Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1924-02-18

I
pie must have Deen owners of the
second sight, I have often told you.
| Humor me, Will; bear with me
Don't question me too deep. Your
| flag, VIII, know will be planted on
the last parapet Of life-you were
| born to succeed. For myself, I still
| must remember what my mother told
| me--something about the burden
which would be too heavy, the trail
| which would be long. At times |
doubt
| "Confound it. Merne, you have no,
been yourself since you got that ac-
msr!"
1T was unsettling. / don't deny"
pray Heaven you'll never get
another" said William Clark. From
married woman, too, Thank God,
| I've no such affair on my mind"
TT is taboo, Will--that one thing"
And Clark, growing anathemas on
all women. stalked away to find his
axmen.
The SHOWS had come soft and deep.
blown on the icy winds. The horses
Of the Mandans were housed in the
| lodges, and lived on cottonwood in
stead of grass. When the vast herds
broken hills into the shelter of the
flats, the men returned frostbitten
with their loads of meat. The sky
was dark. The days were short.
| men, the leaders now planned certain
festivities for them. On Christmas
| eve each man had his stocking we'll
stuffed with such delicacies as the
| dried fruits, long cherished in III"
commissary, such other knickknackS
as might be spared.
On Christmas day. Drouillard
brought out fiddle. A dance was
ordered, and went on all day long on
| the puncheon floor of the main cabin.
In moccasins and leggings, with
| hair long and TUNES belted close to
their lean waists, the white men
danced to the tunes of their own
land-the reels and hoedowns of old
Virginia and Kentucky.
The sounds of revelry were heard
by the Mandans, who came up to the
gate.
dance" they said. and knocked for
entrance.
Two women only were present
the wife of Jussaume. the squaw
man, and Sacajawea, the sirl we pa
Charbonneau. the Interpreter of the
Mandans. These two had many pres
ents.
The face of Sacajawea was wreathed
in smiles. Always her eyes folIoWed
the tall form of MeriNether Lewis
wherever he went Her own hus-
band was but her husband, and al.
ready she had elected Meriwether
Lewis as her deity. When her nus
band thrashed her, always he
| thrashed her husband.
In her simple child's soul she con-
secrated herself to the task. which
he had assigned her. Yes, when the
grass came she would take these
White men to her own people. If they
wanted to see the salt waters far 10
the west-her people had heard of
that-tfen they should go there also.
The bird woman was very happy that
Christmas day. The chlef had
| thrashed Charbonneau and had given
her wonderful presents.
All the men danced but one-th"
youth Shannon, who once more had
met misfortune. While hewing with
| the broadax at one of the canoes.
! he had had the misfortune to slash
| his foot. SO must lie in his bunk and
watch the others.
! Keep the men going. Will" said
Neriwether Lewis. I'll go to my
room and get forward some letters
which / want to write-to my mother
and to Mr.. Jefferson. At least. can
date them Christmas day, although
Providence alone knows when they
may be dispatched or received"
| He returned to his own quarters.
| where he had erected a little desk
at which he sometimes worked, and
sat down. For a moment he re-
manned in thought, as the sound of
| the dancing still came to him. glad
| to find his men so happy. At length
| he spread open the back of his little
| leather writing case, unscrewed his
| ink horn and set it safe, drew his
keen hunting knife and put point
upon a goose-quill pen. Then he put
away the many written pages which
still lay in the portfolio. the product
OF his daily labors.
| Searching for fair white paper. his
sealed
| folded letter, apparently long UNI
noticed here among the written and
unwritten sheets. In a fash he knew
| what it was. Once more the blood III
his veins seemed to stop short.
ITO Capt. Meriwether Lewis. III
charge of the volunteers for the dis
coyery of the weston the trail"
| He knew what hand had written
| the words. For one short instant he
had mad impulse to cast the letter
| into the fire. Then there came over
him once more the feeling which OPP
pressed him all his life--that he was
| a helpless instrument in the hands
of fate. He broke the seal. not no
ticing as he did so that it had a num-
Der scratched into the wax, and read
| the letter which ran thus:
ssh and Friend:
II know not where these presents
| may find you, or in what case. Once
more l keep my promise not to let
! you go. Once more you shall see my
face-see, it is looking up at you
| from the page. Tell me, do you see
me now before you?
Are other faces OF women in your
mind? Have they lost themselves as
women's faces so often-so Soon-are
lost from mans mind? Can you
see me, Meriwether Lewis. your child
hood friend?
DO you remember the time you
saved me from the cows in the lane
at your fathers farm. when 1 was
but child, on my first visit to far
off Virginia? You kissed me then. to
I dry my tears. You were a boy; |
J was child yet younger. Can you
forget that time-can you forget
what you said?
"T will always be there, Theo.
dosia,' you said, when you are in
you said it stoutly. and L believed
IT, as child.
,, "I believed you then-I believe you
now. l still have the same child's
faith in YOU. My mother died while
was young; my father has always
been so BUSY scarcely have been
4 girl. as you say you never were a
boy. You know my husband-he has
his own affairs. But you always
We're my friend in SO many ways,
TT is true that | am laying Il secret
on your heart--one which you must
observe all your life. My letter is
for you, and for no other eyes. But
now l come once more to you to hold
you to your promise.
"Meriwether Lewis, come back to
US, BY this time the trail surely is
slCng enoughi We are counting abSo-
lutely on your return. l heard Mr.
Merry tell my father-and l may tell
It to you--that on your recall rested
all hope of the success of our own
cause on the lower Mississippi-for
I've n do -
|. come back to us, as early as IcS can,
you condemn us to failure-myself--