Captain Lewis’s Dog
An Anytime story of Early America
by Michael Wenberg
Copyright 2011 Michael C. Wenberg
www.michaelwenberg.com
Captain Lewis’s Dog
An Anytime tale of Early America
by Michael Wenberg
I don't have time for this,” Captain Meriwether Lewis muttered to himself, as he came to a sudden halt in the middle of the muddy street.
It was still months before Lewis, his partner, Captain Clark, and their small band of explorers would begin a journey that would take them up the Missouri River, across the mountains, all the way to the Pacific Ocean and back again.
But they wouldn't be going anywhere next spring if Lewis couldn't convince that lazy, good-for-nothing boat builder to finish his keelboat.
And before he could do that, he had to get to the boatyard. A crowd up ahead was blocking his way.
“Not just dog,” came a loud boast from the center of the crowd, “but part dog and part bear. Meaner'n a mountain lion. Stronger'n a bull. This critter ain’t never lost a fight. Never!”
As Lewis listened to the words, a rare smile crossed his face. For two years, he had been planning for everything the expedition might need, from flour and salt, to buttons and sewing needles. A dog was something he hadn't even considered.
Until now.
Curious, Lewis moved closer. But as soon as he glimpsed the dog his smile was replaced by an angry scowl.
It was a huge animal all right, the size of a small bear and just as black. But it was in sorry shape, so weary and beaten down its nose and tail nearly touched the dirt. Its thick fur was ragged, and Lewis could see red welts across its back where it had been slashed and cut in dogfights, or worse, from beatings by its owner.
“Newfoundland,” Lewis roared suddenly.
“What did you say?” said a man in a dirty red vest, who was holding a thick rope that was attached to the dog's rough leather collar.
“Newfoundland,” Lewis repeated in a hard voice. “A wonderful breed of dog. But that is all. Just dog. If anything is part bear, I daresay it is you, my filthy, hairy, mistaken, friend. . .”
At Lewis's words, the crowd began to laugh and jeer. The man reached up to scratch the dirty beard that covered most of his face. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped, looked the tall, lean, buckskin clad man in front of him up and down, and then began to sputter, “Why you. . .you. . .”
“Captain Meriwether Lewis, at your service.”
“The scoundrel’s trying to cheat us,” came a growl at Lewis's shoulder, “I say he's. . .”
“. . . leaving Pittsburgh,” Lewis interrupted smoothly. “But before he goes, he's going to sell me that dog. How much do you want?”
“I don't know. . .” said the man slowly, licking his lips and glancing rat-like at the faces surrounding him. “I love this, er, dog, like it was part'a me own family. . .”
“How much?” There was a hint of steel in Lewis's voice.
“Fifty dollars gold,” mumbled the man.
There were gasps from the crowd. Fifty dollars was a lot of money, as much as someone might earn after months and months of hard work. No dog was worth that much.
“Here's twenty,” Lewis said, stuffing the coin into the man's vest pocket and then taking the end of the rope from him without bothering to ask. “And if I were you,” Lewis whispered in the man's ear, “I'd take off before this bunch decides to teach you a lesson.”
Lewis didn't wait around to see what would happen next. “Come on, boy,” he said, tugging the rope gently. “Let's get you back to camp.”
At the sound of Lewis's voice, the Newfoundland lifted his head and looked up at his new owner with calm, proud eyes.
So you aren't at death's door after all? Lewis thought to himself. Good.
He reached down and scratched the Newfoundland behind the ear. To his surprise, the dog began to wag his tail. That was enough to bring the smile back to Lewis's face.
For the first few days, Lewis paid close attention to the dog. In between errands, buying supplies, writing letters, and hounding the man building the keelboat, he kept the dog's wounds coated with a clean salve, and his food dish filled with a meaty stew.
His attention was soon rewarded. Within the week, the Newfoundland looked like a completely different dog. He’d gained weight, his wounds were healing nicely, and his coat was beginning to shine like black velvet.
That's when Lewis began taking him along on his errands around town. It was clear from the first that someone had once trained the dog well. He responded instantly to Lewis's commands - sit, stay, down, heel - and was so obedient that Lewis never had to tie him up.
The only thing missing was a name.
That was solved during Lewis's final inspection of the keelboat. He watched the big, black Newfoundland scamper aboard the boat like an experienced sailor. He climbed all the way to the highest point, and then stood, nose in the air, calmly surveying his surroundings.
“That there's a natural seaman, if I've ever seen one,” remarked one of the boat builders.
“That's it!” Lewis exclaimed. “My dog needed a name. And you've just found the perfect one for him. My thanks, sir. Come here, boy, come here Seaman.”
The Newfoundland's brown eyes snapped to the sound of Lewis's voice. He jumped off the roof of the boat, leaped over the side, and a moment later, slid to a stop at by Lewis's side, panting happily.
“Good dog, Seaman,” Lewis said, roughing the dog's thick coat. “How do you like your new name?”
Seaman began to wiggle and bark loudly.
“I'd take that for a yep,” the worker said with a laugh.
The rest of the summer of 1803 continued at a busy pace for Lewis and Seaman. They had become an inseparable pair, a common sight around the dusty streets and alleyways of Pittsburgh.
When the keelboat was finally loaded with supplies, Lewis, Seaman, and a hired crew, floated it down the Ohio River to the Mississippi, and then rowed it up the Mississippi to where the Missouri joined in. That's where they met Captain Clark and the rest of their growing band of explorers. Their expedition to explore the west would start here the following spring.
It was soon fall, and then winter, but Lewis barely noticed the changing seasons. There were always more supplies, equipment and trading goods to buy, a hundred things to do to every day to keep him busy.
When the days finally began to warm and lengthen, Lewis’s growing excitement was contagious. Sometimes, during walks along the river with Lewis, Seaman could barely contain himself, racing after birds and scaring squirrels and other animals out of the bright green grass.
Finally, in the early morning of May 22nd, 1804, with a band of pink mist thick over the mirror-like surface of the Missouri, and the cool air filled with the cries of ten thousand birds, the expedition's journey began.
One well-loaded keelboat, and two large canoes pushed off from shore. Altogether, the party consisted of 46 men, and four horses, and, of course, Captain Lewis's dog, the big, black Newfoundland named Seaman.
After a few days, the explorers fell into a routine that was to last for most of their journey. Under the command of Captain Clark, some of the men poled, paddled, and rowed the boats upstream. Three or four of the best hunters ranged ahead of the boats, hunting for game. Lewis and Seaman usually went off alone, roaming the riverbanks and far inland.
Lewis was the only member of the expedition with scientific training. But often, while he was off with Seaman, making careful observations of the plants, animals and birds, he would take time to hunt. He was delighted when Seaman turned out to be an excellent hunting partner.
Of course, he had learned during the trip down the Ohio about Seaman's ability to capture squirrels. Roasted over an open fire, Lewis didn't think there was anything tastier than a cooked squirrel. He now discovered that the big Newfoundland could help bring down antelope and deer, as well. Between the regular hunting party, and Lewis and Seaman, the explorers were kept well stocked with meat.
Before long, the expedition was far beyond the last outpost, pushing deep into a land unmarked by roads or buildings, filled with birds and animals and lush with trees and grass. Weeks went by without the party seeing anyone else. If it weren't for the clouds of mosquitoes that tormented everyone, including Seaman, it would have been a paradise.
In early August, they met their first Native Americans. Some Otos and a few Missouris walked into the camp just as the sun dipped below the horizon. They brought with them a welcome gift, something the members of the expedition had never seen or tasted before: watermelons.
Lewis and Clark thanked their visitors for
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