The Magnificent Adventure by Emerson Hough (best ereader under 100 txt) 📕
- Author: Emerson Hough
- Performer: -
Book online «The Magnificent Adventure by Emerson Hough (best ereader under 100 txt) 📕». Author Emerson Hough
“Tell me, Merne, what are you thinking of? It is not that woman?”
He seemed to feel the sudden shrinking of the tall figure at his side.
“I have touched you on the raw once more, haven’t I, Merne?” he exclaimed. “I never meant to. I only want to see you happy.”
“You must not be too uneasy, Will,” returned Meriwether Lewis, at last. “It is only that sometimes at night I lie awake and ponder over things. And the nights themselves are wonderful!”
“Saw you ever such nights, Merne, in all your life? Breathed you ever such air as these plains carry in the nighttime? Why do you not exult—what is it you cannot forget? You don’t really deceive me, Merne. What is it that you see when you lie awake at night under the stars? Some face, eh? What, Merne? You mean to tell me you are still so foolish? We left three months ago. I gave you two months for forgetting her—and that is enough! Come, now, perhaps some maid of the Mandans, on ahead, will prove fair enough to pipe to you, or to touch the bull-hide tambourine in such fashion as to charm you from your sorrows! No, don’t be offended—it is only that I want to tell you not to take that old affair too hard. And now, it is time for you to turn in.”
William Clark himself arose and strolled to his own blanket-roll, spread it out, and lay down beneath the sky to sleep. Meriwether Lewis sought to follow his example, and spread open his robe and blankets close to the fire. As he leaned back, he felt something hard and crackling under his hand, and looked down.
It was his custom to carry in his blankets, for safekeeping, his long spyglass, a pair of dry moccasins and a buckskin tunic. These articles were here, as he expected to find them. Yet here among them was a folded and sealed envelope—a letter! He had not placed it here; yet here it was.
He caught it up in his hand, looked at it wonderingly, kicked the ends of the embers together so that they flamed up, bent forward to read the superscription—and paused in amazement. Well enough he knew the firm, upright, characterful hand which addressed this missive to him:
TO CAPTAIN MERIWETHER LEWIS.—ON THE TRAIL IN THE WEST.
A feeling somewhat akin to awe fell upon Meriwether Lewis. He felt a cold prickling along his spine. It was for him, yes—but whence had it come? There had been no messenger from outside the camp. For one brief instant it seemed, indeed, as if this bit of paper—which of all possible gifts of the gods he would most have coveted—had dropped from the heavens themselves at his feet here in the savage wilderness. His heart had been on the point of breaking, it seemed to him—and it had come to comfort him! It was from her. It ran thus:
Dear Sir and Friend:
Greetings to you, wherever you may be when this shall find you. Are you among the Gauls, the Goths, the Visigoths, the Huns, the Vandals, or the Cimbri? Wherever you be, our hopes and faith go with you. You are, as I fancy, in a desert, a wilderness, worth no man’s owning. Life passes meantime. To what end, my friend?
I fancy you in the deluge, in the hurricane, in the blaze of the sun, or in the bleak winds, alone, cheerless, perhaps athirst, perhaps knowing hunger. I know that you will meet these things like a man. But to what end—what is the purpose of all this? You have left behind you all that makes life worth while—fortune, fame, life, ambition, honor—to go away into the desert. At what time are you going to turn back and come to us once more?
Oh, if only I had the right—if only I dared—if only I were in a position to lay some command on you to bring you back! Methinks then I would. You could do so much for us all—so much for me. It would mean so much to my own happiness if you were here.
Meriwether Lewis, come back! You have gone far enough. On ahead are only cruel hardship and continual failure. Here are fortune, fame, wealth, ambition, honor—and more. I told you one time I would lay my hand upon your shoulder out yonder, no matter where you were. I said that you should look into my face yonder when you sat alone beside your fire under the stars. You said that it would be torment. I said that none the less I would not let you go. I said my face still should stay with you, until you were willing to turn back.
Turn back now, Meriwether Lewis! Come back!
The letter was not signed, and needed not to be. Meriwether Lewis sat staring at the paper clutched in his hand.
Her face! Ah, did he not see it now? Was it not true what she had said? He saw her face now—but not smiling, happy, contented, as it once had been. No, he saw it pale and in distress. He saw tears in her eyes. And she had written him:
Oh, if only I had the right to lay some command on you!
Was not he, who had forgotten honor, subject now to any command that she might give him?
“Will, Will!” exclaimed Meriwether Lewis, sharply, imperatively, to his friend, whom he could see dimly at a little distance as he lay.
The long figure in its robes straightened quickly, for by day or night William Clark was instantly ready for any sudden alarm. He started up on his robe, with his hand on his rifle.
“Who calls there? Who goes?” he cried, half awake.
“It is I, Will,” said Meriwether Lewis, advancing toward him. “Listen—tell me, Will, why did you do this?”
“Why did I do what? Merne, what is wrong?”
Clark was now on his feet, and Lewis held out the letter to him. He took it in his hand, looked at it wonderingly.
“This letter——” began Meriwether Lewis. “Certainly you carried it for me—why did you not bring it to me long ago?”
“What letter? Whose letter is it, Merne? I never saw it before. What is it you are saying? Are you mad?”
“I think so,” said Lewis, “I think I must be. Here is a letter—I found it but now in my bed. I thought perhaps you had had it for me a long time, and placed it there as a surprise.”
“Who sends it, Merne. What does it say?”
“It is from the woman whose face I have seen at night, Will. She asks me to come back!”
“Burn it—throw it in the fire!” said William Clark sharply. “Go back? What, forsake Mr. Jefferson—leave me?”
“God forgive me, Will, but you search my very heart! For one moment I was on the point of declaring myself too ill to finish this journey—on the point of letting you have all the honor of it. I was going to surrender my place to you.”
“You cannot desert us, Merne! You shall not! Go back to bed! Give me the letter! Bah! it is some counterfeit, some trick of one of the men!”
“It would be worth any man’s life to try a jest like that,” said Meriwether Lewis. “It is no counterfeit. I know it too well. This letter was written before we left St. Louis. How it came here I know not, but I know who wrote it.”
“She had no right——”
“Ah, but that is the cruelty of it—she did have the right!”
“There are some things which a man must work out for himself,” said William Clark slowly, after a time. “I don’t think I’ll ask any questions. If there is any place where I can take half your burden, you know what I will do. We’ve worked share and share alike, but perhaps some things cannot be shared, even by you and me. It is for you to tell me if I can help you now. If not, then you must decide.”
Even as he spoke, his beloved friend was turning away from him. Meriwether Lewis walked out alone into the night. Stumbling, he passed on out among the shadows, under the starlight. Without much plan, he found himself on a little eminence of the bluff near by.
He sat down, his blanket drawn over his head, like an Indian, motionless, thinking, fighting out his own fight, as sometimes a man must, alone. He did not know that William Clark, most faithful of friends, himself silent as a Sioux, had followed, and sat a little distance apart, his eyes fixed on the motionless figure outlined against the sky.
The dawn came at last and kindled a red band along the east. The gray light at length grew more clear. A coyote on the bluff raised a long and quavering cry, like some soul in torture. As if it were his own voice, Meriwether Lewis stirred, rose, drew back the blanket from his shoulders, and turned down the hill.
He saw his friend rising and advancing to him. Once more their hands gripped, as they had when the two first met on the Ohio, almost a year ago, at the beginning of their journey.
Lewis frowned heavily. He could not speak for a time.
“Give the orders to the men to roll out, Captain Clark,” said he at length.
“Which way, Captain Lewis—upstream or down?”
“The expedition will go forward, Captain Clark.”
“God bless you, Merne!” said the red-headed one.
CHAPTER III THE DAY’S WORK“
Roll out, men, roll out!”
The sleeping men stirred under their robes and blankets and turned out, quickly awake, after the fashion of the wilderness. The sentinel came in, his moccasins wet, his tunic girded tight against the cool of the morning, which even at that season was chill upon the high plains. Soon the fires were alight and the odors of roasting meat arose. The hour was scarce yet dawn.
“Ordway! Gass! Pryor!” Lewis called in the sergeants in charge of the three messes. “The boy Shannon has not returned. Which of your men, Ordway, will best serve to find Shannon and meet us up the river?”
“Myself, sir,” said Ordway, “if you please.”
“No, ’tis meself, sor,” interrupted Patrick Gass.
Pryor, with hand outstretched, also claimed the honor of the difficult undertaking.
“You three are needed in the boats,” said the leader. “No, I think it will be better to send Drouillard and the two Fields boys. But tell me, Sergeant Ordway——”
“Yes, sir!”
“Has any boat passed up the river within the last day—for instance, while we were away at the hunt?”
“I think not, sir. Surely any one coming up the river would have turned in at our camp.”
Lewis turned to Gass, to Pryor; but both agreed that no boat could have gone by unnoticed.
“And no man has come into the camp from below—no horseman?”
They all shook their heads. Their leader looked from one to the other keenly, trying to see if anything was concealed from him; but the honest faces of his men showed no suspicion of his own doubts.
He dismissed them, feeling it beneath his dignity to make inquiry as to the bearer of the mysterious letter; nor did he mention it again to William Clark. He knew only that some one of his men had a secret from his commander.
“The men will find Shannon and bring him in ahead—we can’t afford to wait here for them. The water is falling now,” said Clark. “We are doing our twenty miles daily. The men laugh on the line, for the bars are exposed, and they can track along shore easily. Suppose Shannon were out three days—that would make it sixty miles upstream—or less, for him, for he could cut the bends. I make no doubt that when he found himself out
Free e-book «The Magnificent Adventure by Emerson Hough (best ereader under 100 txt) 📕» - read online now
Comments (0)