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It’s not something I think I need to be sheepish
about, my admiration for the heroic Newfoundland dog, Seaman, who crossed
the continent with the Corps of Discovery in 1804-6. My first knowledge
of the beast came from an article, “Pioneers with Wagging Tails,”
by Clark Spence, a pretty big name in Western Americana. Subsequently
I found that Ernest S. Osgood (author of The Day of the Cattleman) and
Donald Jackson (editor of great exploration narratives) also penned sketches
of this canine companion of Meriwether Lewis.
So I’m writing in good company as I contribute my bit to the saga
of Seaman. We Western historians like dogs, big dogs, real dogs. It happens
that I’ve uncovered some new information about this particular big
dog. I think I can answer the question, Why in the world did Captain Lewis
take that ungainly beast along on the expedition?
The answer lies in Canadian history, specifically in the story of Alexander
Mackenzie, the stubborn Scot who ascended the waters of Peace River, portaged
the Continental Divide, and made his way to the Pacific in 1793—more
than a decade before Lewis and Clark set out, and with a lot less official
sanction or logistical support.
Mackenzie published his account of the journey in 1801, President Thomas
Jefferson read it in 1802, and he and Lewis discussed it with a mixture
of awe and envy.
Lieutenant Clark, too, must have admired Mackenzie, who
on completion of the westward passage had scrawled in vermilion on a coastal
rock, “Alexander Mackenzie, from Canada, by land, the twenty-second
of July, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three.” Clark would
place a similar mark of his own accomplishments at the mouth of the Columbia.
And get this: Mackenzie had a great big dog. I mean big enough that early
in the journey, when he had forbidden his men to shoot buffalo for fear
of rousing hostile Indians, he wrote, “We, however, sent our dog
after the herd, and a calf was soon secured by him.” The dog dragged
a buffalo calf into camp! This capable beast, I am sure, was a Newfoundland
dog.
Newfies were celebrated and popular dogs at the turn of the 19th century,
as Lord Byron’s poetic eulogy (1808) to his companion, “Boatswain,”
attested:
To mark a Friend’s remains these stones arise,
I never knew but one, and here he lies.
The Newfoundland was the logical choice for a Mackenzie expedition dog—large
(males average 150 pounds), hardy, bred for water rescue, highly intelligent.
Mackenzie praised the “sagacity” of his beast. I think it no
coincidence, but rather a conscious quotation, that Clark also would refer
(with his lovable spelling) to “the segassity of Capt Lewis’s
Dog.”
Mackenzie’s dog—never named in his narrative—was a faithful
camp guardian, sounding alarm against human and animal intruders. He also
suffered some misfortunes, such as the time he became entangled in snags
on the Fraser and nearly drowned, or worse, became lost for several days
near the Pacific coast—“a circumstance of no small regret to
me,” the stoic Scot confessed.
Lewis’s Seaman pursued wounded game on land and water, kept guard
(once driving a rampaging buffalo bull from camp), did tricks to impress
the Indians, and was certainly beloved to his master, who had purchased
him in Philadelphia for $20. At one point on the Columbia, when the dog
was stolen by Indians, Lewis ordered his recovery—by killing the
thieves, if necessary.
Unfortunately, Seaman drops out of the chronicles of the Corps of Discovery
during the eastward journey home—perhaps lost, historians long speculated.
On 5 July 1806 Lewis named a creek (now called Monture Creek) after his
dog. On 15 July Lewis complained of the mosquitoes in the river bottom,
how “my dog even howls with the torture he experiences from them.”
Then we read no more of Seaman.
It turns out that Seaman was not lost, but came home with his master and
was recognized for his heroism. After his return from the west he wore
a collar inscribed with the words, “The greatest traveller of my
species. My name is Seaman, the dog of captain Meriwether Lewis, whom
I accompanied to the Pacifick ocean through the interior of the continent
of North America.” It is unknown what became of the heroic dog following
the suicide of his melancholy master.
What I like to imagine is the youthful adventurer Lewis studying the exploits
of the seasoned explorer Mackenzie and thinking, “I’ve got to
get one of those dogs.”
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