Snowbound and Eclipse (62 page)

I drew up a list of creditors, and calculated. If I returned two of the farms I had purchased from Auguste Chouteau, I would cover my debt to him. If I placed the remaining farm in the hands of my creditors, and my several city lots, that would cover more debt. But there would be other debts remaining, such as the back salary I owed my servant, John Pernia. And the warrants. I didn't have enough to cover everything. I didn't have enough to afford a trip to Washington, much less the return to St. Louis.

No one had pressed me as yet. But with every commotion in the corridor, I expected one or another St. Louis businessman to burst in and skin my hide. That no one burst through my door was good. If I wanted to demonstrate my intent and my honor, I would go to them first, before they were forced to come to me.

I examined my ledgers, made my choices, and headed into the suffocating afternoon with the documents in a portfolio. I would see an attorney and draw up some papers empowering certain friends to handle my financial affairs. Then, in a day or two, I would face my creditors. Let no man say I am without honor.

I walked through dolorous August heat to the offices of Auguste Chouteau, merchant and entrepreneur, and the city's most prominent and powerful citizen. Some would have called it a fool's errand. My brow rivered water, and dark stains dampened my stock. But the discomfort was a small price to pay.

I entered his gloomy building, found him not present, and remembered that this was the hour of the petite nap; most of the Creoles encouched themselves for a little while in the afternoon. Still, the bells had tolled three, and so I waited in his chambers upon a brocaded divan he had placed there for visitors.

I bent my thoughts to other things to escape the discomfort of that stifling air, and remembered the faces. How many thousands of American faces had gazed upon me since my return? I remembered the admiration in their eyes, the smiles, and hearty congratulations. I remembered the curtsies of the women, their way of honoring a man of high rank.

I remembered the toasts raised by burghers in Virginia, learned doctors in Philadelphia, artists and politicians and poets, raising a glass to Meriwether Lewis, navigator of the wilds, conqueror of a continent, botanist, zoologist, stargazer, cartographer, youthful exemplar of everything good in the new republic, his reputation sterling, his name unsullied by any scandal.

Thousands of them, all expecting much from me because I had accomplished much. Expecting too much. I remembered their toasts, their joy, their poems penned in my honor.
I remembered their respect, the staccato applause of the United States Congress, Tom Jefferson's hearty public acclaim and his even kinder private words, in which he called me son, and told me that I had exceeded his every wish.

I remembered all that, and thought of my dilemmas, and knew that for the rest of my days I would focus on one thing: keeping my honor unstained. Whatever else happened, I would preserve my good name because the beloved republic required it of me. I would not disappoint Tom Jefferson, writing and gardening there in Monticello. I would not disappoint my mother. I had already disappointed myself.

The thought that I would surely disappoint them, or probably stain my name, or shame myself, brought pain to me so intense that I could not even bear the thought. The thought that I might have to peer into Tom Jefferson's eyes and see dismay there was beyond my endurance.

Chouteau appeared, disheveled and yawning.

“Ah! C'est vous!”

He waved me into his ornate and dark chambers, which lacked and needed light.

Wordlessly he motioned me to a creweled armchair, and poured some ruby wine from a decanter. Then he cocked an eyebrow.

“It seems my financial decisions have displeased Washington,” I said.

“So I have heard, Governor.”

“I am liable personally for some expenses mostly connected to the fur company.”

“So I have heard.”

“News travels fast. I received the letter only this morning.”

Chouteau smiled.

“I am extended beyond my means.”

Chouteau did not look surprised.

“If I return two of your farms, by my calculation, you will
be covered completely and have a gain too. My payments to you suffice to keep the third farm.”

The phlegmatic merchant sighed, pursed his lips, and nodded. I had a sense that he had, this very morning, examined my debts and payments.

“I wish to return these to you, in exchange for canceling my remaining obligation due next May.”

“You are a man of honor, Governor.” The words issued from him in all sincerity.

That compliment brought me to the brink of tears.

We completed the transaction in a few strokes. He got his farms back; my debt was canceled, and he gave me a clear title to the remaining farm.

“There are some,” he said, “who would use high office for aggrandizement.” He smiled. “You, sir, have a loftier design.”

I nodded, miserably. I had surrendered not only several thousand dollars of property, but my hopes for the wellbeing of myself and my family.

“
Alors,
there are others,
mon ami,
who use high office to ruin others, who whisper of afflictions, who claw at those above them.”

He was talking about Bates, but in his own civil and oblique way that I had come to admire in this princeling of St. Louis. The assessment of Frederick Bates was not a kind one.

“Auguste, from the beginning, you and your family have helped me govern, resolved problems, generously assisted me in all my designs, and brought the government of the United States into harmony with the French in Louisiana. I am in your debt, and esteem you for your service and your friendship.”

He absorbed that a moment. “
Merci, bien, bien,
” he whispered at last. I saw affection in his rumpled face.

I now had one farm in my sole possession, for one moment. I bade my host adieu after the shortest of visits, and headed up Main to the general mercantile of Ben Wilkinson, partner in the new fur company, brother of the army general who was up to his eyeballs in Burr's conspiracy, and no friend.

Wilkinson was more energetic, but somehow less formidable than Auguste Chouteau, and I found him bustling about his poorly stocked emporium, as if his sheer energy could cause goods to appear on his shelves.

“Ah, it's you, Meriwether,” he said neutrally. “What can I do for you?”

I motioned to his cage, a raised and balustraded office overlooking the floor of his sandstone store.

“How much do I owe?” I asked, once we seated ourselves.

He donned spectacles and opened a ledger. “Considerable. There's the five hundred dollars of trading items that Secretary Eustis now rejects. Or so I hear. Is it so? I was thinking of asking you about it—”

“You'll be paid. Yesterday I appointed three friends to look after my debts. I'll give them power of attorney and they will sell such property as will pay my creditors.”

“Who, may I ask?”

“Will Clark, and two of my Masonic friends, Alexander Steward and William Carr. The papers are being prepared, and I'll sign them Monday. They'll have a farm of mine and some lots as surety, and there will be more coming. I will not rest until every obligation has been satisfied.”

“You're leaving us?” Wilkinson asked.

“I'm going to Washington to straighten out some financial matters. Some of them having to do with your fur company.”

He nodded, and I knew none of this was news to him. “The rejected vouchers,” he said.

“Yes, and there may be more. I cannot count on the Madison government honoring my warrants. I'm at sea, not knowing what will be accepted and what will fall to my own account, Ben. That's why I'm here. To protect you and the rest as best I can.”

“Even Frederick Bates?”

“Even the secretary. I owe him a little, along with many others.”

“So I am to press my claim with Steward and Carr?”

“Yes, but I hope you'll wait. If I can reverse the decisions in Washington I may not have to liquidate my holdings. I'll send my land warrant to New Orleans to be auctioned, and that will raise more.”

“Does this mean you won't be back?”

I dodged. “I expect to settle this with the president and the secretary of war. It is hard to come to terms by mail.”

“That's a long trip.”

“Will and I are both going, but separately. Since your St. Louis Missouri Fur Company is at the center of the dispute, the general felt he has to explain things in person, just as I do. He will also see to his brother's affairs.”

Wilkinson sighed, smiled, and shook his head. “Who would have thought it?” he said. His gaze slipped away from me, and I sensed all this had been much discussed, maybe even plotted. His closeness to Bates was well known to me.

I braced him: “The governor will pay his debts,” I said. “Even when some others set out to ruin him.”

That was further than I intended to go. It evoked a catlike grin in the amused merchant.

“Meriwether, old friend, rest yourself in peace,” he said.

“I will remember that you are doing me a great service,” I replied. “You've waited some while for payment, and now you'll need to wait a while more. I am grateful for your patience.”

The kind words surprised him a little. He nodded.

A bleak wind was blowing.

I stepped outside into a different and crueler world, knowing there still were things that needed immediate attention. Raising some cash was one. I owed my manservant, John Pernia, two months' salary. I needed also to persuade him to come east with me.

I found him at my quarters, about to tote a load of my linens and smallclothes to the black laundresses.

He straightened up, the wicker basket in hand, a question in his dark face.

“Set it down, my good man, so we can talk,” I said.

I waited while the dusky freeman set down his burden and gave me his attention.

“I would like you to come with me to Washington,” I said. “It is crucial to me. I will entrust you with an important task, the most important you have ever been given.”

He shook his head; I knew he was on the brink of resigning. A man cannot work for nothing for long.

“You, John, are at the heart of my plans. Come with me, and you will be paid everything owing you when we reach Virginia.”

He might never know why I needed him; but someday soon he might.

It is our custom to be at home Sunday afternoons, and entertain St. Louis. We put out bountiful viands and then await whoever comes, and there usually are a few dozen. Julia loves these occasions and swirls about welcoming the assorted militia officers, clerks and secretaries, old comrades from the Corps of Discovery, trappers, boatmen, merchants, and all their pretty spouses, mothers, aunts, children, and daughters.

This Sabbath, August 27, 1809, in the midst of this cheerful occasion, the governor's manservant Pernia arrived with a message.

He drew me aside. “The governor is indisposed, General, and regrets that he can't come. He doesn't know when he will depart for the East, but will let you know of his progress.”

“How indisposed, Mr. Pernia?”

The servant squinted at me, reluctant to talk. His face was a mass of brown and liverish freckles, the result of the union of two bloods, and I saw him retreat into discretion. “I couldn't say, sir.”

“Perhaps I should go see him.”

“He didn't convey that request, sir, but if you want, I will tell him of your wish.”

I smiled. The governor's manservant was not only loyal but protective. “Very good, Mr. Pernia. I'll go see him. Is he very sick?”

Pernia debated a response, and finally nodded. “When he doses himself with the medicines, sir, I know he's indisposed.”

“I'll be along directly. I haven't seen him in a week, and I was wondering. Let me tell Julia, and I'll just duck out of here.”

I left the governor's man waiting, while I cornered Julia.

“Meriwether's got the fever again. I think I'd better go check on him.”

“But General—”

“Ah, Julia, they come to gaze upon your fair and willowy beauty, not see me. In any case, I'll be back directly.”

She laughed. She was with child and it showed.

I took off with Pernia, hiking through a sultry August afternoon that threatened to explode in thundershowers. Meriwether's chambers were only a few blocks distant.

Pernia grew agitated as we drew close. “I'll just step ahead, General, and let him know that you wish to see him.”

I ignored the servant. Meriwether and I had walked across a continent, shared a tent as well as a command, and he had no secrets from me, nor I from him.

The household was not locked, and Pernia let me in, plainly reluctant. “I'll go see the master,” he said, racing through the cluttered parlor toward a bedroom at the rear.

This time I waited. I beheld several black leather trunks, their lids open, their interiors silk-lined. One contained his clothing: pantaloons, shirtwaists, hosiery, boots, red slippers, all neatly laid out by his servant. His two matched pistols rested in their case along with his ornate powder flask. I spotted his sword, which had traveled to the Pacific and back.

Another trunk contained the disputed vouchers and the journals, the battered ledger books stacked in orderly piles within. I itched to know what he had completed; whether some of those ledgers contained an edited version he would now take to Philadelphia and the printer, at long last.

Another, smaller chest contained an amazing assortment
of blue bottles and pasteboard boxes of powders, packets of herbs, and a store of spiritous drinks in tin flasks. Plainly, Lewis was taking east with him an array of medicines beyond my fathoming, enough to stock a small apothecary shop. I sensed that here was something I had only vaguely grasped about my old friend. How much of all these was he swallowing, and for what?