Later, Meriwether went to sleep, wrestling with thoughts in his mind. Was he truly the one destined to defend the unexplored wilderness from this menace? He’d already had two encounters with the dragon thing, and each time the dark creature had touched his mind and mocked him. Surely, it was issuing a challenge—to him. And surely Meriwether had to respond with all the courage at his command.
He feared the dangers he might face, but he was more concerned that he might not prove equal to the challenge. In the dark of night far beyond civilization, it seemed to him that the land at risk was very large, and the forces arrayed against it were great. And he himself was very small indeed.
My Dearest Julia,
This land we traverse is beautiful and untouched. Paradise must have been like this before Adam and Eve ever tasted of the apple. Animals are plentiful, and the soil fertile. If we are being eaten alive by mosquitoes and gnats, it is only a proof of how all creatures thrive upon this wilderness!
Captain Lewis is growing worried that we’ve found no Natives since our encounter with four Kickapoos shortly after the onset of our journey.
I hesitate to tell this, for fear you might worry, yet I did promise you a faithful account of all that happened to me, and it is not fair to keep you in ignorance of something so significant.
Our Kickapoo visitors said there was some great magical force alive in the land, and it was gathering strength in an attempt to expel white colonists from this continent, although after the Sundering, where would we go? It seems this force, which thrives on the new magic present in America, must mean to kill us all. The native chief also told of tribes enslaved and even of the dead resurrected as servants to this dread power.
Neither Captain Lewis nor I are men to engage in magic, but we cannot turn our backs when such dire misdeeds are being committed. Even if we can’t combat this terrible force, we mean to investigate it, which is the charge of our expedition in the name of the wizard Franklin. What this means for our survival, I cannot say, but you know I will exert every endeavor to return to you alive and hale.
Yours faithfully,
William Clark
—Letter from William Clark to Julia Hancock,
June 28, 1804
Wild Spirits
There was a sickness abroad in the land, and the dead would not remain dead. Rather, they were turned into revenants who then attacked and ravaged by the command of the evil creature that had arisen in the world.
—Sacagawea’s dictated diaries, Archive of the University of Virginia, Department of Arcane Studies
Meriwether woke up with Seaman barking. In the mild weather they’d bedded down without bothering to erect tents, but rather lay on blankets on the ground. Before he came fully awake, he grumbled at the dog to stop barking, but then a human noise joined the wild yelps, a disjointed screaming.
Clutching his blanket and leaping to his feet, Meriwether faced someone running into camp. The man was disheveled and howling in pain or terror. Men swiftly surrounded him, and Meriwether recognized the tall, lanky form of Floyd, one of the members of the expedition. He lurched forward. “Floyd, for the love of heaven, what’s wrong?” He had obviously suffered a great shock.
As Meriwether approached, someone had managed to press a flask to Floyd’s lips, but the terrified man pushed the flask away, seeing him. “Sir! Captain Lewis!”
“I am here. Tell me what happened.”
“Sir—Hugh Hall, John Collins, and Alexander Willard. They’re dead!”
“What happened? Tell me your story, man!”
Floyd took a deep shuddering breath, eyes fixed on Meriwether but seemingly seeing a panorama of horror. “I heard noises in the night. Hugh was supposed to be guarding the provisions, as you know, and—” He shook his head. “I got up stealthily and found Collins and Willard working with Hall. Together they were taking one of the whiskey barrels away from the rest of us.” Floyd pointed. “They were dragging it over there, far from camp.” They had camped in a rocky promontory, which overlooked the surrounding region and the river. The outcrop and a growth of sparse trees would have hidden them from the main campsite.
Clark strode up, drawn by the commotion. By now only a few faint red lines streaked the eastern sky, the barest hint of dawn. He scowled. “So you followed them?”
“Very carefully.” Floyd was trembling. “I thought if I’d challenged them right then, they would turn on me.” He made a face. “I didn’t want to rouse the whole camp, for I…well, they are still my mates, sir. I thought they’d have an excuse, some story, and eventually they’d find an reason to do me a mischief.”
Meriwether contained his anger. Faced with hazards and strangeness, and without the strict discipline of a military force, the expedition had experienced squabbles, and resentments would be held forever. Most of these men were woodsmen, used to silence and their own company, exploring the wilderness according to their own whims. Keeping forty of them assembled with the same goal required all the diplomatic abilities that he and Clark possessed.
“Once I was sure they really meant to steal the whiskey, I couldn’t simply confront them. They were three men against me, and they’d have killed me! Instead, I left them to their stolen drink and meant to come back and rouse you, sirs.” He still looked utterly terrified.
“But you said they’re dead,” Meriwether said.
The young man nodded, and tears sprang to his eyes. “Just as I turned away, a group of native warriors rushed out of hiding, savages! Many of them—”
“What tribe?” Clark asked. They had seen no natives since the four Kickapoo who had visited the camp a month ago at the outset of the expedition.
“I don’t know. Sir…Captain…” His frantic eyes looked from Meriwether to Clark. “The warriors were dead.”
“But you said they killed—”
“Sir, they were dead as they emerged from their hiding place. They smelled foul, like a corpse that has bloated in the heat for days. One of them had a big hole in his chest, as though he’d been burned clean through, while another’s head lolled on his shoulders, his eyes blank—”
“Are you sure you didn’t have any of that whiskey yourself, Floyd?”
“I know what I saw! These dead bodies were animated, walking around…attacking. They carried stone axes and spears, and they fell upon Hall, Willard, and Collins. Those men had moved the whiskey barrel to their hiding place, but they didn’t think about arming themselves. They brought no rifles. They tried to defend themselves against the dead warriors. Hall did pick up a log and try to keep the things at bay.”
“And did you try to save them, Floyd?” Clark asked. “Why didn’t you yell for help?”
“I wasn’t close enough, sir! When I smelled that gagging stench, I backed off—and that was just my good fortune the creatures didn’t see me or hear me as I crawled away. And when I got to the top of that outcrop—” He pointed again toward the dark silhouette in the increasing dawn light. “I stopped and looked back. Those savage revenants had killed all three of the men, but they hadn’t touched the whiskey barrel. Didn’t care about it, I don’t suppose. Worse, I also saw other native revenants all around. And they’re headed this way! That’s when I ran, but before I got very far, I felt the blast…nearly knocked me down! Like when a charge of explosives is set off and the warm air and sound carry before it, and when it hit me, it felt like something within me was twisted. But I picked myself up and ran here, yelling. I’m sure those dead things are coming to attack us.”
Another man on the perimeter of the camp let out a loud yell. “We’re under attack! Indians!”