Sacajawea Didn’t Die in 1812 — The Real Story They Don’t Teach

There is no actual photo of Sacajawea - let alone one of her in the later years of her life. This has been digitally rendered.

Sacajawea Didn’t Die in 1812 — And We Need to Talk About It

For over a century, American textbooks have told us that Sacajawea died on December 20, 1812, at Fort Manuel Lisa in present-day South Dakota. The official record is neat, tidy, and—unfortunately—wrong.

Because Sacajawea didn’t die in 1812.

She lived. She endured. She traveled, loved, and mothered multiple generations. According to oral histories, tribal accounts, and even documented records from the time, Sacajawea actually died on April 9, 1884, on the Wind River Reservation, among her people, the Shoshone. Below, we’re going to dive deep into why it’s proven that the U.S. documented death of Sacajawea is wrong, and why it’s believed she actually lived a more incredible life than told and died at the old age of 99.

A Convenient Mistake: The Mix-Up at Fort Manuel Lisa

Let’s start with the supposed death in 1812. The woman who died at Fort Manuel Lisa wasn’t Sacajawea—it was Otter Woman, one of the other Native wives of Sacajawea’s captor-turned-husband, Toussaint Charbonneau. Otter Woman is who traveled back up the Missouri River with Charbonneau, which is well documented. When a report of a ‘snake women’ died at Fort Manuel, people just assumed it was Sacajawea, but it was not, it' was Otter Woman. Which is why you can read, right after 1812, Otter-woman’s disappearance and death are unknown…. Many trappers wanted the claim that they met the famous Sacajawea and could report on her death — which wasn’t the actual case as you will read below.

And the man who arguably knew Sacajawea best—William Clark—made it clear through his actions that he knew the difference.

After Otter Woman’s death, Charbonneau abandoned his children and fled north to the Mandan Villages. But it wasn’t Sacajawea’s biological son, Jean Baptiste "Pomp" Charbonneau, whom Clark adopted. Instead, he adopted Toussant “Tess” Charbonneau, Otter Woman’s son—Sacajawea’s stepson.

Why?

Because Sacajawea was still alive. Living near St. Louis. Caring for her own son.

Clark even documented another child born at Fort Manuel Lisa: Lizette Charbonneau, Otter Woman’s daughter. Lizette, too, was adopted by Clark and died young—her death is also recorded. These aren’t myths. These are receipts, documented in William Clark’s own records.

The Return of Charbonneau—and the Final Escape

Years later, Charbonneau returned to St. Louis. And he didn’t come alone.

He arrived with a new slave wife, a 13-year-old Ute girl. For Sacajawea, this was the breaking point. Her sons—Tess and Baptiste—were now working-age. She had done her part as a mother. She had survived more than most ever will.

And now, with Charbonneau back and repeating his pattern of abuse, she left.

Not just left—escaped.

She fled south, crossing dangerous terrain alone until she came upon a Comanche tribe. There, she found not just shelter, but something sacred: a new beginning.

Life with the Comanche: Jerk Meat, Ticannaf, and Crying Basket

Within the Comanche tribe, Sacajawea married a man named Jerk Meat, a respected member of the community. Together, they had several children. Their first son, Ticannaf, would grow up hearing the real stories of his mother’s journey across the American West.

She had two more children with Jerk Meat, both of whom tragically died young—victims of the harsh realities of the 1800s.

Her final child was a daughter, named Yakee Wosi, known in English as Crying Basket. Fierce, wise beyond her years, and deeply connected to her mother, Crying Basket marked a new chapter in Sacajawea’s legacy.

When Yakee Wosi turned five, Sacajawea did something once unthinkable: she returned north.

She sought out her son Baptiste, who by then had become a well-known fur trapper, interpreter, and frontier guide, respected by white settlers and Native tribes alike.

Full Circle: The Final Years

Sacajawea and Crying Basket arrived at Fort Bridger, eventually reuniting with her original people, the Shoshone. There, she lived out the rest of her life in peace.

In her later years among the Shoshone, Sacajawea was known by her tribal name, Porivo, which translates roughly to "Chief Woman" or “Woman Leader.” This name appears in reservation records and oral histories, and it’s widely accepted among tribal elders that Porivo was, in fact, Sacajawea. The simple existence of Porivo—an older woman with deep knowledge of the Lewis and Clark expedition, fluent in multiple Native languages, and connected to known figures like Baptiste—directly contradicts the U.S. government’s record of her death in 1812. Porivo lived well into her 90s and passed away on April 9, 1884, at Wind River Reservation—final proof, passed down and preserved by the people who truly knew her.

It’s believed that she reconnected with her stepson Tess, though by that time he had grown into a man very much like his father—charming, selfish, and opportunistic. Although family ties run deep, she never developed a good adult relationship with Tess. Unfortunately, over the years, Sacajawea never reconnected with her first son and love, Baptise “Pomp” Charbonneau. It’s even said that Pomp was making his way back to Wyoming, as word got around that his mother was on the Wind River Reservation, when he became sick and died. A very sad part of the story or Sacajawea’s life.

Futhermore, Yakee Wosi (Crying Basket) went on to marry within the Shoshone tribe, and it’s through her descendants that oral tradition carried forward the truth of Sacajawea’s life—not the abridged version spoon-fed to generations of Americans.

Why This Matters for Sacajawea’s Life’s Legacy

History has a way of flattening complex lives into convenient timelines. But Sacajawea was never simple. She was a survivor of slavery (multiple times), tasted freedom on the Lewis and Clark Expedition, a strong and loving mother, a cultural bridge, and a legend who lived through one of the most dramatic times in American history.

To accept that she died in 1812 is to erase 70 years of wisdom, resilience, and impact.

The U.S. government may have recorded the wrong death date, but Indigenous communities never forgot. Oral tradition carried the real story when official records failed her.

It’s time we listen.

It’s time we stop repeating the wrong story.

Sacajawea lived. She thrived. She died in 1884.

And now, maybe, her full story can finally be told.