Beaumont recognized the piece. It was a gilded mirror with a fish-eye glass, on top of which was an eagle, its exaggerated talons clutching a bundle of arrows. It had once hung in the Greens' sitting room, where Beaumont called on Deborah to tell her the news of his posting as assistant surgeon at Mackinac Island. On that evening, they had been reading Merchant of Venice. An opportunity for both of us, he had told her. An opportunity to leave here and start again, together. As man and wife. It hasn't been easy for me.
Woodward was jovial, chatty and arrogant.
“I don't suppose you recognize the mirror, eh? The tales it might tell. I keep it there so I have an easy view of Benjamin at his desk.”
The lawyer chuckled and twisted his gold signet ring. “Now then, Doctor, what business do you bring to me? Have you returned from the frontier with a fortune to invest? There are some splendid opportunities here now in Clinton County.”
“Not exactly,” Beaumont replied in an even tone. “I've need of an agreement to secure the cooperation of a man. The nature of the relationship and the work he is to perform, or rather permit me to perform, are unique. Let me explain from the beginning.”
For the second time that day he told the story of Alexis St. Martin.
When he reached the end of the story, the squares of daylight cast through the western windows stretched long on the opposite wall. Woodward had stopped taking notes. His secretary Benjamin Moores was wide-eyed. The tall case clock seemed to resume its steady tick.
Woodward cleared his throat. “I thought perhaps you might come back with land or an interest in a mine, a share in the company.”
Beaumont thought to tell him about his acres in Green Bay. They had increased in value some threefold. But he decided against it. It would only raise the lawyer's fee.
“You say an English doctor may take him? Caldwell?”
Beaumont nodded.
“English.” Woodward pronounced the word slowly. “They nearly destroyed this town.”
There was a kind of tension in the room. Exaggerated sounds came in from the square. Beaumont folded his elbows on the table top and leaned closer to the lawyer.
“You see, Jonathan, Alexis St. Martin is not like you and me. Despite all that I have done for him, at considerable personal expense and sacrifice, he remains ignorant of the many blessings and bounties I can bestow upon him as his benefactor. That is why I need an agreement that will clearly bind him to me for the purposes of science and scientific improvements. For the good that shall come of this for America and for him. I'd like to commission you to prepare that.”
Woodward blinked several times and cleared his throat.
“You know, Doctor, agreements of indenture are now illegal in this state, but I could manage a kind of covenant that binds one man to another. Two free parties can make what is called a contract or covenant, much like a treaty between nations, between the Indian and the United States. It spells out the obligations of each to the other.”
Beaumont nodded slowly and decisively. “That would be suitable,” he said. “Quite suitable.” He could scarce contain his pleasure.
Woodward blinked and then wiped his hand over his eyes and brow. “For how long?”
“One year. At least one year.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
ON THE MORNING OF THE 19TH OF OCTOBER, William Beaumont met Alexis St. Martin in the dining room of the General Washington Tavern on the Plattsburgh Square. The two men dined quickly and silently. When they departed the inn, they crossed the square to Jonathan Woodward's office. There they met Woodward, Benjamin Moores and Paul Green, eldest son of Martha and George Green, apprentice to Benjamin and witness to this day's agreement. The five men gathered at the great table in Woodward's office. Woodward sat at the head. He adjusted his tiny spectacles, took up the pages and tapped them square.
“Gentlemen, let's begin.”
Beaumont and Alexis made as if to stand.
Woodward looked up. “Please sit, gentlemen. There's no need to stand on ceremony.”
Paul Green chuckled.
“Now then. If there are no questions as to the nature of the proceeding, I shall commence reading of the document. Mr. Green?”
Green folded his hands upon his lap and nodded. Woodward began reading.
“Articles of agreement and Covenant, indented, made, concluded and agreed upon at Plattsburgh, in the County of Clinton and State of New York, the Nineteenth of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-two, between William Beaumont, Surgeon in the Army of the United States of America, of the one part, and Alexis St. Martin, Laborer, of Berthier, in the Province of Lower Canada, of the other part, to wit.”
As Woodward pronounced each man's name, he gazed upon him and nodded, and each nodded in turn. Alexis removed his cap.
“The said Alexis St. Martin, for the consideration herein mentioned, doth covenant, promise and agree to and with the said William Beaumont, his heirs, executors, administrators and assigns, by these presents in manner following—that is to say, that he, the said Alexis, shall and will for and during the full terms of one year, to begin and to be accounted from the date of these presents, serve, abide and continue with the said William Beaumont, wherever he shall go or travel, or reside in any part of the world, his covenant Servant, and diligently and faithfully, and according to the utmost of his power, skill and knowledge, exercise and employ himself in and do and perform such service and business matters and things whatsoever as the said William shall from time to time order, direct and appoint to and for the most profit and advantage of the said William, and likewise be just and true and faithful to the said William in all things and in all respects.”
Woodward paused. He looked up over his glasses at Alexis. This section was his doing, based on his counsel that Alexis needed to be bound in a general manner, without condition to the task or purpose. “Think of it as an umbrella,” he had explained to Beaumont. “It covers him entirely.”
“Is that clear, Mr. St. Martin?”
“Yes sir,” Alexis said quickly.
“There's more.”
It was the section Beaumont had spent three days revising and rewriting in Woodward's office. “You'll have to help on this one, Doctor,” Woodward had begged him. “It's out of my skill.”
“And the said Alexis, for the consideration herein after mentioned, further specially covenants and agrees with said William that he, the said Alexis, will at times during said terms, when thereto directed or required by said William, submit to, assist and promote by all means in his power such Physiological or Medical experiments as the said William shall direct or cause to be made on or in the Stomach of him, the said Alexis, either through or by the means of the aperture or opening thereto in the side of him, that said Alexis, or otherwise, and will obey, suffer and comply with all reasonable and proper orders of experiments of the said William in relation thereto, and in relation to the exhibiting and showing of his said Stomach, and the powers and properties thereof, and of the appurtenances, and powers, properties, situation, and state of the contents thereof.
“It being intended and understood both by William and said Alexis that the facilities and means afforded by the wounds of the said Alexis in his side and stomach shall be reasonable and properly used and exhibited at all times upon the request or direction of said William for the purposes of science and scientific improvements, the furtherance of knowledge in regard to the power, properties and capacity of the human stomach . . .”
Now came the section the doctor and the lawyer had most struggled over. The doctor had insisted the terms precisely qualify the nature of the support Alexis would receive. “Only things necessary and in quantities that are reasonable and sufficient,” he demanded. “I'm not some Indian agent handing out presents and treasury pap.” He dismissed as naive the lawyer's plea that the requirement to act to and for the most profit and advantage of the said William was likely sufficient to limit the extent of Alexis's demands. “‘Fo
r the most profit and your advantage, Doctor. You see then, he can't bankrupt you for a seven-course meal and a gold-fringed coat.” But Beaumont was unmoved. “You don't know this Frenchman like I do,” he insisted.
“. . . And in consideration of the premises, and of the several matters and things by the said Alexis to be performed, suffered and done as aforesaid, according to the true intent and meaning of the premises, and on condition that the said Alexis shall and does perform the same on his part, according to the true intent and meaning thereof, and not otherwise, the said William Beaumont doth for himself, his heirs, executors and administrators covenant, promise and agree to and with the said Alexis by these presents that the said William shall and will at all times during said term find and provide unto and for the said Alexis suitable, convenient rooms or house when with and in the service of said William, and also defray the necessary expenses and furnish the said Alexis good, suitable and sufficient subsistence, washing and lodging and wearing apparel when journeying with and at the request and direction of the said William. And also well and truly pay, or cause to be paid unto Alexis, his executors or administrators, the just and full sum of one hundred and fifty dollars . . .”
“One fifty,” Alexis blurted out.
“Yes, one hundred and fifty American dollars total. Mr. Moores would you please show Mr. St. Martin the sum of his first installment?”
The secretary produced a leather wallet and opened its contents to display a packet of bills.
“And new boots?” Alexis gestured to his much-worn boots.
Everyone looked to Beaumont.
“If they are required, they shall be provided,” he said simply.
“As I was reading, where was I?” Woodward scanned the page. “Here then.” He resumed. “The just and full sum of one hundred and fifty dollars lawful money of the United States of America in Manner following, to wit: the sum of forty dollars, parcel thereof, to be paid to said Alexis at or within one day after the execution of these presents, and the residue thereof, being one hundred and ten dollars, to be paid on personal application to said William, his executors or administrators at the expiration of the said term, which will be one year from the date hereof.
“In witness whereof, as well the said Beaumont and the said Alexis St. Martin have hereunto set their respective hands and seals, the day and year first herein written, in the presence of each other and in the presence of Jonathan Douglas Woodward, Esquire, the subscribing notary public.”
Woodward set the three pages down, one next to the other.
“So then, Doctor, Mr. St. Martin, unless there are questions, if each of you would make your mark we shall be done with this. Mr. Moores, would you be so kind?”
The secretary handed each man a pen.
Beaumont signed first, a quick decisive scratch of the pen, then slid the page over to Alexis.
Alexis held the pen awkwardly in his right hand. His grip resembled that of a child's when first learning to write.
“Right here, sir.” Moores indicated Alexis's name on the document.
Between the words “Alexis” and “St. Martin” Alexis scratched a crooked, small letter “X.”
“Is that your mark, sir?” Woodward asked.
Alexis nodded. He held the pen out for someone to take.
“Very well then. Mr. Moores, would you indicate that as such and then witness the document, followed by Mr. Green and then myself.”
The three men made their signatures, and it was done.
Woodward rose from his chair and buttoned his coat over the great girth of his stomach.
“Well, gentlemen, I suppose I now pronounce you as Doctor and Covenant Servant. Good luck to you both with your work, such as it is. I shall be most interested to hear of its results.”
Alexis spoke up. “Do I get my half?”
Moores stopped gathering the papers. Everyone looked at Alexis.
“Your half?” Woodward asked.
Beaumont spoke. His voice was oddly soft. “I think he means half of the agreement, to cut it in two pieces like an indenture. No, Alexis, there is not need to indenture this. It's an article of agreement and covenant that binds us together.”
THE CLOCK IN THE PARLOR had struck two. Beaumont could tell by the measure of Deborah's breathing that she was awake beside him. He reached under the bed covers to embrace her and pulled himself close so that the arc of her back and soft rump fit snugly into the curve of his chest and waist. He stroked her thigh.
“I will miss you,” he whispered.
They lay for some time listening to the steady cadence of the five children sleeping. Their daughters, Sarah and Lucretia, and Samuel's daughters, Emily and Constance, slept two girls to a bed. Israel was in his crib.
He embraced her tighter.
She crossed her arms over her chest. From the beginning, she had supported his preoccupations with Alexis, even after he was healed, even after he instigated a drunken scandal only to flee their home without thanks and then to come back to them with his angry wife in the muddy fever-infested swamps of Fort Crawford. And now he was going with the man for as long as a year, across an ocean to another world. Leaving her to raise their children in his cousin's crowded house.
“It's late,” she whispered. “And you have to travel early.”
“My dear,” he murmured.
She lifted his arm and placed it on the mattress.
“I shall miss you too. Now sleep.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
THREE DAYS AFTER THE MEETING in Joseph Woodward's office, before sunrise on a morning sufficiently cool that men's breath fogged and horses blew columns of steam like engines, a wagonette left the General Washington Inn carrying Alexis St. Martin, William Beaumont and their luggage to the Cumberland Bay dockyards, where they would board the steamboat Phoenix. By midmorning of the following day, they were on a flatboat on the Champlain Canal and by early evening, on a steamship from Albany traveling south on the Hudson River.
They arrived in the city of New York in the late afternoon and departed at dawn the following day from the Battery docks for New Jersey, then overland by coach to Baltimore. They stayed at inns, sharing rooms with other travelers, men with valises cut from carpet, lawyers on the circuit, traders and merchants. Men played cards and rolled die, drank and gossiped. In the mornings, they stood round the well in the tavern yard to shave and wash. For two days they shared coach with a garrulous man who called himself a journalist, spoke passable French and displayed an interest in Alexis until Beaumont requested he mind his business.
As they moved south, the accents of the people changed, grew longer, with words drawn out like chords on an old guitar. In Maryland they passed enormous farms, Georgian manor houses visible at the end of parallel lines of poplar trees, where gangs of Negroes mended fences and readied the brown fields for winter. These men looked up at them with expressions stolid and mute, then turned back to their monotonous labor under the gaze of the overseer with braided quirt and pistols. In Timonium, on the outskirts of Baltimore, they saw a slave auction presided over by an auctioneer who wore a blue silk top hat and sang out the virtues of his human wares. In Baltimore, they boarded the steamship Meriwether Lewis. On December 3, 1832, they docked at the Georgetown dockyards. William Beaumont and Alexis St. Martin had arrived in Washington City.
Alexis shivered against the chill of the wet wind as he stamped his feet, pulled his sleeves taut over his blue fingers and tucked his hands beneath his armpits. Beaumont commanded him to hurry along to the line of waiting carriages. The shift and flow of the crowds, the sight of men talking, arguing, making deals, all urged Beaumont to demand that the coachman hasten the journey to the office of the Surgeon General of the United States.
THE TWO DOCTORS stood facing each other in the surgeon general's vast corner office, which was warm and dry, courtesy of a potbellied stove. The windows of the three-story hospital were visible across the clean-swept, white gravel courtyard.
“Dr. Lovell.”
“Joseph. You must call me Joseph, William.”
They shook hands, and then, in an instant, Lovell drew Beaumont closer, and they embraced.
Beaumont laughed. “All right then,” he said over his mentor's shoulder. “Joseph.”
Saying the name felt awkward, like calling his father Samuel.
“How long has it been?” Lovell asked. “I was thinking the other day of those many years since the war. Is it twenty? It is, isn't it?”
Beaumont knew the time to the month, as he had calculated it while reviewing his notebook during the journey. It had been nineteen years and eleven months since they had sat before the fire in the General Washington, near the Plattsburgh harbor, on a winter day so cold the teacups shattered if not properly warmed. Lovell had presented Beaumont with his worn copy of Antequil's History.
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