Evening star., 1924-02-26

d
hand into the bosom of his tunic--
Captain, for heavens sake, don't do
that! Don't apologize to me. un-
derstand. Leave me alone. Here's
the letter. There were six-this is
the last
Lewis strained muscles relaxed, his
blazing eyes softened
shannon" he whispered once more.
What have / done?'
He took the letter in his hand, but
did not look at It. although his fin
gers could feel the seal unbroken.
Why do you give 1t to me now.
noy? he asked at length. What
dered me--that is. she asked me-to
give you these letters at times when
you were sick Or in trouble, when
anything had gone wrong We
couldn't figure so far on ahead when
to do my best. I didn't know at
first. but now I see that you're sick
You're not yourself-you're in trouble.
She told me not to let you know who
sequently. she said that that might
end II all. She thought you might
come back"
Come back-when?"
"She didn't know-we couldn't any
of us tell--it was all guess. All this
about the letters was left to me. to
do my best. I couldn't ask you, cap
tain, or any one. l don't know what
was in the letters sir, and don't
ask you. for that's not my business;
but I promised her"
What did she promise Iyou?"
Nothing. She didn't promise me
pay, because she knew I wouldn't
have done it for pay. She only
looked at me, and she seemed sad.
l don't know why. / couldn't help
but promise her. ! gave her my word
Of honor, because she said her letters
one else must know that she had
written them"
when was all this?"
"At st. Louis, just before we start
ed. I reckon she picked me out be
cause she thought I was especially
close to you. You know I have been
So"
"Yes, I know. shannon"
Il thought I was doing something
for you. You see, she told me that
no one must know about this. because
1t would hurt woman's reputation.
She thought the men might talk. and
that would be bad for you. I could
not refuse her. Do you blame me
now?''
mo. shannon. No! In all this there
IS but one to blame. and that is your
officer, myself"
Il did not think there was any harm
in my getting the letters to you, cap
tain. l knew that lady was your
friend. know who she is She was
more beautiful than any woman in
st. Louis when we were there-more
lady, somehow. OF course, I'm not
an oficer or gentleman-Im only a
boy from the backwoods. and only a
promise to her, and I couldn't very
we'll obey your orders unless I did
If I've broken any of the regulations
you can punish me. You see. held
back this letter. gave 1t to you now
because had the feeling that ought
to-that she would want me to. 1t is
the fever. SIR
aye, the fever!
Silence fell as they stood there in
the night; The boy went on. half
tremblingly:
Please. please. Capt. Lewis. don't
am. I was trying 10 do something
for you-for both of you. 1t was al
ways on my mind about these letters.
l did my best and now
And now 1t was the eye of Meri-
wether Lewis that suddenly was wet;
1t was his voice that trembled.
Boy" said he, Il am your officer.
have tried myself. was guilty win
you forget this?"
Not word to a soul in the world.
captain" broke out Shannon. About
a woman, you see. we do not talk"
mo, Mr.. Shannon. about woman
we gentlemen do not talk. But now
tell me, boy, what can I do for YOU
what can 1 ever do for you?"
Nothing in the world, captain-but
just one thing"
What is it?'
please, sir, tell me that you don't
think me a coward!'
"A coward? No.. Shannon, you are
the bravest fellow / ever metz
The hand on the boys shoulder
was kindly now. The right hand of |
Capt. Meriwether Lewis sought that
of the trail. of the wilder |
ness-the madness of absence and of |
swept by, SO that Lewis |
once more was officer, gentleman, just |
and generous man. |
Shannon stopped and picked UP the
coat that his captain had cast from
him. He held 1t up, and aided his |
commander again to don it. Then, |
he marched off to his biv- |
ouac bed. !
From that day to the end of his life |
no one ever heard George Shannon |
word of this episode. Be- |
yond the two leaders of the party,
none of the expedition ever knew |
hG snoas had Eor did 9t aa
which eventually carried George
Shannon through his schooling in the |
east, through his studies for the bar |
and into the successful practice which !
he later built up in kentucky's larg-
est city.
Meriwether Lewis, limp and lax
now, shivering In the chill under the |
reaction of his excitement, turned |
and contrived little light. after the
frontier fashion, rag wick in a |
shallow vessel Of grease. With this |
aid he bent down closer to |
read the finely written lines, which |
ran:
My Friend:
This is my last letter to you. This |
is the one have marked Number Six |
the last one for my messenger.
Yes, since you have not returned,
now / know you never can. Rest we'll, |
then, sir, and let me be strong to bear
1t ever shall come. Let the winds |
and the waters sound your requiem |
in that wilderness which you love !
more than me--which you loved more |
than fame or fortune. honor or glory |
fef holds yours And for st last
I come to lay me down, I hope. too.
some wilderness OF wood or waters |
will be around me with its vast ST. |
lences.
after ati, Wndt is IKE! Sucn Dr1ef
thing! Little in 1t but duty done well |
and faithfully. I know you did yours |
while you lived. I have tried to do /
mine. 1t has been hard for me to see |
what was duty. If knewv as abso- |
iute truth that conviction now in my /
you never can come back /
how then could / go on?
"Meriwether - Merne- Merne - |
have been calling to you! Have you |
not heard me? Can you not hear me |
now, calling to you across all the dis |
tances to come back to me? cannot |
give you up to the world, because I |
have loved you so much for myself. 1t |
was q cruel fate that parted us-mnre