VII
_A MYSTERY_
Furs were piled everywhere, the furs that had been wont to go toEurope,--otter, beaver, deer, and bear and buffalo. American ships,that had sped like eagles on every sea, were threatened now by Englandif they sailed to France, by France if they sailed to England.
"If our ships, our sailors, our goods are to be seized, it is betterto keep them at home," said Jefferson.
"War itself would be better than that," pled Gallatin.
The whole world was taking sides in the cataclysm over the sea.Napoleon recognised no neutrals. England recognised none. Denmarktried it, and the British fleet burned Copenhagen. Ominously theconflagration glimmered,--such might be the fate of any Americanseaport.
"If we must fight let us go with France," said some. "Napoleon willguarantee us the cession of Canada and Nova Scotia."
But Jefferson, carrying all before him, on Tuesday, December 22,1807, signed an embargo act, shutting up our ships in our ownharbours. In six months commercial life-blood ceased to flow. Shipsrotted at the wharfs. Grass grew in the streets of Baltimore andBoston.
St. Louis traders tried to go over to Canada, but were stopped atDetroit--"by that evil embargo."
St. Louis withered. "De Meeseppi ees closed. Tees worse dan deSpaniard!"
This unpopularity of Jefferson cast Governor Lewis into deepest gloom.The benevolent President's system of peaceable coercion was bringingthe country to the verge of rebellion. England cared not nor France,and America was stifling with wheat, corn, and cattle, without amarket.
Fur, fur,--the currency and standard of value in St. Louis wasvalueless. Taxes even could no longer be paid in shaved deerskins.Peltry bonds, once worth their weight in gold, had dropped to nothing.Moths and mildew crept into the Chouteau warehouses. A few weeks moreand the fruits of Lisa's adventure would perish.
Into the Clark home there had come an infant boy, "named MeriwetherLewis," said the General, when the Governor came to look at the child.Every day now he came to the cradle, for, weary with cares, the quietdomestic atmosphere rested him. He moved his books and clothes, andthe modest little home on the Rue became the home of the Governor.Beside the fire Julia stitched, stitched at dainty garments while theGeneral and the Governor worked on their journals. Now and then theireyes strayed toward the sleeping infant.
"This child is fairer than Sacajawea's at Clatsop," remarked Lewis."But it cries the same, and is liable to the same ills."
"And did you name a river for Sacajawea, too?" laughed Julia.
"Certainly, certainly, but the Governor's favourite river was namedMaria," slyly interposed Clark.
A quick flush passed over the Governor's cheek. He had latelypurchased a three-and-a-half arpent piece of land north of St. Louisfor a home for his mother,--or was it for Maria? However, in JuneClark took Julia and the baby with him on a trip to Louisville, andthe same month Maria was married to somebody else.
But on the Ohio the joyous activity had ceased. No longer theboatman's horn rang over cliff and scar. Jefferson's embargo hadstagnated the waters.
When General Clark returned to St. Louis in July he found his friendstill more embarrassed and depressed.
"My bills are protested," said the Governor. "Here is one for eighteendollars rejected by the Secretary of the Treasury. This has given meinfinite concern, as the fate of others drawn for similar purposescannot be in doubt. Their rejection cannot fail to impress the publicmind unfavourably with respect to me."
"And what are these bills for?" inquired Clark.
"Expenses incurred in governing the territory," answered Lewis.
General Clark did not have to look back many years to recall the wreckof his brother on this same snag of protested bills, and exactly aswith George Rogers Clark the proud and sensitive heart of MeriwetherLewis was cut to the core.
"More painful than the rejection, is the displeasure which must arisein the mind of the executive from my having drawn for public moneyswithout authority. A third and not less embarrassing circumstance isthat my private funds are entirely incompetent to meet these bills ifprotested."
With the generosity of his nature Clark gave Lewis one hundreddollars, and Lewis arranged as soon as possible to go to Washingtonwith his vouchers to see the President.
With the courage of upright convictions, Governor Lewis contended withthe difficulties of his office, and in due course received the rest ofhis protested bills. If he raged at heart he said little. If he spentsleepless nights tossing, and communing with himself, he spoke no wordto those around him. Though the dagger pierced he made no sign.Borrowing money of his friends as George Rogers Clark had done, hemet his bills as best he might. But his haggard face and evidentillness alarmed his friends.
"You had better take a trip to the east," they urged. "You havemalarial fever."
He decided to act on this suggestion, and with the journals of thewestern expedition and his vouchers the Governor bade his friendsfarewell and dropped down the river, intending to take a coastingvessel to New Orleans and pass around to Washington by sea.
But at the Chickasaw Bluffs, now Memphis, Lewis was ill. Moreover,rumours of war were in the air.
"These precious manuscripts that I have carried now for so many miles,must not be lost," thought Lewis, "nor the vouchers of my publicaccounts on which my honour rests. I will go by land through theChickasaw country."
The United States agent with the Chickasaw Indians, Major Neely,arriving there two days later, found Lewis still detained by illness."I must accompany and watch over him," he said, when he found that theGovernor was resolved to press on at all hazards. "He is very ill."
One hundred years ago the Natchez trace was a new military road thathad been cut through the wilderness of Tennessee to the Spanishcountry. Over this road the pony express galloped day and night andpioneer caravans paused at nightfall at lonely wayside inns. Brigandsinfested the forest, hard on the trail of the trader returning fromNew Orleans with a pouch of Spanish silver in his saddlebags.
Over that road Aaron Burr had travelled on his visit to Andrew Jacksonat Nashville, and on it Tecumseh was even now journeying to the tribesof the south.
"Two of the horses have strayed," was the servant's report at the endof one day's journey. But even that could not delay the Governor.
"I will wait for you at the house of the first white inhabitant on theroad," said Lewis, as Neely turned back for the lost roadsters.
It was evening when the Governor arrived at Grinder's stand, the lastcabin on the borders of the Chickasaw country.
"May I stay for the night?" he inquired of the woman at the door.
"Come you alone?" she asked.
"My servants are behind. Bring me some wine."
Alighting and bringing in his saddle, the Governor touched the wineand turned away. Pulling off his loose white blue-striped travellinggown, he waited for his servants.
The woman scanned her guest,--of elegant manners and courtly bearing,he was evidently a gentleman. But a troubled look on his face, animpatient walk to and fro, denoted something wrong. She listened,--hewas talking to himself. His sudden wheels and turns and stridesstartled her.
"Where is my powder? I am sure there was some powder in my canister,"he said to the servants at the door.
After a mouthful of supper, he suddenly started up, speaking in aviolent manner, flushed and excited. Then, lighting his pipe, he satdown by the cabin door.
"Madame, this is a very pleasant evening."
Mrs. Grinder noted the kindly tone, the handsome, haggard face, theair of abstraction. Quietly he smoked for a time, then again heflushed, arose excitedly, and stepped into the yard. There he beganpacing angrily to and fro.
But again he sat down to his pipe, and again seemed composed. He casthis eyes toward the west, that West, the scene of his toils andtriumphs.
"What a sweet evening it is!" He had seen that same sun silvering thenorthern rivers, gilding the peaks of the Rockies, and sinking intothe Pacific. It
all came over him now, like a soothing dream, calmingthe fevered soul and stilling its tumult.
The woman was preparing the usual feather-bed for her guest.
"I beg you, Madame, do not trouble yourself. Pernia, bring mybearskins and buffalo robe."
The skins and robe were spread on the floor and the woman went away toher kitchen. The house was a double log cabin with a covered waybetween. Such houses abound still in the Cumberland Mountains.
"I am afraid of that man," said the woman in the kitchen, putting herchildren in their beds. "Something is wrong. I cannot sleep."
The servants slept in the barn. Neely had not come. Night came downwith its mysterious veil upon the frontier cabin.
But still that heavy pace was heard in the other cabin. Now and then avoice spoke rapidly and incoherently.
"He must be a lawyer," said the woman in the kitchen. Suddenly sheheard the report of a pistol, and something dropped heavily to thefloor. There was a voice,--"O Lord!"
Excited, peering into the night, the trembling woman listened. Anotherpistol, and then a voice at her door,--"Oh, madame, give me some waterand heal my wounds!"
Peering into the moonlight between the open unplastered logs, she sawher guest stagger and fall. Presently he crawled back into the room.Then again he came to the kitchen door, but did not speak. An emptypail stood there with a gourd,--he was searching for water. Cowering,terrified, there in the kitchen with her children the woman waited forthe light.
At the first break of day she sent two of the children to the barn toarouse the servants. And there, on his bearskins on the cabin floor,they found the shattered frame of Meriwether Lewis, a bullet in hisside, a shot under his chin, and a ghastly wound in his forehead.
"Take my rifle and kill me!" he begged. "I will give you all the moneyin my trunk. I am no coward, but I am so strong,--so hard to die! Donot be afraid of me, Pernia, I will not hurt you."
And as the sun rose over the Tennessee trees, Meriwether Lewis wasdead, on the 11th of October, 1809.