An Important Man
May 1804
“There is no need to reveal all that is on your mind. Your qualities will be apparent through your daily actions.”
That was a tough one to mull on, but of course Tsunetomo is right. I’ve had difficulty keeping my mouth shut on the best of days, and there are times that the quality can be a good thing. But there have also been times when it's been more than a hindrance. The Marine Corps certainly put that on display.
I pondered that sentiment on the day that I cantered into the launch point for our exploration, Camp Dubois. Must’ve been the thirtieth horse since that very first one. I can’t even remember what this one looked like. I just dropped him off at the nearest stables and showed my credentials as an agent of the U.S. government. The stablemaster looked more than annoyed that he wouldn’t be receiving any pay for housing and feeding this extra horse indefinitely, but I couldn’t care less.
My thighs were battered and if I never rode a horse again it would be too soon. The only thing I cared about at that moment was going into the nearest tavern and getting a drink.
The tavern at Camp Dubois was probably the newest building in the place. Whoever had fixed it up had determined that if there was one way to make money at Dubois, it was in the sale and distribution of alcohol. I suppose it’s something of a constant.
“Just water,” I said at the bar.
The barkeep’s round face twisted in a sneer and the man sitting beside me scoffed.
Here we go.
I smirked.
“You serious?” the youth beside me asked. “This’s a tavern, and you come in asking for water like a kid been playin’ outside too long?”
“I just rode here from Washington,” I explained, although I’m not sure why I felt the need to. My fists were aching to smash this guy’s face in. I didn’t need to justify myself, and I’m certain he could barely comprehend English at this point in the evening anyway.
“Ooh,” he replied, drawing the sound out like a child pretending to be a ghost. “An important man.”
“More important than you,” I said, Tsunetomo’s advice completely forgotten. I took a sip of my water but kept the cup loose in my hand. Ready to drop at any moment and get to business.
“Boys,” the barkeep started. “Let’s take this outside.”
“You got it,” I said, starting to get off my stool.
The youth nodded and went to get up, but his feet tangled in the stool’s legs and he went crashing down on the floor instead. I rolled my eyes. There would be no fighting today. Not while he was in that state. It would have been like taking advantage of someone who’d had too much to drink. Just a moral gutting.
I didn’t help him up, either. I took one last drink of my water and put a penny on the bar. Shouldering my rifle, saber, and brace of pistols on my left, I slung my knapsack over my right and made for the door.
“Came close to somethin’ worth watchin’ in there,” a large black man told me as I stepped back onto Camp Dubois’s dirt street.
“I probably shouldn’t have instigated,” I said. “But sometimes it sounds like fun to shut the mouths of those who run them too much.”
“Yes sir, I bet,” he said. He straightened his back to extend his hand for a shake. I took it quickly. His callouses outshined my own, but I suppose that was to be expected. He stood a few inches above me, at least six feet, and his arms were muscled with the experience that comes alongside years of hard work. “My name is York. We’re lookin’ for men who might be willin’ to go on a trip t-”
“To the edge of the known maps and beyond, right?” I suggested. “You’re Clark’s… companion.”
“I’m his slave, sir,” he said, the bright smile on his dark face never dissipating. “It’s all right to say it.”
“I’m not keen on that word,” I replied.
I left it at that, for now. I didn’t need to tell him of my own experience in slavery, or about those I’d seen die in North Africa fueling other men’s ambitions. It made my blood boil just thinking about it, but this man was not someone I needed to show that side of myself to right now.
He looked curious but he left it alone.
“I’m actually here to meet with you all,” I said. “I was sent by Secretary Dearborn and President Jefferson.”
“So that gentleman in there was right,” York said with a laugh. “You are an important man.”
“Undeniably more important than him,” I said with a chuckle of my own. “But he was no gentleman.”
York smiled and nodded, not willing to agree on that front when it came to a white man. Not yet, at least.
“I’ll take you to Master Clark,” he said. “He’ll be eager to meet you, I’m sure.”
William Clark was speaking to a pair of young men outside a camp store when York and I walked up. I wouldn’t say that he was giving them a dressing down, but he did not look happy. Clark’s six-foot frame towered over both of his subordinates, and a set of broad shoulders helped to make his case. I recognized his rugged face from a rough sketch I had been given in Washington. Now it was set in a disapproving frown.
“We thought it too good a deal to pass up,” one of the youths said.
“Aye,” the other added. His only addition to the debacle, evidently.
“Good deals would be great prices on jerky and dried beans,” Clark argued. “Not a half-gallon of whiskey.”
“I thought we were going to have a bit more leniency than if this were a regular Army operation,” the first young man said.
His friend’s lack of verbiage didn’t mean he lacked sense. He decided to leave the “aye” out of this one.
“You thought wrong,” I said suddenly. “This expedition has been pushed forward and established by the President of the United States, himself.”
I handed my credentials over to Clark and adjusted the knapsack on my back in one fluid motion. I may have been representing a government agency, but I sure as hell was not going to look like I would be taking it easy on this venture. I meant to do just as hard of work as the rest of them. More than some, surely.
“Well…” the young man stammered. “I didn’t know that it was run like that.”
“We’re sorry we didn’t consult you first,” I replied. “Next time you want to file a formal complaint, I’ll be sure Secretary Dearborn and President Jefferson hear it. Unless you want to travel to Washington with me, and then they can hear it straight from the horse’s ass. I mean mouth.”
The point was well taken, Clark and York’s laughter driving it home even further. The two young men turned about and marched back into the camp store to exchange the whiskey for the money they handed over.
“I like you already, Agent Wulf,” Clark said. “That doesn’t happen often.”
“Calder, please,” I said. “I’m not sure I want everyone to know just what agency I work for at the moment.”
He mulled that over in his mind for a moment, saying nothing. York reached out to take my bag but I shook my head.
“Well then, Calder,” Clark said. “Welcome aboard.”
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