Snowbound and Eclipse (64 page)

He paused, sorrowfully, and then slid into that strange passivity he expresses in every motion when I overrule him.

“Get out, John. I will be alone now.”

He retreated through the open rear, and into the soft light of the evening. I watched him settle on the transom, next to the sweep of the rudder. I pulled a cork and swallowed the harsh fluid, gasped, and swallowed again, until it burnt a trace down into my belly.

With luck, I might numb all species of pain, including the new one I have discovered,
Afflictus lewisensis.

It was time to report to Secretary Bates. Meriwether had left; I would be leaving on September 18, and the territory would be governed by the secretary alone.

I approached his office gingerly, having heard rumors of his current agitation, but little did I expect when I entered to experience the violence of his passions.

He spotted me at once, leapt from behind his waxed desk where no speck of dust resided without permission, and wagged his finger at me.

“You! You!” he cried. “You have come to rebuke me, and I will not stand for it, sir.”

I shook my head. “No, I just came—”

“I know exactly what you came for. It's a canard. I have nothing whatsoever to do with the governor's derangement. Nothing at all. He brought it on himself, and it is the basest, vilest of lies and
insults
to say that I drove him to his current estate because I covet his office. That's what they're whispering, sir, and I
despise
every malicious voice that is engaging in character assassination behind my back! I will not tolerate it!”

He was livid. His eyes flashed. He windmilled his arms more dramatically than any actor playing King Lear. Since I could not speak without interrupting, I didn't, but let him run on.

“Here is the
truth,
sir! I pity the man. I don't wish to put him out of office, wretched as his conduct toward me has been. I am not so base as to conduct myself in such a
vile
manner. The canards floating about are contemptible, sir,
and I will push them aside. If any man says it to my face, I will express my unalloyed contempt, sir.”

I was grinning, and he took it wrong.

“Ah, so you mock me! You and your pitiable friend Lewis! I am an honorable servant of the government, sir, abiding by its laws, unlike the governor, and I will not
tolerate
your contempt.”

I saw he was winding down, so I tried a tentative sentence: “I'll be leaving for Washington on Monday and thought I'd report to you, Mr. Bates.”

“Report?”

“On the condition of the territory. On what's pending. On what's in progress.”

“Report! You'll report in Washington all manner of base canards about me, and I will
not
suffer it. I will defend myself to the utmost, to the last, sir. You and the governor are going to Washington to do me an injustice.”

Bates was beyond rational argument, so I just scratched my ear, rubbed my jaw, and smiled.

Oddly, he subsided, like a teakettle running out of steam so the lid no longer chattered.

“Actually,” I continued, “I want to explain the fur company to Secretary Eustis and the president. They've never grasped that the regular army wouldn't take Big White up the river, or bear the cost of it, and we had to find other means. And while I'm there I'm going to try once again to get my brother's finances in order.”

Bates was listening for a malign word about himself, or in fact any word, even a kind word, and when the expected reference to his person didn't emerge from my mouth, he lost interest. In fact I'm not sure he registered anything I said.

“They've never given my brother, General Clark, a penny
for the debts he incurred. I've spent half my life trying to help him, and I'm not making much progress. So I'm going to try again.”

Bates nodded.

“Now, do you want my report?”

Bates strolled back to his chair and sat, slowly, his gaze suspicious.

“In my absence, you'll handle Indian affairs and the militia. You will also be assuming Meriwether's duties. You may wish to learn how things stand.”

At last, he was receptive. I briefed him on my attempts to get cannon, shot, and powder from the secretary of war, the status of various tribes including the fractious Sauks and Fox, on our sources of intelligence about the Spanish probing our southwest border, the licenses to trade with various tribes that had been renewed or issued, the condition of our roads, the collection of imposts and taxes, the peltries heaped in warehouses because of the embargo, and other matters.

“I don't know just when I will be back,” I concluded. “I'm aiming to return this fall if I can. Weather may intrude.”

Bates was all sweetness and rose from the balls of his feet to his tiptoes. “I will look after the territory with
due diligence,
General, and nurture our national interest to the utmost of my abilities and in the bosom of truth,” he said. “You may count on me to do that which you would most approve.”

I didn't quite know what I had said or done to garner such florid promises from the man. But neither had I ever understood what Bates had against Meriwether Lewis, apart from envy. But I am good at smiling, and even better at shaking hands, and that concluded my duties.

That done, I hastened home to continue my arrangements. I planned to leave Julia behind this time; she had a child to
care for, another coming, and a household to run. And I would not be leaving her for long.

I intended to travel by land, and to go only with my manservant. I could go clear to Pennsylvania by water if I chose, but traveling upstream in a keelboat would take much too long. Years ago I would have taken York especially for his good company, but he no longer offers company. He still does his duties punctiliously; I itch to fault him, but can find no fault. Yet matters have changed radically; he is a stranger to me, silent when we are together.

He would like to visit his wife again in Kentucky, but I cannot spare him the time this speedy trip.

Unlike Meriwether, I intended to travel light; a saddle horse and a packhorse would suffice. I have a good bay Tennessee walking horse that will jig me east, and some sound horses well trained to carry packs and York. I could be in the capital in a month, though I will spend time at Mulberry Hill with my family.

I found Julia couched on the daybed in our bedroom, embroidering. She doesn't weather pregnancy well.

“Where's York?”

“He took your horses to the farrier.”

“Good. The traveler needs shoes.” I sat down next to her. “Are you comfortable now?”

She laughed as if the question was idiotic, and that was answer enough. It was good to be among people who laughed. I realized just then I had never heard Bates laugh. And Meriwether's nasal whinny had vanished from his person months ago. I counted a good belly laugh better than a gill of spirits. Things were altogether too somber in official St. Louis.

“Julia, I hope you'll continue our Sunday open houses.”

She nodded.

“Be my eyes and ears.”

“General, I'll leave the affairs of state to the men.”

“You'll hear more when I'm not around than when I am. Write me at Mulberry Hill.”

“Will you have room in your bags for a few things?”

“A few. I'm packing light.”

She wallowed to her feet and pulled some muslin from a drawer. It was bold crewelwork, orange, sea green, azure, enough to cover the seat of a chair. “This is for Harriet,” she said. “Can you put it in oilcloth?”

Harriet Kennedy is her cousin, and I have a soft place in me for her. I promised I would. “She'll like it, and like word of you,” I said.

“Will you get to Fincastle?”

“I intend to.”

“Then I'll have a letter for the colonel. You'll take it, won't you?”

“Julia, I wouldn't miss a chance to see your family. I'll tell Colonel Hancock and everyone there that you're fine, our boy's fine, and Louisiana's fine.”

“Are you going to Ivy?”

“Yes. I want to see Meriwether. And his family, too, but I want to check on him.”

“Because he's indisposed?”

I nodded. Actually, I feared he might not be coming back to St. Louis, though I had never voiced that idea, even to Julia.

“What is the matter with him, Will?”

“He has a fever. It comes and goes.”

“I hear it's affecting him. It's something horrible, isn't it? His mind's going, isn't it? Whatever could it be?”

I didn't illumine her. I was sure it was the venereal but I didn't really want her to know the nature of his indisposition. There are things to keep from a delicate woman. It has been clear to me for some while, but something I keep to
myself. His vials and powders tell me much. The bills from Doctor Saugrain we recorded among his debts tell me more. But most of all, the ruin of his face, his eyes, his shuffling gait, his bewilderment, tell me the whole of it.

I marvel that I chose prudence all those days and nights with the Corps of Discovery. I cannot call it love or saving myself for Julia; I am an army man. I have ordinary virtues, and few enough of those. Just caution. Because of my caution, which stayed me for nearly three years, my life is full and blessed and complete.

Because of a moment of incaution, Meriwether is probably lost to public life. I need to know, and in particular I need to know whether that miracle worker, Lucy Marks, has any remedies. I will stop in Ivy not only to see an old and beloved friend, but to discover a verdict.

Julia caught me in my reverie.

She lifted a soft hand and pressed her fingers to my cheek. “I'll miss you, my general.”

I am not a man who fancies up words to present to a lady, so I just smiled and winked. She hugged me, and I hugged her mightily.

We floated downstream in a searing sun, the distant shores lost in white haze, the September light so fierce that even the veteran river men squinted from bloodred eyes and wiped away tears.

I huddled in the cabin of this one-way vessel. In New Orleans it would be broken up for scrap, its planks sold along
with its cargo of buffalo hides. Its derangement and mine were foreordained.

I too floated down the river of life, helpless in my makeshift body, a prisoner being taken where I would not go. Boulieu, whose flatboat this was, kept a sullen eye on me, his frown shouting invectives at me though he said not a word. The damp heat sucked life from my lungs. My man, Pernia, sat beside me in the choked gloom of the cabin, his furtive glances telling me that I was under guard.

I sweat from every pore, soaking my pantaloons and cotton shirt. I drank, defying their forbidding stares, finding my only solace in the raw Missouri whiskey in my jug. I was fevered again, but what did it matter?

Often the Creoles abandoned the tiller, and the flatboat careened ever southward, the torpid water slapping its planks; but other times when the channel veered into sullen swamps, or rounded a headland, they were all busy sounding and steering and studying the colors of the turgid water.

Yesterday at such a time I slipped to the larboard to relieve myself, and again I careened off the gunnel, the gloomy water inviting my company, but Boulieu spoiled the moment. I saw my face in the dark and mysterious waters. The ripples severed my image and mended it again, and I perceived myself as a boneless specter wobbling on the waters. Then I felt his harsh hand clasp my shirt and pull me back. He pushed me into the bilge and wagged a massive finger.

“Governor, I tie you up,
oui
?”

“Sunstroke,” I said.

He grunted.

That was all he said, but he entered the cabin, found my jug, and pitched it into the river. I watched it bob, roll, and sink. I have more in my trunks, a flask of good absinthe. He did not know of my powders. He did not know anything
about me except that I am the governor of Upper Louisiana and a noted man he was transporting to New Orleans, not perdition. He did not know that his plank boat and my body were one and the same prison.

Pernia helped me back into the shade, his mottled face fierce with shame. “You lie down; the fever don't go away if you're out in the sun.”

I suffered Pernia's rebuke.

We came this afternoon of September 11 upon a curious loop of the river, and for a while bore north and west, the shoulders of the stream carrying me, for the briefest time, toward the Rocky Mountains somewhere beyond a hundred horizons. I thought of heaven. By late afternoon the heat had eviscerated me, the odd fetid smell of the river had nauseated me, and my imprisonment at the hands of Creole warders had driven me to distraction.

But then Boulieu himself was steering the stained and sordid scow out of the channel toward a settlement, odd little houses, innocent of whitewash or paint, with verandas on three sides to ward off the sun, mud lanes with silver puddles, rank green shrubbery choking the yards, and a stench of sewage redolent in the sultry air.

“New Madrid,” Boulieu said, in answer to my unasked question.

New Madrid. We had come a long way.

My head was clear. There was something I needed to do, and swiftly.

The boatmen poled the flatboat into a grassy bank, tied it to some acacias, and stepped ashore while solemn boys in ragged pants watched suspiciously. One held a writhing garter snake.

“We stay here tonight,” Boulieu announced to Pernia and me.

I stood dizzily. I hadn't shaven, wasn't clean, wore sweatdrenched and river-scummed clothes, and my innards felt as foul as my attire. But the heat was subsiding and my mind was as clear as the sky.

“Is there a merchant here?” I asked a boy, once I stepped out of the prison ship and onto a humped ridge of grass along the lapping waters. New Madrid was oddly bucolic and forbidding, a sleepy hamlet with chickens roosting on the main street, but as sullen as a thundercloud.