y,
where lay the center of his own audacious plans; but the thought of
the people was directed westward, up the Missouri.

The fame of the Lewis and Clark expedition now had gathered volume.
Constitution or no Constitution, the purchase of Louisiana had been
completed, the transfer had been formally made. The American wedge was
driving on through. If ever he was to do anything for his own
enterprise, it was now high time.

Burr's was a mind to see to the core of any problem in statecraft. He
knew what this sudden access of interest in the West indicated, so far
as his plans were concerned. It must be stopped--else it would be too
late for any dream of Aaron Burr for an empire of his own.

His resources were dwindling. He needed funds for the many secret
agents in his employ--needed yet more funds for the purchase and
support of his lands in the South. And the minister of Great Britain
had given plain warning that unless this expedition up the Missouri
could be stopped, no further aid need be expected from him.

Little by little Burr saw hope slip away from him. True, Captain Lewis
was still detained by his duties among the Osage Indians, a little way
out from the city; but the main expedition had actually started.

William Clark, occupied with the final details, did not finally get
his party under way until five days after the formal transfer of the
new territory of Louisiana to our flag, and three days after Burr's
arrival. At last, however, on the 14th of May, the three boats had
left St. Louis wharf, with their full complement of men and the last
of the supplies aboard for the great voyage. Captain Clark, ever
light-hearted and careless of his spelling-book, if not of his rifle,
says it was "a jentle brease" which aided the oars and the square-sail
as they started up the river.

Assuredly the bark of Aaron Burr was sailing under no propitious
following wind. Distracted, he paced up and down his apartment in the
home where he was a guest, preoccupied, absorbed, almost ready to
despair. He spoke but little, but time and again he cast an estimating
eye upon the young woman who accompanied him.

"You are ill, Theodosia!" he exclaimed at last "Come, come, my
daughter, this will not do! Have you no arts of the toilet that can
overcome the story of your megrims? Shall I get you some sort of
bitter herbs? You need your brightest face, your best apparel now.
These folk of St. Louis must see us at our best, my dear, ou