Snowbound and Eclipse (47 page)

“Meriwether, often the pox passes by, and leaves the victim unscathed. It is the common thing,” he told me.

“But what of the others? Half the corps has it.”

“We'll never know how they fare. It's a disease that mimics several others. It attacks different parts in different people, choosing the weakest portion. In some, it savages the heart and veins and arteries. In others it assaults the mind and nerves. In others it aggrieves the flesh, muscle, bone. I see none of that in you.”

He was holding out hope to a mortified, mortifying man, and I clung to it desperately. He put me on mercury courses while Lucy Marks boiled her simples, and fed me this or that extract or broth. She brewed a tea of cuckold (or beggar-ticks as it is sometimes named), especially sovereign against venereal complaints, but also ginseng, fitroot, slippery elm, and burdock, which purifies the blood. She favors blue flag steeped in gin, which is also effective against venereals. She did not probe, but Reuben sometimes did. He wanted to know everything, as if my telling of those August nights in 1805 would somehow be my catharsis. But I knew he was merely curious.

I will always keep those nights to myself. No one on earth knows of them, not even Drouillard, Shields, and MacNeal, the only men with me as we probed the east flanks of the Bitterroots looking for the Shoshones. Clark and the rest of the Corps of Discovery were far behind, toiling up the Jefferson River.

We spotted a native boy; then some women, all of them shy as bats in daylight. But finally we did connect with the chief, Cameahwaite, and his band, and we rejoiced. They were starving and we got them meat. They promised to sell us horses. We went through tense times waiting for Clark to show up with what few items we had left to trade them for horses. But thanks to the sign-talker, Drouillard, we parleyed
with the young chieftain, assured him of our friendship and demonstrated that we wished no ill upon them.

By the firelight they danced for us in those mountain meadows, and got my two privates and Drouillard dancing, and persuaded me to dance as well. Their women were sinuous and comely and honey-fleshed, and their eyes glowed in the firelight. The chieftain offered us our choice; it being a great honor among their women to embrace an honored guest. It took little effort to persuade the soldiers, but I designed to tarry long after they had vanished into the buffalo-hide lodges that soft autumnal evening.

I wrestled long with my own temptation: both Will Clark and I had steadfastly refused the offers of other tribes along the Missouri, though the men partook of all that savage hospitality, and paid a price for it in the drips and other venereals, all of which I treated with mercury salve and calomel. Sometimes the chiefs had taken great offense at our reluctance, thinking that we were disdainful of them and their women. I can't speak for Will Clark, but I was merely being prudent. And he had his Judy to think of.

I feared that Cameahwaite might take similar offense; he who could provide us with horses and spare the whole discovery expedition from disaster. And so I reasoned my way forward.

This one time, far from the corps, far even from the eyes of my three companions, far from civilization, far from white men's diseases in this remote corner of the mountains, far out upon a sea of wilderness, I might quickly enjoy the great embrace.

I had, indeed, my eye upon a glowing young woman with come-hither eyes, lithe and sinuous, with strong cheekbones and smooth, tawny flesh; a woman with a bold assessing glance that spoke to me in ancient ways, beyond what words could convey.

I smiled at her; she returned the compliment tenfold. We drifted off into the pine-scented darkness, far beyond the campfire and its dancing light, into a starlit void, and finally into an arbor paved with thick robes. And there I threw my life away, all unwitting, all with the purpose of avoiding offense to these savage people.

Or so I tell myself. At other times, I am more honest. She had awakened in me a lust that had slept restlessly in my loins for more months than I could remember.

Oh, if only that night had never happened! I have cursed my fate ever since, choked on my own desolation and shame. I prowl the hills, thinking of nothing else. I meet young women, and shy from them: can they see? Do they know? Has word about me filtered out insidiously, whispered from lip to ear, a blackening pool of horror about the explorer?

I walk the lonely paths beyond the barren fields, thinking of Letitia, of the others, of the women I cannot have. If I am an honorable man I must not even taste the pleasures of an unsuspecting wanton, much less a woman of virtue. But all that is dead in me except for the dread of being discovered. It maddens me, the thought of whispers, the pursed lips, the side glance, the turned head. Did Letitia Breckenridge flee because she read something in me, something that I did not yet know about myself? Ah, God, what is left of my dwindling life? And how long will it run before my vile secret is made public?

I tried to rejoice at Will's wedding, but my heart was all ash. I bantered with him about women. I told him I would find mine. I made great sport of the chase and the conquest. And all the while my soul was shriveling inside of my parched and fevered body. I made a great show of merriment at the punch bowls, but I did not feel it, and any close observer of Meriwether Lewis must have seen my dissimulation
and wondered at it. What did Will think? Or was he too much absorbed in his own good fortune to notice?

My mother and brother have improved my health, and my indisposition wanes, and as it does my hopes prosper. Most survive! In many the plague vanishes! And yet I cannot put the horror of my condition out of mind. It is there, stalking me, my very shadow, whenever I take some porter at the public house and talk to my neighbors; whenever there is a quadrille or minuet or a hunt.

Reuben warns me to avoid spirits; but if I were suddenly to stop, the world would study me too closely and wonder why. I cannot change my conduct in the slightest for fear of discovery. They may not know, but I do, and I cannot walk the lane without this grim ghost stalking behind me, my bleak shadow, my shame waiting to ruin me.

I have not written a word. My journals are untouched. A thousand times I have opened the morocco covers, and plucked up a quill, only to slump in my chair, watch the rain drip from the eaves, and close the journal.

My publisher, Conrad, presses me for pages. The president of the United States sends me letters in that fine hand of his, courteous, affectionate, but between the words is an edge, and I see it, and he means for me to see it. The unpublished journals reflect on his administration. I had promised the first volume before year's end. It is not even begun. This is maddening. For the life of me I do not know why I avoid that great task.

I hear from Secretary Bates, who says the territory is in an uproar and he is dealing with scoundrels, and that his word lacks the authority that mine must have. But his excellency Governor Lewis does not come, and Bates is growing desperate. I draw a governor's salary from the federal treasury, but I languish a thousand miles from the seat of government.

I cannot go. Not until my brother and mother finish the courses with which they treat me. I probably slow their progress, sipping as much as I do, and yet I will not stop. Reuben warned me; Dr. Saugrain warned me. My mother didn't, but I see the disapproval in her eyes every time I sip some port.

I tell them nothing of the laudanum I sometimes use for sleep, when my worries lie too heavy upon me and I can get no rest. Six drops in a tumbler of water puts me into a peaceful sleep, and I awaken refreshed, unlike so many nights when I lie abed swimming in my bitter fate.

Reuben tells me I am much better and can leave in a fortnight if the weather permits. That would put me in St. Louis in March. I am eager to go. At moments a heady optimism lifts my spirits; I shall be one of those who has conquered the venereal! I shall put all this behind me, govern that unruly province with a firm and fair hand, deal sternly with traitors and opportunists.

I will treat with the Indians, assuring them of the items they need, such as kettles and iron implements, in exchange for their good conduct. I will restore order to the fur business, get my Mandan chief, who still languishes there, back to his people, deal with those treacherous Rees, subdue the haughty Sioux, and return after a few years in triumph. Never let it be said that I lack determination.

PART

II

I arrived in this raw, secretive, scheming city of St. Louis on the eighth of March, 1808, after an overland journey in which I paused in Kentucky to make sure the family's land claims, some of them won by my father for service in the Revolution, were in good order. That meant examining the tracts for encroachment, checking the stakes, making sure of the records. Reuben accompanied me that far and then sailed with my equipage down the Ohio and up the Mississippi, while I continued by land. He reached St. Louis a fortnight ahead of me.

I am in robust health, never felt better, and am eager to begin governing this unruly province. For months I have been receiving a dire correspondence from Territorial Secretary Frederick Bates, describing the anarchy prevailing here, especially as regards Indian policy. I will deal with all that soon—if it really exists. St. Louis is tranquil, greening, and brimming with spring warmth.

I paid a courtesy call at once upon Bates, who greeted me effusively, apparently relieved not to have to cope with the ambitions of various factions who want the government to stay out of Indian affairs altogether so that ruthless traders may have their dubious way with the tribes, virtually ruling them with their trinkets. I will see about that.

Mr. Bates is a sallow and bag-eyed sort of man, mellifluent with words, an attorney given to much rhetoric but also
bending with the wind. I very nearly drowned in his compliments. He was telling me all at once what villainous parties roam the territory; how treacherous are the Indians, British, Spanish, French, and other dubious sorts; how wisely he has governed, with shrewd appointments and policies intended to quiet the clamor and placate the cutthroat traders. I listened much, said little, and took the measure of the secretary. I sympathized: he had been the sole federal official for many months, with General Clark getting married and I at Locust Hill.

“Now, Your Excellency,” he said, “General Wilkinson issued the trading licenses promiscuously, the
congés
as the Creoles call them, and to the benefit of his own pocket. I suffered great opposition when I attempted to repeal them, it being my design to limit the licenses one to a tribe, so that rivals wouldn't demoralize the savages …”

“That's not our policy. Mr. Jefferson and I believe that the government should establish forts with trading stores in them, open to all tribes equally, to keep the peace and win their allegiance, and license traders only above the Mandan villages.”

“Very good, Your Excellency, but you would be advised to consider the weight of my experience here, and consult me about the difficulties you will encounter among these avaricious Frenchmen, and other rascals. I will, Your Most Esteemed Excellency, save you infinite grief. I am, of course, at your service.”

I saw at once that he was unhappy. “I am grateful for your counsel, Mr. Bates.”

“You must grasp, sir, that this is a territory rife with anarchy. Trading parties head up the river without the slightest approbation of the government, much less a proper trading license. They bargain for furs with whatever tribes they encounter, and set the savages against their rivals. I
cannot stop the scoundrels. They buy a load of trade goods and are off.”

“I'll be putting a stop to it. General Clark and I plan some fortified posts commanding the river.”

“Command the river? With what? Your Excellency, General Clark has done wonders with the militia, but take it from an experienced man, sir; the Creoles cannot be trusted. Their loyalties are highly suspect. My instinct is to show them some muscle, and compel them to serve, and if they don't, deny them licenses …”

“I have found the French to be eager to cooperate with us, Mr. Bates. Mr. Chouteau brought the Osages clear to Washington to meet Mr. Jefferson, and then took them safely back here. We have good militia officers in Lorimier and Delaunay.”

He paused, as if to regroup. “Yes, of course, Your Excellency, some small fraction of them will cooperate, but I recommend, upon long observation, that they bend with the wind. You would wisely exclude them from command—”

I refused to let him impugn loyal Creoles. “Mr. Bates, they are good men. What have you done about the land titles? The lead mines especially?”

“Why, sir, it is a very cauldron of troubles. First Spanish, then French, and now American grants of title. And is the measure in arpents or acres? The older settlers show dubious title to the mines; little was recorded, you know. So I have encouraged the American claimants. They stake their claims, and we describe them in acres. It is good business, Your Excellency. The government has collected numerous patent fees from the mining claims, and I count it one of my small but shining triumphs.”

“But what of the Creoles? Does any one of them think his title is secure? Mr. Bates, I want you to affirm the original
titles at once. It is not the policy of the Jefferson administration to dispossess any of the original owners.”

“But Governor! Ah, yes.” He smiled suddenly, with a great contortion of his facial muscles. “That involves a radical change from settled practice, but if it is your wish, count me your loyal and obedient underling.”

“What of the Spanish, Mr. Bates?”

“They connive to peel the tribes away from us; the Osages in particular, Your Excellency. My recommendation, sir, is that you employ agents along our southwest frontiers, and keep ever vigilant, even as I have done these months when duty devolved upon me in Your Excellency's absence. I believe you will find my labors on that account most satisfactory.”