My Travels with Capts. Lewis and Clark, by George Shannon

Chapter One

Pittsburgh
July 15, 1803

If I write of this day, I must say I counted nails, screws, nuts, bolts, brads, hooks, and locks. I thought I was done when Peter, the shop's errand boy, rolled in a fresh keg of nails, and I started counting again.

This evening I plunked myself down at the kitchen table and toted up my inventory. Uncle Liam kept his hawk eye on me. Twice I added wrong and he thumped me on the head. Hard, too. At last I got the sums added up. Then Uncle said he must see my geography lesson, and I had to confess that somehow my geography book has gone missing.

"You find it, boy," Uncle said, "or I will yank down your breeches and tan your bottom." "Just you try it, Uncle. I may be scrawny, but I am strong. We'll see who gets tanned!" Or so I wish I'd said.

July 22, '03

Uncle Liam had just stepped out of the shop this afternoon when a gentleman came in. He said he'd been promised handsaws at 1 1/2 ¢ cents each, and I sold him all we had at that price. When Uncle came back and learned of the sale, he started screeching how handsaws go for 3 cents a piece, and I'd been cheated. He picked up a hammer, but I ran out of the shop before he could thump my head with that.

* * *

Snagged my breeches on a nail and tore a hole. I got out the little red "housewife" kit stuffed with needles, threads, and such that Ma gave me when I left home. I had a devil of a time poking the thread into the needle eye, but at last I got her through and stitched up the tear. A neat job, too.

July 23, '03

Uncle Liam saw me stitching. Tonight after supper, he handed me two pairs of holey socks to mend. I am half glad for his socks, as they took Uncle's mind off my lessons. No sign of my geography book. How Ma's sister came to marry Uncle Liam, I will never understand.

July 30, '03

Uncle Liam dished out rice and beans for supper. I spied chunks of pork in his bowl, but search as I might, I found none in mine. When I asked why, Uncle said, "You eat like a horse, boy. I can't hardly afford to keep you in beans." Uncle complains of a toothache.

Aug. 3, '03

Uncle Liam's tooth still nags him. The barber could pull it, but Uncle Liam says he won't spend good money on a bad tooth.

I turned my room upside down, looking for Geography Made Easy. No luck.

Aug. 4, '03

Uncle shook me awake in the night. His rotten tooth was paining him bad, and he said I must yank it. I followed him to the kitchen, where he gulped down some whiskey. Then he handed me the pliers, pressed his back to the wall, and opened wide. Uncle's breath stank worse than old Red Dog's back home, and the lantern gave poor light, but at last I found the culprit way in the back of his mouth and got a grip. I pulled. Uncle Liam hollered. We kept this up for awhile, but nothing came of it. Next I braced my foot against his gut, and twisted and wrenched that tooth in a most horrible manner, but it would not be yanked. At last Uncle shoved me aside. He staggered off to bed, saying it is a good thing I am not a tooth-puller's apprentice. For once, I agree with my uncle.

Aug. 5, '03

The barber pulled the tooth. Uncle Liam brought it home. He says he paid so much for this tooth, it would be a shame to toss it out, so he set it on the mantle for a decoration, propped up against the frame holding a lock of hair from Ma's poor dead sister.

Aug. 6, '03

Peter is fevered. Uncle says I must run to the wharf in his stead to fetch a batch of hinges. At last I am to escape this musty shop!

* * *

No sooner had I set foot on the wharf, than a hairy black beast lunged at me and knocked me down. I grabbed the monster's throat. I was near to choking the life out of it when a man shouted, "Seaman, off!" The beast leaped from me.

A tall, yellow-haired man in a military jacket put out a hand and hauled me to my feet. He asked if I was hurt. I said I was not but backed away, saying I'd never been up close to a bear.

The man laughed. "This is no bear," he said. "Seaman is a Newfoundland dog, a breed known to be most gentle and intelligent." He added that he was puzzled as he had never known his dog to leap on anyone before.

The man gave me his name then: Captain Meriwether Lewis. His shaggy dog eyed me, very eager. He put me in mind of my old Red Dog, hoping for supper scraps, and I guessed the reason for the attack. From my breast pocket I drew one of the dried beef sticks I've taken to carrying to ease my hunger pangs between meals. I held it out, Seaman took it, and we became fast friends.

Captain Lewis said, "Young man, would you care to see a great marvel?"

I cared to, and he led the way down the wharf, stopping beside a half-finished boat.

"I designed her myself," the Captain said proudly. "She is fifty-five feet long. When complete, she will have a cabin at the stern and benches for twenty-two men pulling oars."

I asked where he was bound in such a fine craft, and his eyes lit up.

"If the whiskey-guzzling sluggard of a boatbuilder ever finishes her up," he said, "I will shove off for the Pacific Ocean!"