“
will!”
“merne!”
the two young men gripped hands as the great bateau swung inshore at the point of rocks on the kentucky side of the ohio. they needed not to do more, these two. the face of each told the other what he felt. their mutual devotion, their generosity and unselfishness, their unflagging unity of purpose, their perfect manly comradeship—what wonder so many have called the story of these two more romantic than romance itself?
“it has been long since we met, will,” said meriwether lewis. “i have been eating my heart out up at pittsburgh. i got your letter, and glad enough i was to have it. i had been fearing that i would have to go on alone. now i feel as if we already had succeeded. i cannot tell you—but i don’t need to try.”
“and you, merne,” rejoined william clark—captain william clark, if you please, border fighter, leader of men, one of a family of leaders of men, tall, gaunt, red-headed, blue-eyed, smiling, himself a splendid figure of a man—“you, merne, are a great man now, [pg 138]famous there in washington! mr. jefferson’s right-hand man—we hear of you often across the mountains. i have been waiting for you here, as anxious as yourself.”
“the water is low,” complained lewis, “and a thousand things have delayed us. are you ready to start?”
“in ten minutes—in five minutes. i will have my boy york go up and get my rifle and my bags.”
“your brother, general clark, how is he?”
william clark shrugged with a smile which had half as much sorrow as mirth in it.
“the truth is, merne, the general’s heart is broken. he thinks that his country has forgotten him.”
“forgotten him? from detroit to new orleans—we owe it all to george rogers clark. it was he who opened the river from pittsburgh to new orleans. he’ll not need, now, to be an ally of france again. once more a member of your family will be in at the finding of a vast new country!”
“merne, i’ve sold my farm. i got ten thousand dollars for my place—and so i am off with you, not with much of it left in my pockets, but with a clean bill and a good conscience, and some of the family debts paid. i care not how far we go, or when we come back. i thank mr. jefferson for taking me on with you. ’tis the gladdest time in all my life!”
“we are share and share alike, will,” said his friend lewis, soberly. “tell me, can we get beyond the mississippi this fall, do you think?”
“doubtful,” said clark. “the spanish of the valley [pg 139]are not very well reconciled to this louisiana sale, and neither are the french. they have been holding all that country in partnership, each people afraid of the other, and both showing their teeth to us. but i hear the commission is doing well at st. louis, and i presume the transfer will be made this fall or winter. after that they cannot stop us from going on. tell me, have you heard anything of colonel burr’s plan? there have come new rumors of the old attempt to separate the west from the government at washington, and he is said to have agents scattered from st. louis to new orleans.”
he did not note the sudden flush on his friend’s face—indeed, gave him no time to answer, but went on, absorbed in his own executive details.
“what sort of men have you in your party, merne?”
“only good ones, i think. young shannon and an army sergeant by the name of gass, patrick gass—they should be very good men. i brought on collins from maryland and pete weiser from pennsylvania, also good stuff, i think. mcneal, potts, gibson—i got those around carlisle. we need more men.”
“i have picked out a few here,” said clark. “you know kentucky breeds explorers. i have a good blacksmith, shields, and bill bratton is another blacksmith—either can tinker a gun if need be. then i have john coalter, an active, strapping chap, and the two fields boys, whom i know to be good men; and charlie floyd, nate pryor, and a couple of others—warner and whitehouse. we should get the rest at the forts around st. louis. i want to take my boy [pg 140]york along—a negro is always good-natured under hardship, and a laugh now and then will not hurt any of us.”
lewis nodded assent.
“your judgment of men is as good as mine, will. but come, it is september, and the leaves are falling. all my men have the fall hunt in their blood—they will start for any place at any moment. let us move. suppose you take the boat on down, and let me go across, horseback, to kaskaskia. i have some business there, and i will try for a few more recruits. we must have fifty men.”
“nothing shall stop us, merne, and we cannot start too soon. i want to see fresh grass every night for a year. but you—how can you be content to punish yourself for so long? for me, i am half indian; but i expected to have heard long ago that you were married and settled down as a virginia squire, raising tobacco and negroes, like anyone else. tell me, how about that old affair of which you once used to confide to me when we were soldiering together here, years back? ’twas a fair new york maid, was it not? from what you said i fancied her quite without comparison, in your estimate, at least. yet here you are, vagabonding out into a country where you may be gone for years—or never come back at all, for all we know. have a care, man—pretty girls do not wait!”
as he spoke, so strange a look passed over his friend’s face that william clark swiftly put out a hand.
[pg 141]
“what is it, merne? pardon me! did she—not wait?”
his companion looked at him gravely.
“she married, something like three years ago. she is the wife of mr. alston, a wealthy planter of the carolinas, a friend of her father and a man of station. a good marriage for her—for him—for both.”
the sadness of his face spoke more than his words to his warmest friend, and left them both silent for a time. william clark ceased breaking bark between his fingers and flipping away the pieces.
“well, in my own case,” said he at length, “i have no ties to cut. ’tis as well—we shall have no faces of women to trouble us on our trails out yonder. they don’t belong there, merne—the ways of the trappers are best. but we must not talk too much of this,” he added. “i’ll see you yet well settled down as a virginia squire—your white hair hanging down on your shoulders and a score of grandchildren about your knees to hamper you.”
william clark meant well—his friend knew that; so now he smiled, or tried to smile.
“merne,” the red-headed one went on, throwing an arm across his friend’s shoulders, “pass over this affair—cut it out of your heart. believe me, believe me, the friendship of men is the only one that lasts. we two have eaten from the same pannikin, slept under the same bear-robe before now—we still may do so. and look at the adventures before us!”
“you are a boy, will,” said meriwether lewis, actually smiling now, “and i am glad you are and always [pg 142]will be; because, will, i never was a boy—i was born old. but now,” he added sharply, as he rose, “a pleasant journey to us both—and the longer the better!”
