It was around April of 1805, a month from Lewis and Clark’s anniversary of exploring the Louisiana Purchase and the newly-granted woods to the USA from France. While the 2 men appreciated each others company—and of course, the company of others, like Sacagawea, who were also helping their pitying excuse for “being lost”—they got on each others nerves quite a bit.

William Clark—or, as Meriwether Lewis liked to call Clark, just..Bill, or Captain—was currently figuring everything out with his men outside, as Lewis sulked in their tent and scribbled word after word away in his journal, annoyed. He hadn’t eaten in hours—or much at all, really, besides the copious amounts of whiskey he had consumed that day and the day before. Suddenly, Lewis jolted and spilt his ink as Clark stomped into the tent, annoyed and voice raised.

“Are you ever going to come out of this here damn tent and help me out a bit?! Ever since we’ve been on the road, you haven’t helped me one bit! You’re always writing away in that stupid journal and not actually helping! I’M always doing all the work, Meriwether!”

Lewis knew it was serious when Clark addressed him by his first name. They did that often, but…not usually in this context.