Snowbound and Eclipse (49 page)

I smiled, and then proceeded recklessly. “A man on every side of every issue. A pessimist, who thought my every effort was futile.”

“That's my impression also. Ah, Will, it is so good to see you. There's so much to discuss. We're cocaptains again! This place will make us rich! I've already bought land, two farms from the Chouteaus, over a thousand arpents, they're eighty-five hundredths of an acre, and I plan to buy much more. I'm in over a thousand dollars. I've already leased my farms out, and I'm a dairy farmer now. It's all going up.

“That's just the beginning. I'll buy shares of companies
in the fur business. You can't help but prosper, Will, and half the French in St. Louis are eager to put us properly into business. This is the best place in the country to gain wealth, for any man with money or slaves.”

I grunted. Meriwether had always been the plunger, sometimes acting rashly, and now he was at it again. A thousand dollars! On a modest governor's salary. Tom Jefferson had cautioned him before the expedition about that trait of his, and as long as we were in the field he contained it, but now I could see that Meriwether was losing the discipline he had imposed on himself, and it worried me.

I could see that this was not the day to begin boarding Meriwether, as I had agreed to do, so I suggested that he dine for a day or two at a tavern until we could put the house together. He agreed instantly, having a sensitive regard for my wife and household. He said he would return only to sleep, and if that bothered us, he would find other quarters. And with that he strode into the lowering and motionless air, which plastered our clothing on us like soaked rags and made every move miserable.

Julia emerged from the bedroom, peered about, and relaxed.

“He's gone?”

“Until this evening.”

“General Clark? I fear to trouble you. I … know I am being selfish. But please … would you do something for me?” She looked at me so plaintively that I knew her mind.

“If you mean evict him, no. He's my friend, my cocaptain, my commander, and now my governor. I also owe my success to him.”

But Julia had a steely will and a mind of her own, as I soon found out after we had exchanged vows. “I know that,” she said. “But this house is too small. It wants comforts. I have no proper closet to bathe. The slaves are right above
us and can hear our every word.
Everything we do.
There's no room for Alice. It would all work out if the governor would leave this house to us.”

On principle, I couldn't let a wife whittle at me like that, substituting her will for mine, so I shook my head. A man has to resist women and slaves and come to his own judgments, or he's not a man. But I thought the world of her, loved her, knew she had started a child in her womb, and I didn't like disappointing her, and truth be known, she had a valid point.

“Give it two months,” I said, wanting Meriwether to see the difficulty himself.

She smiled resolutely, and then the first furniture arrived, and she was herself commanding the sweating army.

I opened the confidential letter from the president eagerly, knowing the great esteem he held for me. It had been some while since I had heard from him, so I relished the wax-sealed missive that arrived in the posts this day, Friday, August 19, and unfolded the thick vellum.

It was dated July 17.

“Since I parted with you in Albemarle in September last, I have never had a line from you,” it began.

I paused, my brain swarming with objections. How could I write him before I had sorted things out?

The president went on to say that perhaps a letter from me was en route, that he would have written sooner but for his belief that something from me was coming.

It wasn't. In truth, I didn't really want to have him or Secretary of War Dearborn looking over my shoulder overly much, especially during my first months when I was making crucial decisions. They were seven hundred miles away, and could not easily be consulted. They had delegated power to me to govern in St. Louis, and I was doing just that.

Mr. Jefferson, always courteous, said he was writing to put aside this mutual silence, and to ask for a report.

He went on to say that it was not until February that he had learned of Ensign Pryor's defeat by the Arikaras and his flight down the river. He stressed again the necessity of returning the chief of the Mandans, Big White, to his home. “We consider the good faith and the reputation of the nation as pledged to accomplish this.” He added that he wanted Big White returned, at whatever reasonable expense.

Well, that was an authorization to spend, and I would have to do just that to get the Mandan home.

There was more. He told me of a great company being formed by John Jacob Astor to harvest furs in the West. He wrote about the deteriorating relationship with the British, and how badly he wanted to avoid war even in the face of deliberate British provocations at sea.

And he ended with a sentence that evoked such a conflagration of feelings in me that I have no words for them:

“We have no tidings yet of the forwardness of your printer. I hope the first part will not be delayed much longer.”

I read the letter again, in a sinking mood. It was as close to a rebuke as President Jefferson ever came. The publisher and I had promised the first volume would appear in November last, but I had not prepared one line for typesetting. The president was so eager to see the journals in print that I knew he was containing himself, teaching himself patience. And I was failing him, failing my president.

I set the letter aside, my mind in turmoil. I could not
fathom my own conduct. The stark reality is that I wished to be left alone with my projects, without officialdom looking over my shoulder and questioning my every move. Someday soon I would write Secretary Dearborn and tell him the Territory of Upper Louisiana was secure. I had penned three detailed letters to him since I arrived; was that not enough?

I had worked in a perfect fury ever since I landed here, and now Will Clark and I were succeeding. For one thing, we had brought the dangerous Osage tribes under control. The Osages live no great distance west of St. Louis, along the Osage River, and are the source of constant friction with settlers. They are an unruly and sullen lot, horse thieves and raiders. Will Clark promised them a mill, blacksmith shop, and trading post in exchange for a treaty, and he has been delivering on his promise.

We will end up treating with two bands separately, the Great Osage and Little Osage, but we will have our treaties, with a line demarcating the settled country from Osage lands. I sent Pierre Chouteau, who has great influence with them, to get the terms I want. When I have a satisfactory treaty I can submit to Congress for ratification, and settlers there are safe, I will inform the president about it. But now I fear I will have to report it prematurely, and there will be backbiting. I've had Will Clark appoint Reuben subagent for the Osages, which will not only profit my brother, but help me keep an eye on those obstreperous savages.

Secretary Dearborn has already rebuked me for my silence. His letters irritate me with their petty complaints. How can I tell them that I have barely begun? They have no idea just what I face here, and how governing so immense a territory consumes all my energy.

I will write him in response to his rebukes, saying that it
is my utmost concern to administer the territory in accord with United States policy, and I will be more diligent in my correspondence, but I will also ask him to take into account the six weeks it takes for a letter to travel between us.

I am glad Will Clark is on hand. He is a man of such solidity that I trust everything he does. Already, he is hard at work on a new fort overlooking the Missouri River, named Osage, which will have some cannon with which to command the Missouri, and will bring illicit traffic to a halt. He is also building trading posts and government forts at other points, to pacify the savages and supply them with the means to become yeoman farmers and acquire civilized ways.

It took the counsel of a wise friend, Moses Austin, to help me make sense of the strife in St. Louis and I have privately dined or sipped porter with him numerous times. Austin knows men, and knows who is loyal and who isn't. There are those who want licenses to trade upriver because they have none; others who have trading licenses and want to exclude competition so they can enjoy a monopoly.

There are agents of the British, seeking licenses to trade upriver even while undermining the tribes' allegiance to the republic. They succeeded in gulling Frederick Bates, who granted them trading privileges on United States territory even while swallowing their pious protestations. The British trader Robert Dickson is such a man, a soft-talking provocateur whose lullabies lulled Secretary Bates. The Scot James Aird is another, both of them bent upon ruining our grip on Louisiana and fomenting Indians against us.

Austin has steered me well. He has given me the measure of several troublesome men, most of them Bates appointees, and I have removed one from office and am watching others. But the most troublesome of all is Secretary
Bates himself who spreads his discontents across St. Louis. I resolved this day to confront the man and if possible win his cooperation, for without my secretary I am ineffectual.

This afternoon I approached him in his Government House office. He keeps regular hours, and is actually punctilious about his duties, and I knew I would find him there, in the brown and tan rooms vacated by General Wilkinson.

He glanced up as I entered, a bland mask dropping over those puffy features.

“What is it, Mr. Bates, that troubles you?” I asked abruptly, for I wanted to catch him unprepared.

“Why!” He started up from his chair, and stood across the waxed desk, exhaling much air. “Why, Your Excellency, it is true that perhaps I don't always agree with your decisions, but you may count me among your most admiring colleagues.”

“I hear otherwise, Mr. Bates. I hear that you can barely mention my name without casting aspersions upon it.”

“I'm sure the gossipers are giving you spurious information, Your Excellency.”

“I hear that you oppose my appointments.”

“Well, now I concede that now and then, without the experience that only long residency can bring to you, some unfortunate appointments—”

“Who? Daniel Boone?”

“Why, sir, I would not wish to delve into names.”

“Word comes to me that you find my decisions unsatisfactory. Now is your chance to tell me to my face.”

To my face. All of it had been behind my back. Fortunately I have friends, like Moses Austin, who listen carefully, and make note.

“You are a most admirable man, sir, and a great explorer, and the territory is honored by your august presence. On occasion
your behavior is a bit, ah, uninformed. If you would call on me to instruct you before you act precipitously, you might thereby save yourself the inevitable grief of a mistake, as well as spare the government a great sum of money.” He continued, peaceably. “I know that Secretary Dearborn is much vexed, sir, at your inability to convey to him on a
regular basis
the state of affairs here, and I know that this silence is something that needs your close attention.”

Bates always spoke like that to me, often in windy tropes. But I wanted particulars this time, and intended to press him.

“Mr. Bates, I have it on good authority that you are telling people my public approbation here has waned. Have you said it?”

“Why, I cannot recollect it. You see, this is a treacherous place where words are twisted—”

“Is it perhaps because I proclaimed the land to the west of us an Indian Territory in April, and informed those settlers west of the line, who were squatting on Indian lands to which we have no title, to abandon their homesteads?”

“Well, Your Excellency, I hear much anger about it. You are siding with the savages against our own white settlers.”

“I'm favoring the fur trade as well as the tribes. And now the paradox, Mr. Bates. Have you also told people that my Indian policies are too harsh and that I will bring down war upon St. Louis?”

He shook his head sadly, even as his eyes blinked and blinked.

“That my celebrity as an explorer has gone to my head? That I have been spoiled, as you put it, by the flattery and caresses of the high and the mighty?”

“I have not publicly said anything of that sort, Your Excellency; only that you want experience.”

“Then privately, if not publicly?”

“I can't imagine where such gossip rises from, sir. This is a city of wagging tongues.”

“And does yours wag?”

“I try always to be the soul of discretion, Governor.”

“I am told that you feel I have no ability to govern and that my military habits make me inflexible, that I don't take advice, and that my acts are harsh. That you resent my partnership with General Clark, and that you feel left out.”

Bates blanched. “Really, Your Excellency, this is scarcely the time or place to hash out such matters—”

“What better time, Mr. Bates? Let us put matters on the table. If you have aught against me, tell me first. If you oppose my policies, tell me first. You are a conscientious public servant. You've organized and published the legal codes of the territory, and been of great service to me, and I will make a point of thanking you for your attentions to duty. If you are unhappy and want to hold this office, say so to our superiors, and to me. If you are not content as secretary, then make the proper decision based on your circumstances. I am offering you the hand of friendship now.”

I extended my hand. He grasped it and pumped vigorously. I hoped it might lead to peace, but my instincts told me it wouldn't.

Julia has been pressing me for relief from the crowded conditions here. She braced me in our bedroom the other night, just before we snuffed the candle, saying that she needed more space and privacy. The baby is due in the spring and she wants room to lave and cradle it. My niece lives a half-public life in the makeshift bedroom we have supplied her and is talking of returning to Kentucky. I would rather she stayed to make company for Julia.