He had genius; that is, he possessed the secret of
extracting from himself and from his followers the last refinement
of devotion to purpose. There was a certainty, from first to last,
that effort would not flag at any point short of the top-most
possible strain.
The great star of America was no more than a nebulous splendor on
the horizon in 1779. It was a new world forming by the law of
youth. The men who bore the burdens of its exacting life were
mostly stalwart striplings who, before the down of adolescence
fairly sprouted on their chins, could swing the ax, drive a plow,
close with a bear or kill an Indian. Clark was not yet twenty-
seven when he made his famous campaign. A tall, brawny youth,
whose frontier experience had enriched a native character of the
best quality, he marched on foot at the head of his little column,
and was first to test every opposing danger. Was there a stream to
wade or swim? Clark enthusiastically shouted, "Come on!" and in he
plunged. Was there a lack of food? "I'm not hungry," he cried.
"Help yourselves, men!" Had some poor soldier lost his blanket?
"Mine is in my way," said Clark. "Take it, I'm glad to get rid of
it!" His men loved him, and would die rather than fall short of
his expectations.
The march before them lay over a magnificent plain, mostly
prairie, rich as the delta of the Nile, but extremely difficult to
traverse.
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