by Diane Smith
In any event, after viewing the collection, Dr. Gleick has pledged to write to the director of the Smithsonian on our behalf, discrediting Dr. Aber if necessary, to help secure support for the duration of the expedition. Professor Merriam seems confident that Dr. Gleick has the necessary influence in Washington to positively affect the outcome of our stay, so is making no plans for our work here to be concluded. In fact, the Professor is so convinced that Dr. Aber will no longer pose a problem for us, that he is making plans to move our camp to higher ground.
As Professor Merriam declared his independence from Dr. Aber, so, too, has Dr. Rutherford severed his relationship or at least allegiance to President Healey. Although this is yet another one of those human stories about which I have not yet been fully informed, it appears that Dr. Rutherford has, contrary to his overall appearance and contributions here, been extremely anxious to return to the comforts of home. He had hoped to accompany President Healey back to campus after the 4th of July celebrations and was, in fact, packed and ready to go.
President Healey, who has been a long and outspoken critic of Professor Merriam and his work, welcomed Dr. Rutherford into his returning party, in spite of Dr. Rutherford’s lugubrious condition brought on by his own independent form of celebration. But the president was decidedly not as generous when it came to offering a ride to Dr. Rutherford’s bird. Said bird, a Corvus corax with an uncanny talent for mimicry, has become like a pet to Dr. Rutherford. He calls him Edgar. And, in spite of his eagerness to return home, Dr. Rutherford will not leave the bird behind.
So this morning when President Healey refused to let the bird be boarded into his wagon, Dr. Rutherford unloaded his own things and morosely returned to camp, climbed into the tent he shares with Professor Merriam, and refused all of our entreaties to come out again. It is probably just as well. Dr. Rutherford had a serious run-in with some potentially deadly alcohol, and will no doubt benefit from some undisturbed rest and relaxation.
I am also happy to report that Captain Craighead has declared his own independence on behalf of the Nation and our National Park. He has steadfastly refused to entertain any additional railroad leases, in effect ending the history of monopolization of the public trust for the profits of a few. Captain Craighead has complex reasoning for his denial, claiming that he was charged to protect the land, and that any additional incursions by the railroad, with their plans to dam the river and make right-of-ways for the railroad to haul both tourists and gold from a mine near the northern border of the Park, will compromise if not outright condemn the natural features of the Park for generations yet to come.
I, for one, am relieved. The sheer ruggedness of Park roadways keeps travel to a minimum, and forces those of us with a sincere desire to partake of the Park’s beauties and wonders to leave the wagons behind and travel on our own volition. It is only on foot that you can see, hear, smell, and touch the wonders that are all around us here. Otherwise, you miss too much. In fact, I would argue that you miss it all.
Because wagon travel in the Park can be so arduous, such mode of transport has the additional benefit of creating communities of travellers in the Park. Although I value my independence and solitude as much if not more so than the average American, it is a wondrous experience to bound along the rutted wagon roads side-by-side with American families, European adventurers, and dedicated outdoorsmen alike. Such shared adventures are as much a part of the Park experience as is visiting Old Faithful, both of which, I believe, are equally worthy of protection. I must say, I am deeply impressed by Captain Craighead’s courage as well as his independent spirit as he has made a commitment to preserving these experiences for us all.
It is with mixed emotions that I report that I, too, have declared my own independence. Lester has insisted that I accompany him back to New York, citing the threatened withdrawal of support for our work here and the uncivilized conditions in which I am living and working. He gave me no choice, no options. I must return with him or he will no longer entertain my affections.
That seems such an unreasonable price to have to pay to continue my work here, and I have told him so, but to no avail. I owe so much of who I am to Lester, who was good enough to believe in me and my naturalizing when I was a student with little knowledge and experience. But he cannot now deny me the logical outcome of that encouragement and support.
Miss Zwinger told me I cannot be a student forever, but there is still so much in the world I need to learn about and to study. I would gladly dedicate my life to observation, in effect be a student for life, since there is no way I could possibly learn all there is to know in the very limited time each of us has here on earth.
At times like this, I cannot help but remember Meriwether Lewis who, on his thirtieth birthday, regretted how little he had accomplished at what he considered such a ripe old age. He who had accomplished so much in such a short, sweet lifetime. I can only hope that I might learn and accomplish a mere fraction of what he did, assuming I have the luck and good fortune to be on earth a much longer period of time.
But to accomplish that I need my freedom—to explore, to observe, to experience the natural world, a world rich with possibilities if only we open our eyes to it. And an opportunity to develop into the scientist I know I can become. I certainly cannot limit myself to one man’s vision of how and when I should see the world. I may not know which road I will follow in the months ahead, but I know for certain I am not willing to retreat along a path I know so well. At least not yet. Perhaps Miss Zwinger’s advice would have been more relevant had she said I cannot be Lester’s student forever.
Lester is preparing to depart as I write. He is so angry at me that I am not at all certain that he will even bother to say goodbye. This all seems a very high price for the opportunity to continue working, but it is one which I feel it is necessary to pay. I should have expected it. Lester’s world is so black and white, and I am just now beginning to see that the world is, in fact, colored with many shades of grey.
I hope you and your family are looking forward to each new day there, as I look forward with increasing enthusiasm to mine.
Your ever determined friend,
Alex
Howard Merriam
c/o Lake Hotel
Yellowstone National Park
July 6, 1898
Dear Mother,
With the Independence Day celebration behind us, and our party rested and ready to go, we are now awaiting news of Philip Aber and whether or not he will continue to support the completion of our work. The delay is maddening, but there is little I can do but wait. Sadly, I am at the mercy of those who do not understand or appreciate the work that I am doing. I fear this will always be my lot.
Bill Gleick, however, has been very supportive and, having once encouraged me to return home, is now counseling me to complete my stay. He has written to Washington on my behalf, and has suggested to me in private that he has the necessary influence with the director to guarantee continued support. I can only hope that this is true.
My plan is to break camp and proceed across the Park’s central plateau. Because we will be following an abandoned road rarely used anymore by tourists and other travellers, Joseph has agreed to accompany our party into the field. I welcome his continued participation as there is still so much I would like to learn about his botanical knowledge, and Bill Gleick assures me that Philip Aber will no longer pose a problem for me in that regard. I hate to think the continuing success of our expedition is dependent on Philip Aber’s professional downfall but I will leave that to Bill. If Gleick feels he must discredit Aber to save our work here, so be it. The pursuit of truth has always been more important than the career and reputation of one individual. And in this case in particular, the man has done little, as far as I can tell, to pursue the truth himself.
In the meantime, I have just learned that the wagon in which President Healey was riding was the subject of a well-planned holdup as it left the hotel. It seems only fitting that we wait at
least a day or two, out of respect for the man’s position if not the man himself, should he be in need of assistance or consolation.
It is ironic indeed that it would be President Healey’s wagon, the last in a train of at least a dozen departing the hotel this morning, that would be stopped by the thieves, given his fondness for tall tales about highwaymen. Apparently, the bandits in question waited at a bend in the road and greeted each wagon as it passed, waving and shouting “come again” as if they were official Park representatives. When the very last wagon entered the clearing, the three men placed bags over their heads and descended upon the travellers, shouting and waving pistols in the air, as they pulled the lone wagon to the side of the road. If the passengers in the wagons ahead heard anything at all, they must have assumed it was all part of the official greeting and gave it little or no additional thought.
The thieves mistakenly picked a wagon of academics and friends, including Miss Bartram’s friend and associate from Cornell. Had they selected one with eastern bankers and railwaymen, their pickings might have improved. As it worked out, their rewards were meagre to say the least, resulting in only about twenty dollars and a handful of watches. But the highwaymen still managed to get the best of their victims by insisting that the men remove their trousers and hats, which were dutifully gathered up and removed by one of the marauders who thanked them kindly before riding away.
One by one, President Healey’s party staggered back to the hotel, as well exposed as they were embarrassed. Since Captain Craighead is off with a search party looking for Philip Aber, and no one seems inclined to take any official action until he returns, there is little hope that the bandits will be apprehended. I suppose these are the perils associated with travelling so far from campus, a lecture I am certain to hear from President Healey, if not today then once I return back home.
I tried to relay the story of the president’s misfortunes to Rutherford, thinking it might amuse him or at least console him to know what he missed, but Rutherford has yet to speak to me or anyone else. Even his raven gobbles away for treats to no avail. This is the darkest mood I have ever seen in Rutherford. He can be exceedingly contrary about the world, but always outspokenly so. His mood is so black, he has even declined an offered glass of brandy.
Miss Bartram has suggested an afternoon of sightseeing as one possible way to cheer up Rutherford. Apparently he once mentioned a desire to visit the Old Faithful geyser. That seems very unlike Rutherford, who has only spoken of contempt for the Park’s thermal properties (except for those in which he can bathe), but I would be willing to try even this if it would lure him out of the tent and back into our party again.
Miss Bartram has also returned to camp, anxious to make up for what she calls lost time. It appears I am forever misreading her intentions and desires. I assumed she would welcome the opportunity to partake of the weekend festivities at the hotel, but to hear her talk now one would assume she considered the weekend as a frivolous waste of her time. Although I have grown to appreciate Miss Bartram and her contributions to our party here, I do not think I will ever learn to understand her.
Peacock has already returned to the field, promising to establish a base camp at a lake he knows of not far from the summit of the road we will be travelling. Assuming we get the approval from Aber or his superiors, we will join Peacock there in a day or two. That is assuming, too, that I can get Rutherford up and ready to go.
I must tell you the foreign count who is in residence in the hotel has spent the weekend in his own form of celebration, roaming the Park in pursuit of wolves, coyotes, and cougars, one of which he dragged into camp by its neck from behind his horse. His pursuit of science, which science he insists it is, borders on outright cruelty. There can be no scientific reason for killing so many of the same animals over and over again.
Captain Craighead has reluctantly allowed removal of the beasts, given the alarming decline of big game animals in the Park. Craighead is the first to acknowledge that elk, bison, and the rest have disappeared from the Park not because of wolves or coyotes—but because of poachers who once roamed the Park. But as the Senator, who was no doubt well rewarded for his eloquence, argued, the law protecting wildlife does not protect animals of “fang or claw,” so the count’s guns were returned to him over the weekend and he is now free to kill any of these animals that he can find. I fear such slaughter can only bring harm to the Park in the long run. Wait until the gophers start taking over the fields outside of Fort Yellowstone. Then even the Senator might feel some regret.
In the meantime, someone with a cruel sense of humor has taken his own revenge on the count and his idea of science. As the hotel guests were preparing for their return home, the count drove up with his wagons to provide them with one last look at the heaps of carcasses contained therein. Just as he peeled back the canvas covering, a large cannon firecracker blew up next to the wagon, knocking the count clear off his royal feet. I must admit I was much amused. Even his staff could hardly hold back a smile as they hurriedly ran here and there, trying to right the situation—and the count—before something else exploded. I can only hope that if we keep the hotel as the center of our communication with the outside world, we will not have to continue any association with the likes of that count.
As I begin to bring this letter to a close, I realize I have not asked after you or your situation. It is not, you must believe me, for lack of caring. I have such a large party under my protection here, and they consume so much of my time and all of my worry. These are new responsibilities for me, ones which I do not much enjoy and with which I am just now learning to cope. But please believe me when I say that even though my time is so consumed, I think of you often while I am here. And I do so hope that you are well.
Captain Craighead has promised us horses for our time away from the hotel. Since the students will no doubt be anxious for any excuse to return to civilization, even if it is just to transport the mail, plan on hearing from me from our backcountry camp, even if it is not as regularly as you and I both might wish.
All my love,
Howard
William Gleick, Ph.D.
Lake Hotel
Yellowstone National Park
July 7, 1898
Dr. Roger Johnson
Smithsonian Institution
Washington
District of Columbia
Dear Sir,
It is with great sadness that I write to inform you that after disappearing on the afternoon of July 4, Philip Aber was found late yesterday, having fallen into one of the Park’s unmarked thermal pools in the upper geyser basin. He was badly burned over most of his body and although the Park’s medical staff at the hotel fought valiantly to save his life, there was little they could do as much of the flesh on his lower body was already beginning to fall away from the bone. He died this morning, at 8:23, in the arms of his beloved wife. I have made arrangements for Mrs. Aber to return to Washington with his remains. I will accompany her there, as she is in no fit condition to travel on her own.
I have, as you requested, visited the camp of Howard Merriam. As you must be aware, he and his companions are colleagues of mine and so my opinion of their work is subject to our collegial relationship. However, in this case, such friendship has proven to be an encumbrance since I have had little by which to judge Merriam’s work but his ineffectual presence on campus.
I must report I was extremely impressed with what I found in Merriam’s possession, and recommend without reservation the continuation of their funding for the duration of their stay. With limited personnel and resources, they have systematically collected and documented the flora of large geographic areas, using techniques which are most impressive and which bring credit to themselves and to the Smithsonian. In addition, an entomologist travelling with the party has collected a spectacular sampling of winged insects which, I believe, will be of great research interest to the Smithsonian. I know that public displays are of little interest to you, but I a
m confident that these Yellowstone insects will fascinate scientists, the general public, and anyone else who has the good fortune to view them.
Knowing of your interest in this particular field of study, I have asked for—and been granted—the opportunity to take the bulk of the entomological collection with me when I return to Washington in the morning. The botanical collection designated for the Smithsonian will follow at a later date, most likely when the party returns to Bozeman at the end of the summer and they have had an opportunity to sort through and document the multiple specimens.
Again, I offer my condolences on the death of Philip Aber. He was, I understand, a productive member of the Smithsonian’s scientific community. Sadly, he was under what appears to be debilitating personal pressure, which he was unable to balance with his professional duty and responsibilities to the work he had commissioned here in the Park. I can only hope that his personal weaknesses and his untimely death do not bring this worthy project to an equally untimely end.
Yours most sincerely,
William Gleick
A. E. Bartram
c/o Lake Hotel
Yellowstone National Park
July 10, 1898
My dear parents,
I am writing to inform you that we are departing for the backcountry tomorrow, and to assure you that there is absolutely no reason for concern. We will at no time be more than a day away from services, and will be proceeding along a well-established, albeit rarely travelled, road should we ever need to return.
We are leaving our Yellowstone Lake camp with heavy hearts, having lost the life of our Smithsonian benefactor. Philip Aber was a fine scientist and believed in our work enough to not only support us for the summer, but even to travel to the Park to participate in a small but meaningful way in our success. Sadly, by insisting on travelling to the Park, he apparently lost his wife, and then his life. It seems an excessive price to pay for science, and has made me even more appreciative of each living, breathing day.