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Night one on the new river, the campfire is spirited and the future appears hospitable, everyone has their rations, everybody is resting their pride for on an expedition epic to each man and for a republic as well souls must stand sober to undomesticated circumstance and calamity's call, Dickson and Flyod are on watch duty tonight, in the elms they sit and listen, disaster and death demand our respect, the mission necessitates that we be prey, I trust that Sea Man, my Newfoundland dog will be watching them, with his final moments of strength before sleep Clark, as cartographer has begun making his meticulous map in the mild candle light, the compasses look like brass arrows aimed into a sketch of ghostly renaissance landscape, as my mind begins to collapse into the corners of subconscious creation I ruminate on the journey of Marco Polo, his reception into the court of Kubla Khan exotic enlightenment exchanged between the tapestries of curious threats and the gravity of Indian relations pulls my attention within the sphere of brute diplomacy, For several days I've been hiking the interior woodlands alternating the cohort daily to provide total exercise, to subdue monotony and also to perpetuate the fearless fascination that they'll need to revere the suffering and ensuing success of the mission, it is not unusual for us to hike 40 miles a day, our Kentucky rifles and senses clean rendezvouing with the crew and camp near dusk delivering game, grunge and odd wonders, we are all deft huntsmen, in the east hunting was a passion as well as a necessity all of the recruits are outdoorsman, tough, roudey and rude but also smart as prarie hawks Clark and I are Virginian Gentleman, prepared to kill with cause and to lead with clear authority, it is crucial that we supplement the keelboat's food provisions with fresh meat, fruits and vegetables whenever feasible, on board there are tons of soup, pork, cormeal, flour, beans, salt, pepper and lard, many barrels of whiskey have been brought along for emotional nourishment and as gift, every evening each man receives his four ounces, and every night they absorb the gruel of toil, this afternoon I was surveying the land for agricultural fitness and collecting botanical specimens such as the dogtooth violet, dovesfoot and cowslip flowers Peter Cruzzatte, the best big game tracker of the bunch shot and field dressed two meaty deer and a fat elk, he is stealth as sin in the Sunday wind, our bellies thank him, no natives have been seen yet, while observing and hunting we have found thin trails that simply lead into quiet expanses, this tighens the nerves a bit we are anxious to establish affable feelings with the numerous tribes, especially the Sioux, the English trapper Bobcat Pendleton whom we met two days ago said that the Yankton Sioux held territory about two hundred miles up river, he also indicated that the Sioux weren't skin dressers that they'd play hard, he said the Sioux Nation weren't interested in speeches and medals, they would demand tribute, beads, amo, whiskey, tobacco, Clark and I are prepared to impress, one way or the other, tonight the river is lying still, like a woman with a wish in her heart, the moon is high and golden plump, nestled in a ripple of smokey clouds, J.A.B.

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Soul Stance River - 3

Night one on the new river, the campfire is spirited and the future appears hospitable, everyone has their rations, everybody is resting their pride for on an expedition epic to each man and for a republic as well souls must stand sober to undomesticated circumstance and calamity's call, Dickson and Flyod are on watch duty tonight, in the elms they sit and listen, disaster and death demand our respect, the mission necessitates that we be prey, I trust that Sea Man, my Newfoundland dog will be watching them, with his final moments of strength before sleep Clark, as cartographer has begun making his meticulous map in the mild candle light, the compasses look like brass arrows aimed into a sketch of ghostly renaissance landscape, as my mind begins to collapse into the corners of subconscious creation I ruminate on the journey of Marco Polo, his reception into the court of Kubla Khan exotic enlightenment exchanged between the tapestries of curious threats and the gravity of Indian relations pulls my attention within the sphere of brute diplomacy, For several days I've been hiking the interior woodlands alternating the cohort daily to provide total exercise, to subdue monotony and also to perpetuate the fearless fascination that they'll need to revere the suffering and ensuing success of the mission, it is not unusual for us to hike 40 miles a day, our Kentucky rifles and senses clean rendezvouing with the crew and camp near dusk delivering game, grunge and odd wonders, we are all deft huntsmen, in the east hunting was a passion as well as a necessity all of the recruits are outdoorsman, tough, roudey and rude but also smart as prarie hawks Clark and I are Virginian Gentleman, prepared to kill with cause and to lead with clear authority, it is crucial that we supplement the keelboat's food provisions with fresh meat, fruits and vegetables whenever feasible, on board there are tons of soup, pork, cormeal, flour, beans, salt, pepper and lard, many barrels of whiskey have been brought along for emotional nourishment and as gift, every evening each man receives his four ounces, and every night they absorb the gruel of toil, this afternoon I was surveying the land for agricultural fitness and collecting botanical specimens such as the dogtooth violet, dovesfoot and cowslip flowers Peter Cruzzatte, the best big game tracker of the bunch shot and field dressed two meaty deer and a fat elk, he is stealth as sin in the Sunday wind, our bellies thank him, no natives have been seen yet, while observing and hunting we have found thin trails that simply lead into quiet expanses, this tighens the nerves a bit we are anxious to establish affable feelings with the numerous tribes, especially the Sioux, the English trapper Bobcat Pendleton whom we met two days ago said that the Yankton Sioux held territory about two hundred miles up river, he also indicated that the Sioux weren't skin dressers that they'd play hard, he said the Sioux Nation weren't interested in speeches and medals, they would demand tribute, beads, amo, whiskey, tobacco, Clark and I are prepared to impress, one way or the other, tonight the river is lying still, like a woman with a wish in her heart, the moon is high and golden plump, nestled in a ripple of smokey clouds, J.A.B.