“That poor animal, sir, is an untrainable beast. A Newfoundland puppy I myself had brought from the east at great expense, who straight out of his crate, made to bite me.” He lifted his index finger and pulled away his handkerchief, to reveal a tiny little nip.
“You mean to say that the puppy, confused by travel and strange noises and stranger smells, nipped you when you, doubtless, tried to force him from his crate?” Meriwether asked, irate. One of the things he detested and had always loathed were people who abused animals. Dumb brutes the creatures might be, but they didn’t mean to offend. Dogs, in particular, were always eager to please those who treated them with kindness.
Though he brandished the rifle, Meriwether had not indeed had any intention of using it. But then the man said, “Well, I will have no unruly beast under my care. He shall be stoned to death for his impudence, and I shall find another and more obedient dog.” He then ordered, “Carry on with stoning, boys!”
Meriwether circled the rifle around and threatened, “The one who throws a stone shall be shot.”
“Oh, ignore him and throw the stones already. What can he do when I own the dog?”
That was enough. A demon of rage possessed Meriwether, who—had he not had a rifle to hand—might very well have punched the man. But he had a rifle, and as the man had retreated to a distance, he ventured to aim at the man’s hat and shoot it. Not only did he shoot the hat, but he shot it five more times before it fell.
The rapid-fire shots, with no relief, made the boys who’d been poised to throw the rocks stop, hands in the air, as though they’d become frozen statues. As for the well-dressed gentleman, he gaped at Meriwether for a solid count of ten, until Meriwether took it upon himself to shoot balls at the dirt at his feet.
The impacts and fountaining dirt made the man jump backwards, and finally run.
As a cheer went up, Meriwether realized the men from the expedition had gathered around and seen his exhibition.
“Is it not a marvelous rifle?” Bratton said. “It fires so many times without reloading and has no smoke or sound. I’m quite convinced the natives will think it magical.”
“Quite likely,” Meriwether said, but as the puppy was crying most piteously, he handed the gun over to Bratton and stooped to cut the ties cruelly binding the poor animal so he could not even stand. He cut carefully, as he’d not have been surprised if the animal had nipped at him. Not because he was an ungovernable beast, but because he was scared and had been hurt.
But as soon as he unbound the creature enough—and though a puppy, he was the size of a normal adult dog, being of a very large breed—the puppy leapt into his arms, licking his face.
Meriwether laughed and called to one of the men nearby to bring water for the beast, then noted a tag on the creature’s collar, identifying him as Seaman. He smiled. “An odd name, my friend, since I’ll take you with me into the wilderness, but maybe you’ll justify your name by helping us reach the Pacific.”
Which is how Captain Clark came to find Meriwether Lewis, when he arrived a scant half hour later. Meriwether was squatting near Seaman and petting the strong head of the sturdy puppy.
“I thought I’d find you so,” the redheaded captain said, smiling, as Meriwether stood to shake his hand. “Petting some stray dog as usual, Lewis?”
“I am so glad you’ve arrived, my friend,” Meriwether said. “There is no one else I’d trust to lead this expedition!”
“Lead? But I thought you’d lead it?”
“Well, you were my captain in the war, sir, and I was at your command. I thought I’d turn over the ledgers and command to you, and you’d make all the hard decisions from here on.”
“Not I! It wasn’t I that Ben Franklin trusted with his precious expedition. It was your idea to send for me, but he wanted you to organize and lead this expedition.”
Meriwether hesitated. On the one hand he had assumed that Clark would be in command, simply because Clark had always been in command when they’d done anything. On the other hand, he had to confess he felt odd relinquishing control over this group of men he’d watched assemble, and over these supplies he’d gathered so carefully. And Franklin had told him he should lead the expedition. “Well,” he said. “What say you, then, to our being co-captains, equal in command?”
“That pleases me very well,” Captain Clark said, offering him his hand. “And if we should find we do not agree we’ll ask your little beasty to decide.” He gestured towards Seaman. “From the size of those paws, he’ll soon outweigh us both and likely become the real captain of this expedition.”
They were both laughing when Pierre Cruzatte approached, “Captain, there are two men here I’ve known a long time who I think can be useful to your expedition.”
As two swarthy men wearing buckskins approached, smiling, Cruzatte introduced them as Francois LaBiche and Jean Baptiste LePage. “They are hunters and fur traders,” Cruzatte said, “and have much knowledge of the tribes we’ll encounter, and their languages.”
They were also, as Meriwether apprised at a glance, of the same undefinable mixture of Indian and French as Cruzatte himself. But that was of little consideration. They would need people to bridge the gap between themselves and the peoples they might meet.
Meriwether was about to give consent, when he realized he’d just given half of his command to Clark. Looking over at his co-captain he said, “Well?”
“I like the idea very well indeed,” Clark said, his gaze consulting his friend, who smiled.
“It seems we are in perfect accord,” Meriwether said. “Cruzatte, see that they gather all they need before we set off, and to send the reckoning to me.”
“I’ve also brought York,” Captain Clark said, gesturing to his freedman, who had accompanied him in the war. “He said he’d never forgive me if I left him behind on such an expedition and I refuse to anger someone who knows where I sleep.”
Meriwether always felt awkward around York. He’d grown up around freed slaves, and of course there were plenty of them at Monticello. But York was more like a brother to Captain Clark, the two of them having been raised together. So he was neither just a freedman nor a comrade, and Meriwether didn’t know how to treat him. He smiled tentatively at York, who gave him as refined and elegant a bow as if they were I some salon back east, before turning around to see to the stowing of Clark’s baggage.
“I believe,” Captain Clark said, “That we are about to embark on the adventure of the century, my friend.”
Into the Wild
The beat of wrongness in the land felt like the cawing of Raven…if Raven had gone mad. It was like the taste of bad meat in the mouth. Something was wrong and getting worse.
I told Toussaint Charbonneau, the man who had claimed me as wife after winning me in a poker game, that things were getting worse, that we were in a realm of wrong magic. Charbonneau told me to keep my mouth shut.
We pushed deeper into the wrongness. I didn’t want my child to be born in the realm of bad magic. The feel of the land beneath my feet thrummed like the beating of a war drum. And I did not like the dance.
—Sacagawea’s dictated diaries, Archive of the University of Virginia, Department of Arcane Studies
Beneath the canopy of trees and the flimsy canvas of his tent, Meriwether Lewis twitched, muttered in half-protest without wakening.