By
Michael A. Clark
Our squadron had intercepted the Americans while they were fording the river bordering the Mandan lands to the west. Colonial Intelligence had reported their leaving St. Louis five weeks’ ago, and we’d ridden hard north from San Antonio to catch them. A trooper was flogged on the Colonel’s orders for being late to saddle one morning, and we’d pushed our mounts to their sore-footed limits. Our mission was of high importance to the Crown.
But these explorers seemed more pilgrims then invaders in this fresh, wild land.
“Colonel, we’ve secured the trespassing party.” I pointed toward the group of men milling around a big cottonwood tree alongside the bank of the river, wiping some sweat from my brow. “They offered no resistance when we came upon them.”
“How are they equipped?” The Colonel had served decades in Peru and the Philippines. His nose jutted from his wind-whipped face like the prow of a frigate.
“They’re carrying the finest rifles that I’ve seen, Sir,” replied Cpl. Alomar at my side. “Exquisite workmanship. I would say they’re accurate to over 250 yards and…”
“What else of value do these intruders carry?”
“Ample supplies for a long journey, Colonel,” I said. “Each man is provisioned for at least a nine-month trek, and the party is equipped with a variety of scientific instruments. They’re obviously military men, but the officers in command seem more bent on exploration then…”
“You have questioned their officers, Lt. Moreno?”
“Briefly, Sir,” I replied. “Cpl. Alomar translated, as my English is poor.” A horsefly buzzed over my head, then flew towards where our mounts were tethered.
“Do they admit they are illegally transiting Spanish territory?”
“Not exactly, Sir.” I glanced at Alomar. “Their Captain Lewis claims that they are on a mission of discovery over lands recently sold to the United States by France. They offered this as legal validation.” I nodded, and Alomar produced a sheet of fine parchment from a small leather satchel embroidered with the initials “U. S.”
The Colonel stood gazing across the landscape gently rolling under the cloudless sky. One hand rested on his sword hilt. A grouse called from the grass softly tousling in the gentle breeze.
“What does this document say, Corporal?”
Cpl. Alomar was from Vera Cruz and had studied for the priesthood before his lackadaisical approach to church doctrine led him to the army. He was educated and curious… but tended to talk too much for an enlisted man’s good.
“Sir. The document claims authorization from President Thomas Jefferson of the United States for this party to transverse the newly acquired purchase of the Louisiana Territory. They are instructed to deal peacefully with the Native Peoples they encounter, catalog specimens of plant and wildlife, and map the terrain from the Missouri River…” Alomar cleared his throat. “…to The Pacific Ocean, and return to submit their report on their findings to the President’s office in Washington, D.C.”
The Colonel frowned. “So, this piece of paper gives them the right to invade Spanish possessions, incite rebellion amongst the Natives, and steal property from The Crown?”
“Well, sir… it does have the Seal of the President of the United States on it, dated the year of our Lord 1805 and…”
“Colonel,” I jumped in. “It could be possible the Americans are on a scientific and diplomatic mission. As I said, they offered no resistance when we captured them. In fact, they warmly greeted us on our approach. And it could be possible that they mistakenly violated Spanish territory, rather than…”
“It could be possible that pigs fly,” said the Colonel. He continued staring across the open plains. “My orders are to intercept any foreign expedition illegally encroaching upon Spanish possessions. I would not have been issued these orders if we were pursuing bird collectors and landscape painters.”
“Yes, sir.” I studied the dry ground at my feet.
The Americans had shared the workings of their scientific tools, as well as their travel plans. These explorers were a sturdy lot, well-fed and fit. We mustered only a few more men than their party. If the Americans put up a fight, it might not go our way. Alomar was right about their fine rifles.
“What are your orders, sir?” I asked the Colonel. If he ordered us to fire upon the Americans… There were many reasons why I’d volunteered to serve in the New World. But that kind of duty wasn’t high on my list.
Alomar stood beside me, nervously fingering a compass that one of the Americans had lent him. It was a fine tool, robust with the heft of practicality.
“I just stated my orders, Lieutenant,” said the Colonel, as he shifted his gaze to where some of our soldiers were mingling with the American party.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“What do you see, gentlemen, when you look west?” He lifted his hand off his sword hint and pointed toward the horizon.
“A grassland desert…,” said Alomar. “Sir?”
“Lieutenant Moreno?”
“Um… like Cpl. Alomar said, sir. A wasteland. Fit only for buffalo and antelope.” In the year and a half that I’d served under him, the Colonel had never asked my opinion on any matter.
“It all belongs to Spain… or at least it did until the Crown sold this immense land to that Corsican dwarf.” The Colonel sighed, a sound I’d never heard escape from his lips. “And what have we done with it?”
“Sir?” Alomar and I looked at each other.
“Nothing. 300 years of a patrol here, a trading post there. No gold, no jewels, no wealth to ship back to Spain.” The Colonel ground his heel into the hard soil. “An endless sea of weeds infested with savages and wild livestock. And yet these explorers from their bastard nation see value in these trackless lands and are willing to march to the distant ocean to map it. Where’s that determination in the Spanish Empire? What happened to our quest for exploration and conquest?”
Alomar and I remained silent, as a small group of buffalo on the far bank of the river quenched their thirst in its slow flowing waters.
The Colonel looked at me. “If I order these bold men to be executed… would that stop another party of Americans from setting out for the Pacific shore? Or another, or another?” He shook his head. “No. Men like these won’t stop. Nations made of men like these won’t stop.” The Colonel’s shoulders slumped in the stark midday sun. Far above, I heard the cry of an eagle, circling in the blue sky above.
“Colonel, permission to speak?” asked Alomar, softly.
“By all means, Corporal.” The Colonel folded his arms in front of him, dust rising from his weathered sleeves.
“The U.S. party is transgressing on Spanish land, as we understand it,” Alomar said, sweat congealing on his chin. “But the border between Spanish territory and those lands which may have been deeded to the United States is… undefined. In dealing with the Native tribes which the Americans will be sure to encounter in their journey west, might it not be wise for the Spanish Crown to be represented?”
“Yes. It might be wise,” said the Colonel. He looked at me, his face a map of experience and duty. “Lieutenant Moreno, Cpl. Alomar seems to be suggesting that we should supply volunteers to accompany these… explorers along their journey.”
I listened to the buffalo wallowing, and the low murmur of talk from our two traveling parties carried by the hot wind. The future might be out there, beyond the dry trackless sea of grass. There would be many trials to overcome before reaching the distant Pacific. But the wonders to see…
“If the good Corporal is suggesting such a course of action,” I said. “Might it not be prudent for an Officer of the Crown to be among the volunteers?”
“Yes, Lieutenant Moreno,” said the Colonel, with the first smile I’d seen on his face in months. “Yes, it might.”