The Moods of Meriwether

Over Christmas I was in Clarksville, IN visiting my brother. I borrowed a bike and rode a recreational trail from the Falls of Ohio to New Albany, along the Ohio River. I stopped to read some historical markers—about Lewis and Clark. I struggled to make the association and then it hit me: Clarksville. 

George Rodgers Clark was a Revolutionary War “hero” and initiated many of the Midwestern Indian removals. His brother William lived with him in Indiana along the Falls in 1803 when he was invited by Meriwether Lewis to join him as co-leader of the Corps of Discovery. Both brothers along with the slave York planned the route at least to the Missouri and St. Louis from the cabin originally at that point. In the fall of 1804 Lewis came down the Ohio and met Clark at the Falls of Ohio with several other men Clark had recruited for the journey. They continued on up the Ohio to the Mississippi to their winter camp in southern Illinois.

Anyway, that joggled my memory to re-read Of Courage Undaunted by Stephen Ambrose. The book focused mostly on Meriwether Lewis’ journals. You cannot help but to hold the man in admiration. Yes, he made mistakes, but when you think that they were basically heading into the unknown, they did okay. Above the Falls of the Missouri (around today's Fort Benton) the Marias River enters the Missouri. The exploration party had no idea if it was a tributary or the river. They were at a fork in the road—not knowing which to follow. There were encounters with native peoples that required a steady head. He had to lead the men through winter encampments that could have caused most men to go AWOL or stir crazy. The unknowns were numerous: friendly or enemy Indians, grizzly bears and other wild animals, guys with guns, guys with guns high on whiskey, problems with translations and communication (there were interpreters in the group, but some needed intermediary interpreters ie from 2 different Indian languages into French into English at one council meeting). All this without a map. They were the ones making the map.

I’ve done a good bit of travel by bicycle without a map—and it was a disaster. They did this every day.

The trip took 2 years. That entire time Meriwether had to be captain, co-captain. He was at the knife-edge of decision making—high-stake decisions about when to start over Lolo Pass in the Bitterroot Range. Too early and they’d be bogged down in snow and the horses would not find grass to eat. Too late and they’d be late getting back to St. Louis; they had to get word to President Jefferson about the West and possible trade routes. Lewis & Clark were in competition with trappers and voyageurs equaling wanting to claim routes and trade connections with the Indians for France and the British.

The team had to portage heavy boats and supplies for miles around falls and, when rivers didn’t work, had to trade for horses to get over the mountains, then trade again for boats. Every step along the way Meriwether either walked, rode, or paddled. He was heavily invested in the outcome and immediacy of the project. Then it was over.

Once back he had to give a report to Jefferson along with flora and fauna samples, he had to tidy up his journals for publication, he had to turn in receipts and oversee his men getting paid. He had to make sure the Indians he brought back with him made it to Washington (to see the “Great Father”) and then back to their native lands. After all this he was at loose ends.

He went bonkers. Without the tension of danger hanging over him to keep him wound up, he lost his mind. There are many assumptions one can make and Ambrose does. He speculates that addiction to alcohol probably was Meriwether’s downfall. Some also say depression played a part. I think it might be all that plus PTSD. How can one have their adrenaline at hyper-alert for 2 years come home and relax? There was no way for him to decompress, no talk therapy, no service animals. He was only 35, 3 years after finishing the expedition that he died of self-inflicted gunshots in Tennessee outside of Nashville, along the Natchez Trace. Accounts detail that he was raving, out of his mind.

That Meriwether was so much different than the one who walked along the Missouri River following the keelboat on its journey north toward what is now Bismarck, ND. The one who illustrated songbirds and studied flowers he’d never seen before. The level-headed captain who tried to make peace with the Blackfeet.

I think about this: the letdown after accomplishing something humongous, nearly impossible. How does one come down from surviving war/catastrophe/danger to live in the mundane world of 24-hour news cycles, strip malls, divisive politics? We want to flee—go back to the unknown.