Excerpt - Pathfinder: Prologue

Image credit: Constantinos Pritsos and ... me.

A Fire to be Kindled

“What do you know about the Louisiana territory?” President Thomas Jefferson asked.

“Very little,” I said.

“How would you like to learn more about it?” he continued. “First-hand.”

“Is this the expedition I’ve seen discussed in the papers?” I asked. “The one with Meriweather Lewis and…”

“William Clark, yes,” he said. “You’d be leaving one corps tomorrow and joining another by the end of the month. The Corps of Discovery.”

My heart soared. This could be the opportunity I needed to move forward. All I had to do was take the leap and see what the future held in store for me.

“I’d love to.”

“It’s settled, then,” Jefferson said. He waved a lanky arm to the disapproving man standing near the door. “Secretary Dearborn will draw up the necessary papers.”

Henry Dearborn moved reluctantly from the doorway. I think he had hoped that his only job that evening would have been to open it and usher me out. I disappointed the man, and this wouldn’t be the first time.

As he moved closer, I’m sure he noticed the smirk on my face. That’s to be expected, however. I was young. Newly twenty-four years old and with all the smugness that goes alongside being a Marine holding myself above most everyone I met.

Ah, who am I kidding? Youth has nothing to do with it. I’m beyond eighty as I write this, and I know my wrinkled mouth still sets in that same smirk. Call it a character flaw.

The president clapped me on the shoulder and left the room entirely, moving on to other issues requiring his attention. It was 1804… there were plenty.

“Well,” Dearborn began. “You wouldn’t have been my first choice for this assignment.”

“Who would that have been?” I asked.

“Someone whose education didn’t end in a one-room schoolhouse,” Dearborn said.

I’ll give him this, he didn’t just say it without a glance in my direction. I feel like that’s usually what people do when they say something insolent. Dearborn didn’t.

“Not all education is garnered through memorizing facts for college tests,” I replied. “Plutarch said that ‘the mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled’.”

Dearborn was taken aback. Quite literally, I should add. He stepped back a moment as if stunned. But what was he more stunned by? That part was hard to tell. Was he taken aback that I even knew who Plutarch was, or that I was already giving him pushback? He was a member of President Jefferson’s cabinet, after all. The Secretary of War was an incredibly important position, and I’m sure he wasn’t used to anyone speaking to him in that fashion.

“Let’s get you set up,” he said abruptly. He spread a couple papers on the round oak table before us. “Does all this look correct to you?”

I skimmed over the pages that he had already drawn up. My name and my parents’ names all looked correct. Birthdate was accurate. Marine Corps years of service all accounted for and even my new rank of sergeant, official the next morning, was put at the top.

“Looks good,” I said. “What comes next?”

Dearborn scrutinized me with one eyebrow lifted. He could never have really been called a handsome man, and I supposed that was just one of a myriad of reasons that he always seemed so agitated with me. I was called a handsome man by many. Fit where he was flabby, my face angular where his was soft, my blue eyes bright where his were a dull, dark brown. The smattering of freckles around my nose also spoke of youth, whereas his hair was starting to gray quite a bit and he tried desperately to hide that fact with an excess of powder. Little white clouds played with the dust motes in the window’s sunbeams when he shook his head in disapproval.

I liked him. I know that might sound odd after that description, but there was something about the man that urged me to prove myself. Of course I had to do so in my own typical fashion. I couldn’t just prove myself in stoic silence. There had to be some bravado alongside it, but somehow I suspected that he kind of liked that about me. I was different from anyone he was used to dealing with. Although I was a pain in the ass plenty of times over the years we worked together, I do believe there was a mutual respect approaching camaraderie there.

 “You’re not short on ambition are you, Wulf?” he asked.

Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not every day that you hear of a sergeant of Marines being pulled into our president’s confidence,” he said. “It’s just a unique situation.”

“The Marine Corps is a small and elite organization,” I replied. I couldn’t help myself. Dearborn was former Army, and while the branches of the military always fought in conjunction with one another, there was a rivalry there that fueled us all. “It’s not every day that you hear of a sergeant of Marines at all.”

“You’d better stow that animosity before you step off with Clark and Lewis,” he said, the edge of a smile threatening his mouth. “Most of these boys in the Corps of Discovery are Army, you know.”

I nodded.

“I have a task or two for you,” he added. “Have you heard of West Point?”

“Of course.”

The United States Military Academy was newly formed at that time. It had only been about for a couple years, and was mainly promoted as a way to ensure the best officers were produced for the American military. Jefferson had experienced plenty of bullshit at the hands of foreign nations, the Barbary states that I was well-versed in included, and he’d begun to see the benefits of having well-tuned armed forces to back up everything that needed to be accomplished in our burgeoning nation.

“I’ve taken some liberties to acquire you materials for your expedition,” he continued. He plopped four massive books on the table before us. Before I could begin to protest, he added, “President Jefferson wants you to come back an educated man, so this had better only be used as kindling for your mind and not any campfires on the way west.”

I chuckled at that. Clever. I knew I liked him.

“Am I to write some theses on this venture?” I said. “What about attending the classes in person? How will I get credit for my work?”

“I’m the Secretary of War, Wulf,” he said. “If I’m about to swear you in as an Agent of War then I think I can ensure that West Point accepts your papers as proof of concept that you not only did the work but will receive a diploma in War Studies.”

“Not philosophy, huh?”

“You can do that on your own time,” Dearborn said, his tone grave. “President Jefferson has plans for you, and this is just one step in the process.”

My eyebrows elevated again. “Duly noted.”

“Ready to swear in?”

“Ready.”

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