

NARRATOR: As the century was drawing to a close,

Lame Beaver had lived half of it

and seen many things,

and now he had been told that he would see a god.

He's no god. He's a man.

He moves more like a bison, like he owns the prairie.

And the wolves ran from him.

Maybe they're fresh from another kill.

Maybe they had reason to fear him. His skin is different.

Ute skin is different, too.

He's a man. We should talk with him. No.

He must have killed many Pawnee to get here.

He may kill us if we go to him.

We'll wait till dark, then we'll see what his medicine is.

(WOLF HOWLING)

NARRATOR: It was but one of many coups for Lame Beaver,

but it was the beginning of a new era.

In that moment of mutual terror and trust,

a treaty was ratified between the Indian and the white man.

A treaty that would change forever the nature of life in the American West.

He was a coureur de bois. One who runs in the woods.

A small, powerful Frenchman who wore the red knitted cap of Quebec

and called himself Pasquinel.

He brought with him blankets from Canada,

bright cloths from New Orleans,

silver from Germany and beads from Paris.

With the coming of spring, he had traded goods with the Arapaho,

the name by which the other tribes referred to Our People.

He pressed his pelts into bales weighing 100 pounds each.

And through that ingenious, silent language of the plains

that is older than speech itself,

Lame Beaver let him know that he was welcome to come again.

He also let the trader know the gift he would most like to have next time was a gun.

For he had seen its awesome power

and knew it was the weapon of the future.

And the white man agreed to bring him one.

Then the Arapaho warned him about the Pawnee.

Pasquinel had crossed their land in safety coming in,

but the Arapaho insisted they would not let him leave with anything of value.

Not even his life.

(SPEAKING FRENCH)

NARRATOR: Heading eastward, he found the river impassable

and was forced to portage his pelts.

Selecting a hiding place for his canoe

among a stand of cottonwoods near the river's edge,

he covered it with brush and set out on foot

to carry the first two of his 100-pound bales

the distance of over seven miles.

(SPEAKING FRENCH)

(SINGING IN FRENCH)

(WHOOPS)

Satisfied that the bales were properly concealed,

he calculated the hours of daylight remaining

and turned back into the heart of Pawnee territory for the rest of his pelts.

(HORSE SNORTING)

You come.

I follow.

I, Rude Water.

Pasquinel.

Gun?

Oui. Gun.

NARRATOR: Like Lame Beaver, Rude Water's primary interest

was in the weapon the trader carried.

The Pawnee had met white men before,

spoke some of their language,

and knew well the power of the gun.

You come from where?

St. Louis.

St. Louis where sun rise.

I was with Lame Beaver.

How long you with Lame Beaver?

Your people must have told you when I came through.

I saw them follow me.

You stay long time. Why?

Trade beaver.

Trade gun?

Non.

Trade bracelets and beads.

For you.

And your wife.

I have four wife.

You smart man.

We be friends, Pasquinel.

You give me gun, we be good friends.

No. I need gun.

I could take.

Not if you're my friend.

And not if you want to learn how to use the gun.

You smart man.

Next time you come, you bring me gun.

The gun is worth many beaver.

We have plenty beaver.

I bring gun.

NARRATOR: The reception and the parting were so friendly

that Pasquinel knew Lame Beaver's words were true.

He would have to fight.

(SCREAMING)

(GUN FIRING)

(LAUGHING)

By damn, he's stubborn, the Pawnee.

(RUSTLING)

(MAN WHISTLING)

(GROANS)

Pawnee.

Cheyenne.

(IN FRENCH) Pull it out.

(IN CHEYENNE) No!

I will do it.

Bite.

The tip has caught on bone. I cannot work it free.

(IN FRENCH) Push it in, twist it and pull.

You would die.

Then cut it off beneath the skin.

(HORSE SNUFFLING)

(SPEAKING FRENCH)

All the Cheyenne will hear of Pasquinel.

(ALL WHOOPING)

(SNAKE RATTLING)

Beaver! Much beaver!

We trade. You trade gun?

Trade? Yeah, sure. We trade gun.

(GRUNTS)

These my peltries! They stole them from me!

Get the rest of those pelts.

Sink those canoes.

NARRATOR: His canoe, his rifle, his store of goods, and his pelts were gone.

After two years of work,

all he had was a knife on his hip

and an arrowhead in his back.

BUTLER: It's lodged in bone, all right.

The shaft's cut off well below the surface.

Hurt?

Non.

That?

Non.

I can move it.

But if you can stand that kind of pain,

it's not doing any damage, I'd leave it alone.

(CLEARING THROAT) Will you be going back?

As soon as I can find a license holder to supply me.

To the Pawnee?

I have no war with the Pawnee.

Just the pirates.

Thank you, Doctor.

I'll pay you as soon as I find someone to finance my next round.

Tell me, what's it like out there?

Violent.

There is a wind that never seems to stop.

Sometimes you swear you are going insane.

And storms like you have never seen,

screeching and booming with their thunder.

And hail. Hail the size of hen eggs.

They can kill whole flights of birds.

In the spring, tornadoes that tear apart everything in their path.

And in the winter,

snow squalls that kill everything that is unprepared.

And in between the storms, it falls silent.

So quiet you are certain you are going mad

and you pray for the storms to come back again.

And then when they come back again, you pray for them to stop again.

I tell you, it is a land fit only for the savages,

and you have seen what they are like.

But I have seen worse.

I have seen much worse.

They are very curious how slowly a man can die.

And if you survive the Indians and the elements, there are the animals.

Wolves that run in whole packs,

and snakes that strike from me to you

and plant their fangs to pump their poison.

You find that amusing, monsieur?

(CLEARS THROAT) Just wondering why you're going back.

Because I am a simple man, monsieur.

Without a profession, without an education,

I know only the woods.

You know what I think?

Qu'est-ce que c'est?

I think you found a treasure.

A treasure?

What they fought for in France.

What my people fought for in the colonies.

Freedom.

Do you know what I think? What?

I think that you are more dangerous than the Pawnee.

Talk like that could change everything.

(LAUGHING)

BUTLER: I wish I could go with you.

I'm glad you think you cannot.

Perhaps... What?

I have a patient, a merchant, a silversmith,

who has a trading license with the governor.

Oui?

Well, I was just thinking that perhaps we three could form a partnership.

He's just recently from Munich.

His name is Bockweiss. Hermann Bockweiss.

You like it?

If I were a Cheyenne chief, I could not live without it.

(EXCLAIMS)

That is what I want to hear.

You see, Richard?

This is a man who knows good work.

I know nothing about silver but I know the Indian.

And you cannot make enough of this.

And this, and this,

and that

is the pi�ce de r�sistance.

Do you know the meaning of the pipe?

It's smoked for peace, isn't it?

And war.

And anything between men that needs to be sanctified.

To many tribes on the plains,

this is their most sacred possession.

They believe that the pipe gives them a communion with the spirit world.

When they exhale the smoke, they see it as a breath of prayer.

The living breath of the spirit. The Great Spirit.

Monsieur Bockweiss,

with this pipe you can become immortal.

That would be nice, Monsieur Pasquinel,

but quite candidly, I would just as soon it made me rich.

(LAUGHING)

Papa?

Oh, I'm sorry. I did not know you had company.

Oh, it's all right.

You know Doctor Butler. Ja. Hello, doctor.

Lise.

And this is Monsieur Pasquinel.

My daughter, Lise.

Monsieur.

(GREETING IN FRENCH)

I guess we should know your first name, should we not?

I'm sorry.

Don't be. I have none.

Just Pasquinel.

You're from France?

Quebec.

Canada? How fantastic!

I've always been so curious about Canada.

I hope you will do us the honor

and come to dinner tonight and tell us all about it.

Thank you, but... Of course you will.

Lise, take him to the house

and pour him whatever he likes.

The doctor and I will be right in.

Ja, Papa.

Monsieur?

I only brought him to discuss a business proposition, Hermann.

But the city has only 500 or 600 men, Richard.

Most of them married and maybe none of them as strong as that one.

At any rate, if I were a cautious man, I would not have come to this country.

And if I were not a romantic, I would not have had such a lovely daughter.

Please sit down.

Merci.

Claret? Fine.

You like the house?

It's grand.

The Chouteau family built it,

but it was...

They wanted something larger. Larger?

Why would anyone want a house larger than this?

A house says a lot about a person.

Merci.

But it doesn't make a man bigger than he is.

Shall we sit?

Would you be more comfortable if you were sitting?

No. No, I'm fine.

What brought you to St. Louis? The river.

I mean, what reason?

Oh, beaver.

You're a trader, then?

Oui.

I should think that would be a very lonely profession.

Profession? No, no.

(LAUGHING)

It is work.

And when a man works he is always alone, n'est-ce pas?

Ja.

(STAMMERING) Ja, I suppose that is true.

Shall we sit?

I would so love to hear about Canada.

I don't think that you would like Canada.

No? Why not?

Because they only have little people.

It's true. Little people like this.

Everyone.

I am the tallest man in the whole country.

I do not need to be laughed at.

Cried about, then?

Poor Lise Bockweiss.

The fairest woman in all St. Louis,

with hair like wild honey,

whose eyes are like a mountain lake.

What a pity she's so tall.

And that Pasquinel, if he wants to hold her,

he should take an axe and chop three or four inches off her legs.

It is fine to be tall. If I were tall, I would rule the world.

But since I'm not, I am satisfied to rule where I am at the moment.

Monsieur Pasquinel...

Non. Pasquinel.

No monsieur, no Henri, no Jean Pierre. Just Pasquinel.

I think I should look about dinner.

Do you still want me to stay for dinner?

You were invited.

Oui, but to talk about Canada.

To get where we're going, it does not matter how we stand.

It matters how we move.

And you, mademoiselle, you move very well.

BUTLER: So, what do you think, Hermann?

I think it is a dangerous enterprise.

He must come and go through how many tribes?

Pawnee, Cheyenne, Arapaho, Dakota, Comanche, Ute.

Several thousand Indians and one white man alone.

His chances for survival cannot be good,

but you think he's worth the risk of investment.

When I pushed that arrowhead deeper in his back,

I know it hurt.

And I know a little bit about pain, Hermann.

A man doesn't learn to bear it like that without a lot of courage.

I think he'll bring back pelts.

(DOG BARKING)

You killed three Pawnee.

I killed three thieves.

And if your braves attack me now, I kill you.

Two guns. Oui.

For me?

One for the man who said he was my friend.

Which man speaks to me now?

I sorry we fight last year.

This year we be friends.

(IN PAWNEE) Get the other gun.

(IN ENGLISH) Now I have two guns.

(IN PAWNEE) Bring the red beard.

And two white men.

(SPEAKING FRENCH) Parlez-vous fran�ais?

(IN ENGLISH) Just smile.

You teach them how to shoot yet?

You kill anybody?

This my brother.

My brother.

Regardez.

Regardez.

(IN PAWNEE) He says they're brothers.

Do they look like brothers to you?

(IN PAWNEE) If they are brothers,

she is my brother.

(ALL LAUGHING)

He said if you're my brother, she's his brother.

I speak some Pawnee.

(IN ENGLISH) You speak at the wrong damn time.

I might have made their eyes believe, but not their ears, too.

Sorry.

(IN PAWNEE) The brothers speak different tongues.

Are the Pawnee and the Cheyenne brothers?

The Pawnee and the Arapaho? No.

They speak the tongues of different tribes.

Brothers speak the same tongue.

He said different tribes speak different tongues.

Since we don't speak the same tongue, we cannot be brothers.

He lies.

He said... I speak that much in any language.

No, no. You're the one who lied

when you told me I could pass in peace last year.

I carry the arrow of a coward in my back.

A Pawnee arrow.

Now we are brothers. This is true.

We are brothers like the Arikara are brothers to the Pawnee.

Different, but from the same family.

Now, I know you didn't send your braves to kill me last year.

That is why I came back in friendship as I promised.

And I brought this to prove my friendship.

After we smoke it, I will teach you how to shoot a gun.

We'll bring you more guns next year if you keep your word.

I understand about family like the Arikara and Pawnee.

I glad you understand about last year.

You can travel in Pawnee land.

But for every five pelts you take, you must give me two.

One.

Last year you said one. It is still one.

But we will take your pelts to St. Louis,

get more goods then you can get on the river. We?

Unless you have a better offer.

Him word good? Same as you?

Same as me.

Maybe I keep him here. Make sure you come back from St. Louis.

Non. We go together, we come back together.

How I know for sure?

Because I am Pasquinel.

I come to you unafraid.

Scotland? Aye.

How long?

Oh, a year.

Didn't take you long to get caught.

I was about to escape.

I could see that.

Bringing the Indian along on the leash as a guide, were you?

I would have gotten away.

Then I apologize for spoiling your plans.

No.

No. I owe you my thanks for saying what you did

without kenning anything about me.

And I think you should ken

I've killed a man.

(LAUGHING)

How do you ken you'll see the men who took your pelts?

They went to the Mandans.

They should return now.

Never without an answer, are you?

Nor you a question.

We camp here three, four days.

No more.

McKEAG: You laughed today.

PASQUINEL: I hope so.

When I told you what I'd done.

And now you want to tell me again.

It is a hard thing to live with.

I've never told anyone before.

Do you mind?

I'm not a priest.

I'm not a Catholic.

It was an awful thing.

The reason I left the Highlands.

Had to leave, actually.

You see, he was a laird, and a tyrant he was,

sinful as the devil himself.

He thought because he owned the land, he owned the people who worked it, too.

He thought he could do with them whatever he willed.

Never bothered me that much, but...

My sister.

Well, if you're a wee bit of a lass like her,

a man like that is a hard thing, I suppose.

She never told me before, mind you, what...

What he'd tried to do to her when he'd come on her alone a time or two.

When I found him with her,

saw how he was hurting her and how she was crying...

Well, I just could not help myself.

I had to get him away from her.

And when he unsheathed his sword, I lashed out with my walking stick,

a big, knotted thing it was, and I caught him full force on the side of the head.

And he... He just lay there.

And Meg, she was crying even harder.

Dear God, it was such an awful sight to see.

And then I had to leave

because I knew what would happen if they found me.

Him being a lord and me just a woodsman's son.

I was sorry for doing it,

and sorry for having to leave my home

and my family.

But I ken I did the right thing.

Didn't I?

Pasquinel?

McKEAG: How can you tell?

Hmm.

You go. They don't know you.

Hey there, passage to St. Louis?

I have pelts.

Sure. Get your pelts ready.

(GUN FIRING)

(INDIANS ULULATING)

(MAN GROANING)

You did not tell me!

You did not tell me you were going to kill them!

That's one question you didn't ask.

But why did you do it?

They tried to kill me last year.

How can you be sure they were the same men?

The one that was going to crush your skull with the club, I know,

and the grinning one, he would have smiled watching it.

I know him and the others.

(SPEAKING FRENCH)

What? Bad companions bring bad luck.

It doesn't even turn your blood a wee bit

to see what those butchering savages are doing with their hatchets out there?

When they find the boat, no one in St. Louis will accuse us, will they?

What white man would believe that another white man would lift his scalp?

Have you?

You're as much a heathen as they are.

Worse, maybe.

Because you ken the wrong in it.

Do you know where the Indians learned to take scalps?

From the English.

That's right, from your fellow Britons.

They paid tribes up north

to bring back scalps to prove that the enemy had been killed.

And the enemy were my countrymen.

One was my father.

Now think about this.

The one thing the white man is most afraid of,

the one thing that has branded the Indian a "savage"

is a practice invented by the white man.

(LAUGHS)

You don't think that's funny, huh?

Well, you won't think this is funny, either.

You should know, ken,

that the coureur de bois ends up a scalp.

(SPEAKING FRENCH)

You perhaps, and me, too.

(DONKEY BRAYING)

Whoa, whoa.

Still wobbles.

Wait.

Good as new.

Better.

You never told me how you were caught by the Pawnee.

I thought you never asked questions.

I was just wondering if you were taken by surprise.

Like now.

What?

I think there are only three.

(FOOTSTEPS)

Don't!

I have one arrow in my back already.

I don't want to start a collection, n'est-ce pas?

What do we do?

What you always do with Indians.

Get ready to kill or be killed

and hope it doesn't happen.

That'll just make us better targets.

And let them see our faces show no fear.

The old man who taught you the Pawnee,

did he teach you Ute?

No.

The Utes are always welcome in our camp.

Join us.

(IN UTE) You go.

No, we stay.

Trade beaver.

Ute no trade beaver. You go.

Cheyenne trade beaver.

Arapaho trade beaver.

Pawnee trade beaver.

You come, you see, you trade.

No trade.

When sun comes, you be gone.

What do we do now?

Sleep.

Tomorrow

we fight for our trade.

(HORSE NEIGHING)

Don't fire.

(GUN FIRING)

You were way high both times.

I hit what I wanted. Yeah, the wind.

If you give an Indian a fair chance, you can avoid killing.

They're going to charge again.

We'll give them this one and then they'll be gone.

Years to come they'll sit around the campfire and talk

about the coup they made on the two white men

and the whistling lead.

And you'll sit in Scotland and talk about the tomahawks and lances.

(LAUGHING)

Non!

(GROANS)

(UTE ULULATING)

Get it out.

It will hurt like hellfire.

No question that.

(MUFFLED SCREAMING)

The smell is bad.

Begone with you.

I'm bound to die.

I said begone.

(GROANS)

I'm cold.

You need the air.

I tell you I'm dying. It's rotten.

McKEAG: It's rotten.

You think that will work?

Can you cut it off?

If you have no arm, how can you fire a gun?

If you cannot fire a gun, how can you hunt?

If you cannot hunt, how can you...

You ask too damn many questions.

There are worse places for a man to die.

You will not die.

(SCREAMING)

I'm sorry, mon ami.

Out here, half a man

is no man at all.

Arapaho!

(DOG BARKING)

Pasquinel.

Your gun.

(IN ARAPAHO) We smoke.

NARRATOR: And so, once again, Lame Beaver and Pasquinel smoked the calumet and talked.

About the Pawnee attack and the Cheyenne who had saved Pasquinel's life,

and that fateful moment when each held the other's life

in his hands and didn't take it.

(ARAPAHOS CHANTING)

(DRUMS BEATING)

(IN ARAPAHO) Bad scar.

What?

Aye. Aye bad.

Does it hurt?

(IN ARAPAHO) Hurt?

(IN ENGLISH) It still hurts.

I cannot move my arm away from my body.

The skin... The scar is so tight.

You'll use it, though.

By damn, you'll use it.

Same thing, your shoulder.

I don't know. I know.

(GROANS)

Use it!

Take your gun, by damn, and use it!

Why?

You could do the hunting for the next few weeks.

I could be dead tomorrow!

I'll get more plants.

(IN ARAPAHO) Can you use this? What?

Can you use this?

Repair and Synchronization by Easy Subtitles Synchronizer 1.0.0.0