_ PART I CHAPTER XIII. UNDER THREE FLAGS
The day was but beginning for the young American republic. All the air was vibrant with the passion of youth and romance. Yonder in the West there might be fame and fortune for any man with courage to adventure. The world had not yet settled down to inexorable grooves of life, from which no human soul might fight its way out save at cost of sweetness and content and hope. The chance of one man might still equal that of another--yonder, in that vast new world along the Mississippi, beyond the Mississippi, more than a hundred years ago.
Into that world there now pressed a flowing, seething, restless mass, a new population seeking new avenues of hope and life, of adventure and opportunity. Riflemen, axmen, fighting men, riding men, boatmen, plowmen--they made ever out and on, laughing the Cossack laugh at the mere thought of any man or thing withstanding them.
Over this new world, alert, restless, full of Homeric youth, full of the lust of life and adventure, floated three flags. The old war of France and Spain still smoldered along the great waterway into the South. The flag of Great Britain had withdrawn itself to the North. The flag of our republic had not yet advanced.
Those who made the Western population at that time cared little enough about flags or treaty rights. They concerned themselves rather with possession. Let any who liked observe the laws. The strong made their own laws from day to day, and wrote them in one general codex of adventure and full-blooded, roistering life. The world was young. Buy land? No, why buy it, when taking it was so much more simple and delightful?
Based on this general lust of conquest, this Saxon zeal for new territories, must have been that inspiration of Thomas Jefferson in his venture of the far Northwest. He saw there the splendid vision of his ideal republic. He saw there a citizenry no longer riotous and roistering, not yet frenzied or hysterical, but strong, sober, and constant. His was a glorious vision. Would God we had fully realized his dream!
There were three flags afloat here or there in the Western country then, and none knew what land rightly belonged under any of the three. Indeed, over the heart of that region now floated all the three banners at the same time--that of Spain, passing but still proud, for a generation actual governor if not actual owner of all the country beyond the Mississippi, so far as it had any government at all; that of France, owner of the one great seaport, New Orleans, settler of the valley for a generation; and that of the new republic only just arriving into the respect of men either of the East or the West--a republic which had till recently exacted respect chiefly through the stark deadliness of its fighting and marching men.
It was a splendid game in which these two boys, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark--they scarcely were more than boys--now were entering. And with the superb unconsciousness and self-trust of youth, they played it with dash and confidence, never doubting their success.
The prediction of William Clark none the less came true. In this matter of flags, autocratic Spain was not disposed to yield. De Lassus, Spanish commandant for so many years, would not let the young travelers go beyond St. Louis, even so far as Charette. He must be sure that his country--which, by right or not, he had ruled so long--had not only been sold by Spain to France, but that the cession had been duly confirmed; and, furthermore, he must be sure that the cession by France to the United States had also been concluded formally.
Traders and trappers had been passing through from the plains country, yes--but this was a different matter. Here was a flotilla under a third flag--it must not pass. Spanish official dignity was not thus to be shaken, not to be hurried. All must wait until the formalities had been concluded.
This delay meant the loss of the entire winter. The two young leaders of the expedition were obliged to make the best of it they could.
Clark formed an encampment in the timbered country across the Mississippi from St. Louis, and soon had his men comfortably ensconced in cabins of their own building. Meanwhile he picked up more men around the adjacent military posts--Ordway and Howard and Frazer of the New England regiment; Cruzatte, Labiche, Lajeunesse, Drouillard and other voyageurs for watermen. They made a hardy and efficient band.
Upon Captain Lewis devolved most of the scientific work of the expedition. It was necessary for him to spend much time in St. Louis, to complete his store of instruments, to extend his own studies in scientific matters. Perhaps, after all, the success of the expedition was furthered by this delay upon the border.
Twenty-nine men they had on the expedition rolls by spring--forty-five in all, counting assistants who were not officially enrolled. Their equipment for the entire journey out and back, of more than two years in duration, was to cost them not more than twenty-five hundred dollars. A tiny army, a meager equipment, for the taking of the richest empire of the world!
But now this army of a score and a half of men was to witness the lowering before it of two of the greatest flags then known to the world. It already had seen the retirement of that of Great Britain. The wedge which Burr and Merry and Yrujo had so dreaded was now about to be driven home. The country must split apart--Great Britain must fall back to the North--these other powers, France and Spain, must make way to the South and West.
The army of the new republic, under two loyal boys for leaders, pressed forward, not with drums or banners, not with the roll of kettledrums, not with the pride and circumstance of glorious war. The soldiers of its ranks had not even a uniform--they were clad in buckskin and linsey, leather and fur. They had no trained fashion of march, yet stood shoulder and shoulder together well enough. They were not drilled into the perfection of trained soldiers, perhaps, but each could use his rifle, and knew how far was one hundred yards.
The boats were coming down with furs from the great West--from the Omahas, the Kaws, the Osages. Keel boats came up from the lower river, mastering a thousand miles and more of that heavy flood to bring back news from New Orleans. Broadhorns and keel-boats and sailboats and river pirogues passed down.
The strange, colorful life of the little capital of the West went on eagerly. St. Louis was happy; Detroit was glum--the fur trade had been split in half. Great Britain had lost--the furs now went out down the Mississippi instead of down the St. Lawrence. A world was in the making and remaking; and over that disturbed and divided world there still floated the three rival flags.
Five days before Christmas of 1803, the flag of France fluttered down in the old city of New Orleans. They had dreaded the fleet of Great Britain at New Orleans--had hoped for the fleet of France. They got a fleet of Americans in flatboats--rude men with long rifles and leathern garments, who came under paddle and oar, and not under sail.
Laussat was the last French commandant in the valley. De Lassus, the Spaniard, holding onto his dignity up the Missouri River beyond St. Louis, still clung to the sovereignty that Spain had deserted. And across the river, in a little row of log cabins, lay the new army with the new flag--an army of twenty-nine men, backed by twenty-five hundred dollars of a nation's hoarded war gold!
It was a time for hope or for despair--a time for success or failure--a time for loyalty or for treason. And that army of twenty-nine men in buckskin altered the map of the world, the history of a vast continent.
While Meriwether Lewis gravely went about his scientific studies, and William Clark merrily went about his dancing with the gay St. Louis belles, when not engaged in drilling his men beyond the river, the winter passed. Spring came. The ice ceased to run in the river, the geese honked northward in millions, the grass showed green betimes.
The men in Clark's encampment were almost mutinous with lust for travel. But still the authorities had not completed their formalities; still the flag of Spain floated over the crossbars of the gate of the stone fortress, last stronghold of Spain in the valley of our great river.
March passed, and April. Not until the 9th of May, in the year 1804, were matters concluded to suit the punctilio of France and Spain alike. Now came the assured word that the republic of the United States intended to stand on the Louisiana purchase, Constitution or no Constitution--that the government purposed to take over the land which it had bought. On this point Mr. Jefferson was firm. De Lassus yielded now.
On that May morning the soldiers of Spain manning the fortifications of the old post stood at parade when the drums of the Americans were heard. One company of troops, under command of Captain Stoddard, represented our army of occupation. Our real army of invasion was that in buckskin and linsey and leather--twenty-nine men; whose captain, Meriwether Lewis, was to be our official representative at the ceremony of transfer.
De Lassus choked with emotion as he handed over the keys and the archives which so long had been under his charge.
"Sir," said he, addressing the commander, "I speak for France as well as for Spain. I hand over to you the title from France, as I hand over to you the rule from Spain. Henceforth both are for you. I salute you, gentlemen!"
With the ruffle of the few American drums the transfer was gravely acknowledged. The flag of Spain slowly dropped from the staff where it had floated. That of France took its place, and for one day floated by courtesy over old St. Louis. On the morrow arose a strange new flag--the flag of the United States. It was supported by one company of regulars and by the little army of joint command--the army of Lewis and Clark--twenty-nine enlisted men in leather!
"Time now, at last!" said William Clark to his friend. "Time for us to say farewell! Boats--three of them--are waiting, and my men are itching to see the buffalo plains. What is the latest news in the village, Merne?" he added. "I've not been across there for two weeks."
"News enough," said Meriwether Lewis gravely. "I just have word of the arrival in town of none other than Colonel Aaron Burr."
"The Vice-President of the United States! What does he here? Tell me, is he bound down the river? Is there anything in all this talk I have heard about Colonel Burr? Is he alone?"
"No. I wish he were alone. Will, she is with him--his daughter, Mrs. Alston!"
"Well, what of that? Oh, I know--I know, but why should you meet?"
"How can we help meeting here in the society of this little town, whose people are like one family? They have been invited by Mr. Chouteau to come to his house--I also am a guest there. Will, what shall I do? It torments me!"
"Oh, tut, tut!" said light-hearted William Clark. "What shall you do? Why, in the first place, pull the frown from your face, Merne. Now, this young lady forsakes her husband, travels--with her father, to be sure, but none the less she travels--along the same trail taken by a certain young man down the Ohio, up the Mississippi, here to St. Louis. Should you call that a torment? Not I! I should flatter myself over it. A torment? Should you call the flowers that change in sweetness as we ride along through the wood a torment? Let them beware of me! I am no respecter of fortune when it comes to a pretty face, my friend. It is mine if it is here, and if I may kiss it--don't rebuke me, Merne! I am full of the joy of life. Woman--the nearest woman--to call her a torment! And you a soldier! I don't blame them. Torment you? Yes, they will, so long as you allow it. Then don't allow it!"
"You preach very well, Will. Of course, I know you don't practise what you preach--who does?"
"Well, perhaps! But, seriously, why take life so hard, Merne? Why don't you relax--why don't you swim with the current for a time? We live but once. Tell me, do you think there was but one woman made for each of us men in all the world? My faith, if that be true, I have had more than my share, I fear, as I have passed along! But even when it comes to marrying and settling down to hoeing an acre of corn-land and raising a shoat or two for the family--tell me, Merne, what woman does a man marry? Doesn't he marry the one at hand--the one that is ready and waiting? Do you think fortune would always place the one woman in the world ready for the one man at the one time, just when the hoeing and the shoat-raising was to the fore? It is absurd, man! Nature dares not take such chances--and does not."
Lewis did not answer his friend's jesting argument.
"Listen, Merne," Clark went on. "The memory of a kiss is better than the memory of a tear. No, listen, Merne! The print of a kiss is sweet as water of a spring when you are athirst. And the spring shows none the worse for the taste of heaven it gave you. Lips and water alike--they tell no tales. They are goods the gods gave us as part of life. But the great thirst--the great thirst of a man for power, for deeds, for danger, for adventure, for accomplishment--ah, that is ours, and that is harder to slake, I am thinking! A man's deeds are his life. They tell the tale."
"His deeds! Yes, you are right, they do, indeed, tell the tale. Let us hope the reckoning will stand clean at last."
"Merne, you are a soldier, not a preacher."
"Will, you are neither--you are only a boy!" _