In 1804, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark set forth to explore and map the West, and forge a trade route to the Pacific coast. Though their adventures and contributions to American history are well known, a vital member of their team was nearly forgotten by time. Amid the soldiers, cartographers, and boatmen, one particular explorer in The Corps of Discovery stands out: Seaman, Captain Lewis's giant black Newfoundland dog.
Seaman is more than a just a companion. He is a skilled hunter, a talented scout, and a fierce guardian, frequently risking his own life to save that of his master's. Along with Seaman, Sacajawea, and the intrepid pioneers in their party, Lewis and Clark face countless dangers—starvation, deadly storms, and hostile tribes—as they attempt to achieve President Jefferson's ambitious assignment.
Based on expedition journals and other historical documents, Trail is a gripping retelling of a true American adventure that vividly captures the inspiration, courage, and imagination of the Westward Expansion.
In 1804, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark set forth to explore and map the West, and forge a trade route to the Pacific coast. Though their adventures and contributions to American history are well known, a vital member of their team was nearly forgotten by time. Amid the soldiers, cartographers, and boatmen, one particular explorer in The Corps of Discovery stands out: Seaman, Captain Lewis's giant black Newfoundland dog.
Seaman is more than a just a companion. He is a skilled hunter, a talented scout, and a fierce guardian, frequently risking his own life to save that of his master's. Along with Seaman, Sacajawea, and the intrepid pioneers in their party, Lewis and Clark face countless dangers—starvation, deadly storms, and hostile tribes—as they attempt to achieve President Jefferson's ambitious assignment.
Based on expedition journals and other historical documents, Trail is a gripping retelling of a true American adventure that vividly captures the inspiration, courage, and imagination of the Westward Expansion.
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Overview
In 1804, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark set forth to explore and map the West, and forge a trade route to the Pacific coast. Though their adventures and contributions to American history are well known, a vital member of their team was nearly forgotten by time. Amid the soldiers, cartographers, and boatmen, one particular explorer in The Corps of Discovery stands out: Seaman, Captain Lewis's giant black Newfoundland dog.
Seaman is more than a just a companion. He is a skilled hunter, a talented scout, and a fierce guardian, frequently risking his own life to save that of his master's. Along with Seaman, Sacajawea, and the intrepid pioneers in their party, Lewis and Clark face countless dangers—starvation, deadly storms, and hostile tribes—as they attempt to achieve President Jefferson's ambitious assignment.
Based on expedition journals and other historical documents, Trail is a gripping retelling of a true American adventure that vividly captures the inspiration, courage, and imagination of the Westward Expansion.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781625670830 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc. |
| Publication date: | 12/02/2013 |
| Sold by: | Bookwire |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 463 |
| File size: | 962 KB |
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CHAPTER 1
When Captain Meriwether Lewis, private secretary to the President of the United States, arrived in Philadelphia on the first of May, 1803, a glittering sheath of ice coated the branches of the trees along the Schuylkill River. That very day the unseasonable cold changed, as if the young officer had brought a breath of warmth with him. The ice began to crack and drip as spring made its belated arrival.
A balmy Sunday afternoon a few days later found the young officer at loose ends. Thomas Jefferson's prominent friends of the city, who had both befriended and instructed Lewis, were otherwise occupied. The Schuylkill Arsenal, where Lewis was selecting huge quantities of supplies and equipment for a still secret mission, was closed on Sunday; so were most of the city's merchants. It was this combination of circumstances that brought the young officer, early in the afternoon, to the vicinity of the docks. And it was there he saw the dog.
He was a black Newfoundland, about eight months old, large and big-boned and at a gawky stage of growth. He was sitting at the end of a rope held by a young sailor — off a British ship, Lewis thought. In the confused turmoil along Dock Street, the young dog sat quietly, watching every passerby with friendly interest.
On impulse Lewis picked his way across the muddy street to the sailor's side. He nodded at the Newfoundland with a smile. "He's young for a ship's dog, isn't he?"
"Aye, sir, he's that. But he's no ship's dog — not that he couldn't be," the sailor added quickly. "His breed has a fine reputation for it, sir."
"He's your dog, then."
"Aye, sir." The sailor, whose accent was a strong Scottish burr, hesitated, appraising the officer. He was obviously a gentleman, wearing a perfectly tailored uniform of a captain in the 1st Infantry Regiment, the blue coat short-waisted and with a high collar, white buttons, and gold braid, the vest and breeches white, the resplendent whole accented by a black cocked hat with a white plume. The young seaman's hopes rose. "Would you be interested in him, sir? That is ... well, he's for sale, you see."
"Ah," murmured Lewis, who had guessed as much. He studied the dog more closely. The pup reacted to his interest by rising to his feet, his tail wagging tentatively. A calm, amiable temperament for a youngster, Lewis thought. And he would be a large, powerful animal even for his breed, if the enormous feet were an indication. "My name is Meriwether Lewis. And you, my lad, are ...?"
"Ian Campbell, sir."
"Off one of the ships anchored here?"
"Aye, sir, you can see it there." He pointed proudly toward a three-masted merchant ship at anchor near the foot of Dock Street. "We've been in port a week, but will be sailin' day after tomorrow."
He did not add that he had been hoping for a sale of his Newfoundland pup since the day of his arrival. He had purchased the dog during a layover at St. John's in Newfoundland, when his ship was kept at anchor for nearly a fortnight by storms and heavy seas along the Atlantic seaboard. One of the lads who had sailed with him from Portsmouth had pointed out the large dogs that were everywhere in evidence on the island, used for pulling and hauling chores, and even for carrying lines out to ships in the harbor, swimming through the choppy waves. "They pay a fancy price for 'em in the States," the lad said. "Ye should think on't, Ian, my boy."
A sailor, Ian Campbell's friend had said, would never make his fortune on his ship's wages. What a wise sailor learned was how to buy for little in one port what might be sold high in the next.
"You've thought of a price, I suppose?" the American officer asked.
Ian Campbell hesitated. He had, reluctantly, after haggling with a canny islander who had several puppies available from a litter, paid a guinea for the Newfoundland. He hoped to more than double his investment. "Well, yes, sir ... that is, he be twenty dollars, sir. In gold!"
"Twenty dollars?" The officer's tone was dubious.
"It's a fair bargain," Campbell insisted, though his quick response was more an estimate of the potential buyer than of the dog's value. "You wouldn't be disappointed in him. He has good strong bones and easy ways."
Thoughtfully Meriwether Lewis stroked the dog's broad head. The pup looked up at him, jaws open and tongue lolling out in what appeared for all the world to be a huge grin.
"I'd need to spend a little time with him. I must be certain of his disposition."
"You'll find him docile, sir, like all of his breed, and agreeable to your wishes."
"But you've no objection to my having him for a short time, I take it, Mr. Campbell?"
"Well ... no, sir, none at all," Campbell said, though in his heart he felt objection forming. Still, the captain was his first prospective buyer in nearly a week, albeit a cautious one, and the young dog was wolfing down six or seven pounds of a food a day. On board ship Campbell had been able to feed him scraps from the ship's mess; ashore he had had to scrounge on his own for garbage.
"Good." Meriwether Lewis called out suddenly, in the firm tone of one accustomed to giving commands. "Here, boy!"
The Newfoundland pup's head came up alertly. He felt a friendly curiosity, for in his short span of life he had yet to know harsh treatment or the meaning of fear. He took a tentative step toward the man who called him ...
An hour later, above the steep bank of the Schuylkill River, the pup hurled himself at the captain, who laughed as he was nearly bowled off his feet. Lewis picked up the stick that had become the centerpiece of their play and threw it out over the slope. The dog bounded after it enthusiastically, mouth open, tongue hanging out from his exertions. Spotting the stick in the grass, he pounced upon it. He picked the stick up in his jaws, turned, and trotted eagerly back toward Lewis.
They had been at this for nearly an hour. At first, setting off beside the stranger on his black horse, the dog had been uncertain. On the small Newfoundland farm where he had been born, strangers had rarely appeared. On four occasions he had watched one of his brothers or sisters being led or carried away, not to be seen again. And one day the young sailor had come to take him away. So there was in his mind an element of mystery about strangers, a vague concern that was short of fear.
The city was quiet on this Sunday afternoon. When they reached the banks of the Schuylkill River, Meriwether Lewis dismounted. He squatted before the dog and talked to him quietly. Although he did not understand the words, the dog recognized the gentleness of the man's tone and manner. He accepted the firm strength of the fingers that prodded and poked, testing muscle strength and bone size, examining the huge feet and the strong white teeth. "We have a long way to go, you and I," the officer murmured after a while. "I would judge you more fit for the journey than most."
They walked together through the new grass above the riverbank, and the dog began to feel a growing affinity with this stranger, an eagerness to please him that was made more acute by his lingering uncertainty about what lay ahead. When the man picked up a stick and threw it out, urging the dog to "Fetch it!" he needed no more encouragement. The longer the game went on, the more his joy increased. He felt a new sense of belonging, along with a rising confidence.
At last Lewis paused. After a moment's thoughtfulness — with the late arrival of spring the river would be bitterly cold — he said, "Let's try it on the water. With those webbed feet of yours, boy, you should be a born swimmer."
The stick arched out over the river. The young dog charged down the slope, hit the bank on the run, and leaped fearlessly into the river. The current was strong with the spring runoff from the surrounding hills, but the dog struck out powerfully, though he had never been in the river before, never felt its icy chill or the pull of a swiftly flowing current. He saw the stick bobbing on the water, paddled quickly toward it, and took it in his mouth. Before he managed to return to the bank, he had been carried well downstream, but he bounded happily up the slope a moment later to deposit his prize at the soldier's feet.
Meriwether Lewis squatted beside him, oblivious as the dog suddenly shook his wet coat and rained a fine spray of water over the impeccable uniform. The dog then returned to the river's edge and, to Lewis's astonishment, buried his whole head in the water, drinking from the bottom. When he lifted his head at last and looked up, jaws dripping, Lewis laughed aloud. "You're a true seaman," he exclaimed. "And since I'm told you don't have a name, and you came to me off a ship, perhaps that would serve you well. What do you say to that, Seaman?"
The Newfoundland gazed at him happily.
"Seaman you are," the captain said, "and Seaman, you shall be."
By the time they turned back through the quiet city toward the docks, the sun was low against the blue-clad hills above the Schuylkill. After a short distance Lewis noticed that the young dog was limping. Without hesitation he reined in his horse, dismounted, picked up the tired, footsore pup, and lifted him over the saddle. There Seaman lay, boneless with fatigue and complete trust.
When the afternoon had drawn late with no sign of the American captain, Ian Campbell had become more worried by the minute. The officer had seemed a proper gentleman, someone you could trust, but even gentlemen had been known to cheat an honest sailor. An admonition of his father's popped into Ian's head unbidden. "If iver thee gi' aught for naught, gi' it to tha se'n." Well, he'd given up his dog and received nothing for him in return. What if the fancy-dressed captain were not what he appeared? What if ...
Campbell's anxiety gave way. There! Coming down the road ... but why was the captain walking? And where was the dog?
Then Campbell saw the Newfoundland draped over the saddle, wet and limp. He rushed forward in alarm. "Oh my God, sir! What has happened? Surely he hasn't drowned?"
"Never fear," the captain said quickly. "He takes to water like a duck. I'm afraid he is weary from unaccustomed adventure, that's all."
The sailor sighed in relief. He watched as the soldier lifted the pup down from the saddle and placed him on his feet. The dog sat instantly, gazing up at Lewis, whose smile already revealed a growing fondness. He had grown up with dogs, hunted with them in the woods of his beloved Albemarle County, Virginia, and often felt closer to them than he did to many men.
"Twenty dollars, you said." Half a month's pay for a captain of the 1st Infantry. "It's a dear price, but I believe he's worth it. I must have him."
"You won't be sorry, sir." The seller's hazel eyes glinted as if reflecting the color of the gold coins that clinked into his hand. "He'll be traveling far with you, sir?"
The young captain gazed over the sailor's shoulder with that far-off look in his blue eyes that Ian Campbell had seen in sailors long at sea, gazing toward the horizon in search of their first glimpse of land.
"A very long journey, lad," said Meriwether Lewis. "A very long journey indeed."
* * *
On the same Sunday afternoon that saw Meriwether Lewis tossing a stick for a gangling puppy on the banks of the Schuylkill, Thomas Jefferson, third president of the United States, was entertaining three U.S. senators at the President's House in Washington. Prior to sitting down with his guests to a sumptuous dinner, the President strolled through the garden he was attempting to create to relieve the sterility of the lawns. The President's House had been first occupied by John Adams in 1800, the second President's last year in office, and by Jefferson for two years. Like the capital itself, the building that was the President's office and residence was in a raw state, surrounded much of the time, especially this spring, by a sea of mud. An ardent gardener at Monticello, Jefferson had personally brought a number of plants and cuttings to Washington to create the small garden he was now proudly determined to display.
"I envisage a formal garden here one day," Jefferson mused, "where some future President may mull over affairs of state. A garden, you know, offers the tranquillity conducive to quiet reflection."
The senators, accustomed to Jefferson's habit of envisaging future wonders, merely nodded.
The white-haired President walked with his head thrust forward, eyes intent as he pointed out the flowers already in bud or bloom. "That purple hyacinth bloomed early this year, in late March. We'll be losing it soon. Like the puckoon there, its flowers already blown, and the narcissus. But nature always compensates," he added with a smile. "That purple flag is ready to bloom."
The senators nodded again, looking down at their muddy shoes, thinking not of flowers but of pheasant and veal, fruits and nuts, puddings and wines, soon to be consumed at Jefferson's long table. Affairs of state seemed far away.
So, too, were Thomas Jefferson's thoughts, even as he kept up a congenial intercourse with his guests. Across the ocean in Paris, the U.S. minister to the French government, Robert Livingston, had been carrying out Jefferson's instructions to negotiate with Napoleon Bonaparte's foreign minister, Talleyrand, for the purchase of the port of New Orleans.
Those discussions had been stalled for months, but Jefferson, sensing that the time was now propitious, had sent James Monroe to France as "minister extraordinary" to lend his subtle, judicious mind to the delicate negotiations. Even now, Jefferson thought, Monroe must be approaching the coast of France, if he was not already in Paris; and the President, who had a well-earned reputation for far-ranging vision, could not help speculating about the outcome.
Napoleon was in trouble. After forcing Spain to recede the Louisiana Territory to France in the Treaty of San Ildefonso in 1800, Bonaparte had hoped to establish a French empire in North America. His plan had been to send two armies to the Western Hemisphere, one to crush the slave rebellion on Santo Domingo led by Toussaint L'Ouverture, the second to link up with that force and occupy Louisiana. The success of the plan would have placed France in a position of strength in the New World, ready for the clash with Great Britain that Napoleon envisioned as a war to be fought on two continents.
Napoleon's grand scheme had foundered in the West Indies.
In the Caribbean the mighty Bonaparte had been defeated by an enemy he could not even see. Although the French army under General Charles Leclerc had eventually defeated Toussaint and taken him prisoner, the price of victory had proved catastrophic. The French forces had been decimated by yellow fever. The regiments of the Second Expeditionary Army, intended for Louisiana, had had to be diverted to Santo Domingo to support the depleted forces already there — and the new regiments quickly fell victim to the same attrition from disease.
By the end of the year 1802 the magnitude of Napoleon's losses had become clear to the American President in Washington. Jefferson realized that the threat he had most feared — a powerful French presence in Louisiana to replace the weak Spanish occupation — was over. Napoleon had no choice but to turn his attention entirely to Europe, where that inevitable conflict with Great Britain awaited him.
Jefferson believed that Bonaparte desperately needed money to carry out his campaign against Britain. The President was prepared to help him — by purchasing New Orleans. To gain that prize, which would mean control of the mouth of the Mississippi for U.S. cargo ships, Jefferson was prepared to stretch his authority to dip into the U.S. Treasury.
That purchase was only the first step in what Thomas Jefferson saw as an opening up of the trans-Mississippi West to American commerce. The second step was an exploration of the upper Missouri River by a small American party, with a view to finding passage to the Pacific Ocean.
The two goals were closely linked in Jefferson's mind. As far back as November, 1802, he had broached the subject to the Spanish Minister to the United States, wondering if the Spanish government would "take it badly" if the United States were to send a small expedition "to explore the course of the Missouri River" through the territory known as Louisiana. Even though those lands had officially been ceded to France, they were still governed by Spanish authorities, backed by Spanish troops.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Trail"
by .
Copyright © 1989 Louis Charbonneau.
Excerpted by permission of Jabberwocky Literary Agency, Inc..
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