Book: 54 40 or Fight

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"Yess," commented my old scientist calmly; "so strange! They go
together."

"Ah, you know them!" I almost fell upon him.

"Yess--last night. The tall one iss Mr. Peel, a young Englishman; the
other is Mexican, they said--Senor Yturrio, of Mexico. He spoke much.
Me, I wass sleepy then. But also that other tall one we saw go
back--that wass Captain Parke, also of the British Navy. His ship iss
the war boat _Modeste_--a fine one. I see her often when I walk on the
riffer front, there."

I turned to him and made some excuse, saying that presently I would join
him again at the hotel. Dreamily as ever, he smiled and took his leave.
For myself, I walked on rapidly after the two figures, then a block or
so ahead of me.

I saw them turn into a street which was familiar to myself. They passed
on, turning from time to time among the old houses of the French
quarter. Presently they entered the short side street which I myself had
seen for the first time the previous night. I pretended to busy myself
with my pipe, as they turned in at the very gate which I knew, and
knocked at the door which I had entered with my mysterious companion!

The door opened without delay; they both entered.

So, then, Helena von Ritz had other visitors! England and Mexico were
indeed conferring here in Montreal. There were matters going forward
here in which my government was concerned. That was evident. I was
almost in touch with them. That also was evident. How, then, might I
gain yet closer touch?

At the moment nothing better occurred to me than to return to my room
and wait for a time. It would serve no purpose for me to disclose
myself, either in or out of the apartments of the baroness, and it would
not aid me to be seen idling about the neighborhood in a city where
there was so much reason to suppose strangers were watched. I resolved
to wait until the next morning, and to take my friend Von Rittenhofen
with me. He need not know all that I knew, yet in case of any accident
to myself or any sudden contretemps, he would serve both as a witness
and as an excuse for disarming any suspicion which might be entertained
regarding myself.

The next day he readily enough fell in with my suggestion of a morning
stroll, and again we sallied forth, at about nine o'clock, having by
that time finished a _dejeuner a la fourchette_ with Jacques Bertillon,
which to my mind compared unfavorably with one certain other I had
shared.

A sense of uneasiness began to oppress me, I knew not why, before I had
gone half way down the little street from the corner where we turned. It
was gloomy and dismal enough at the best, and on this morning an unusual
apathy seemed to sit upon it, for few of the shutters were down,
although the hour was now mid-morning. Here and there a homely habitant
appeared, and bade us good morning; and once in a while we saw the face
of a good wife peering from the window. Thus we passed some dozen houses
or so, in a row, and paused opposite the little gate. I saw that the
shutters were closed, or at least all but one or two, which were partly
ajar. Something said to me that it would be as well for me to turn back.

I might as well have done so. We passed up the little walk, and I raised
the knocker at the door; but even as it sounded I knew what would
happen. There came to me that curious feeling which one experiences when
one knocks at the door of a house which lacks human occupancy. Even more
strongly I had that strange feeling now, because this sound was not
merely that of unoccupied rooms--it came from rooms empty and echoing!

I tried the door. It was not locked. I flung it wide, and stepped
within. At first I could not adjust my eyes to the dimness. Absolute
silence reigned. I pushed open a shutter and looked about me. The rooms
were not only unoccupied, but unfurnished! The walls and floors were
utterly bare! Not a sign of human occupancy existed. I hastened out to
the little walk, and looked up and down the street, to satisfy myself
that I had made no mistake. No, this was the number--this was the place.
Yesterday these rooms were fitted sumptuously as for a princess; now
they were naked. Not a stick of the furniture existed, nor was there any
trace either of haste or deliberation in this removal. What had been,
simply was not; that was all.

Followed by my wondering companion, I made such inquiry as I could in
the little neighborhood. I could learn nothing. No one knew anything of
the occupant of these rooms. No one had heard any carts approach, nor
had distinguished any sounds during the night.

"Sir," said I to my friend, at last; "I do not understand it. I have
pursued, but it seems the butterfly has flown." So, both silent, myself
morosely so, we turned and made our way back across the town.

Half an hour later we were on the docks at the river front, where we
could look out over the varied shipping which lay there. My scientific
friend counted one vessel after another, and at last pointed to a gap
in the line.

"Yesterday I wass here," he said, "and I counted all the ships and their
names. The steamer _Modeste_ she lay there. Now she iss gone."

I pulled up suddenly. This was the ship which carried Captain Parke and
his friend Lieutenant Peel, of the British Navy. The secret council at
Montreal was, therefore, apparently ended! There would be an English
land expedition, across Canada to Oregon. Would there be also an
expedition by sea? At least my errand in Montreal, now finished, had not
been in vain, even though it ended in a mystery and a query. But ah! had
I but been less clumsy in that war of wits with a woman, what might I
have learned! Had she not been free to mock me, what might I not have
learned! She was free to mock me, why? Because of Elisabeth. Was it then
true that faith and loyalty could purchase alike faithlessness
and--failure?




CHAPTER XIX

THE GENTLEMAN FROM TENNESSEE

Women distrust men too much in general, and not enough in
particular.--_Philibert Commerson._


Now all the more was it necessary for me and my friend from Oregon to
hasten on to Washington. I say nothing further of the arguments I
employed with him, and nothing of our journey to Washington, save that
we made it hastily as possible. It was now well toward the middle of
April, and, brief as had been my absence, I knew there had been time for
many things to happen in Washington as well as in Montreal.

Rumors abounded, I found as soon as I struck the first cities below the
Canadian line. It was in the air now that under Calhoun there would be
put before Congress a distinct and definite attempt at the annexation of
Texas. Stories of all sorts were on the streets; rumors of the wrath of
Mr. Clay; yet other rumors of interesting possibilities at the coming
Whig and Democratic conventions. Everywhere was that strange, ominous,
indescribable tension of the atmosphere which exists when a great
people is moved deeply. The stern figure of Calhoun, furnishing courage
for a people, even as he had for a president, loomed large in the public
prints.

Late as it was when I reached Washington, I did not hesitate to repair
at once to the residence of Mr. Calhoun; and I took with me as my best
adjutant my strange friend Von Rittenhofen, who, I fancied, might add
detailed information which Mr. Calhoun would find of value. We were
admitted to Mr. Calhoun, and after the first greetings he signified that
he would hear my report. He sat, his long, thin hands on his chair arm,
as I went on with my story, his keen eyes scanning also my old companion
as I spoke. I explained what the latter knew regarding Oregon. I saw Mr.
Calhoun's eyes kindle. As usual, he did not lack decision.

"Sir," said he to Von Rittenhofen presently, "we ourselves are young,
yet I trust not lacking in a great nation's interest in the arts and
sciences. It occurs to me now that in yourself we have opportunity to
add to our store of knowledge in respect to certain biological
features."

The old gentleman rose and bowed. "I thank you for the honor of your
flattery, sir," he began; but Calhoun raised a gentle hand.

"If it would please you, sir, to defer your visit to your own country
for a time, I can secure for you a situation in our department in
biology, where your services would be of extreme worth to us. The salary
would also allow you to continue your private researches into the life
of our native tribes."

Von Rittenhofen positively glowed at this. "Ach, what an honor!" he
began again.

"Meantime," resumed Calhoun, "not to mention the value which that
research would have for us, we could also find use, at proper
remuneration, for your private aid in making up a set of maps of that
western country which you know so well, and of which even I myself am so
ignorant. I want to know the distances, the topography, the means of
travel. I want to know the peculiarities of that country of Oregon. It
would take me a year to send a messenger, for at best it requires six
months to make the outbound passage, and in the winter the mountains are
impassable. If you could, then, take service with us now, we should be
proud to make you such return as your scientific attainments deserve."

Few could resist the persuasiveness of Mr. Calhoun's speech, certainly
not Von Rittenhofen, who thus found offered him precisely what he would
have desired. I was pleased to see him so happily situated and so soon.
Presently we despatched him down to my hotel, where I promised later to
make him more at home. In his elation over the prospect he now saw
before him, the old man fairly babbled. Germany seemed farthest from
his mind. After his departure, Calhoun again turned to me.

"I want you to remain, Nicholas," said he, "because I have an
appointment with a gentleman who will soon be present."

"Rather a late hour, sir," I ventured. "Are you keeping faith with
Doctor Ward?"

"I have no time for hobbies," he exclaimed, half petulantly. "What I
must do is this work. The man we are to meet to-night is Mr. Polk. It is
important."

"You would not call Mr. Polk important?" I smiled frankly, and Calhoun
replied in icy kind.

"You can not tell how large a trouble may be started by a small
politician," said he. "At least, we will hear what he has to say. 'Twas
he that sought the meeting, not myself."

Perhaps half an hour later, Mr. Calhoun's old negro man ushered in this
awaited guest, and we three found ourselves alone in one of those
midnight conclaves which went on in Washington even then as they do
to-day. Mr. Polk was serious as usual; his indecisive features wearing
the mask of solemnity, which with so many passed as wisdom.

"I have come, Mr. Calhoun," said he--when the latter had assured him
that my presence would entail no risk to him--"to talk over this Texas
situation."

"Very well," said my chief. "My own intentions regarding Texas are now
of record."

"Precisely," said Mr. Polk. "Now, is it wise to make a definite answer
in that matter yet? Would it not be better to defer action until
later--until after, I may say--"

"Until after you know what your own chances will be, Jim?" asked Mr.
Calhoun, smiling grimly.

"Why, that is it, John, precisely, that is it exactly! Now, I don't know
what you think of my chances in the convention, but I may say that a
very large branch of the western Democracy is favoring me for the
nomination." Mr. Polk pursed a short upper lip and looked monstrous
grave. His extreme morality and his extreme dignity made his chief stock
in trade. Different from his master, Old Hickory, he was really at heart
the most aristocratic of Democrats, and like many another so-called
leader, most of his love for the people really was love of himself.

"Yes, I know that some very strange things happen in politics,"
commented Calhoun, smiling.

"But, God bless me! you don't call it out of the way for me to seek the
nomination? _Some_ one must be president! Why not myself? Now, I ask
your support."

"My support is worth little, Jim," said my chief. "But have you earned
it? You have never consulted my welfare, nor has Jackson. I had no
majority behind me in the Senate. I doubt even the House now. Of what
use could I be to you?"

"At least, you could decline to do anything definite in this Texas
matter."

"Why should a man ever do anything _in_definite, Jim Polk?" asked
Calhoun, bending on him his frosty eyes.

"But you may set a fire going which you can not stop. The people may get
out of hand _before the convention!_"

"Why should they not? They have interests as well as we. Do they not
elect us to subserve those interests?"

"I yield to no man in my disinterested desire for the welfare of the
American people," began Polk pompously, throwing back the hair from his
forehead.

"Of course not," said Calhoun grimly. "My own idea is that it is well to
give the people what is already theirs. They feel that Texas belongs to
them."

"True," said the Tennesseean, hesitating; "a good strong blast about our
martial spirit and the men of the Revolution--that is always good before
an election or a convention. Very true. But now in my own case--"

"Your own case is not under discussion, Jim. It is the case of the
United States! I hold a brief for them, not for you or any other man!"

"How do you stand in case war should be declared against Mexico?" asked
Mr. Polk. "That ought to be a popular measure. The Texans have captured
the popular imagination. The Alamo rankles in our nation's memory. What
would you say to a stiff demand there, with a strong show of military
force behind it?"

"I should say nothing as to a strong _showing_ in any case. I should
only say that if war came legitimately--not otherwise--I should back it
with all my might. I feel the same in regard to war with England."

"With England? What chance would we have with so powerful a nation as
that?"

"There is a God of Battles," said John Calhoun.

The chin of James K. Polk of Tennessee sank down into his stock. His
staring eyes went half shut. He was studying something in his own mind.
At last he spoke, tentatively, as was always his way until he got the
drift of things.

"Well, now, perhaps in the case of England that is good politics," he
began. "It is very possible that the people hate England as much as they
do Mexico. Do you not think so?"

"I think they fear her more."

"But I was only thinking of the popular imagination!"

[Illustration: "Fifty-four Forty or Fight!" exclaimed Polk. Page 203]

"You are always thinking of the popular imagination, Jim. You have
been thinking of that for some time in Tennessee. All that outcry about
the whole of Oregon is ill-timed to-day."

"_Fifty-four Forty or Fight_; that sounds well!" exclaimed Polk; "eh?"

"Trippingly on the tongue, yes!" said John Calhoun. "But how would it
sound to the tune of cannon fire? How would it look written in the smoke
of musketry?"

"It might not come to that," said Polk, shifting in his seat "I was
thinking of it only as a rallying cry for the campaign. Dash me--I beg
pardon--" he looked around to see if there were any Methodists
present--"but I believe I could go into the convention with that war cry
behind me and sweep the boards of all opposition!"

"And afterwards?"

"But England may back down," argued Mr. Polk. "A strong showing in the
Southwest and Northwest might do wonders for us."

"But what would be behind that strong showing, Mr. Polk?" demanded John
Calhoun. "We would win the combat with Mexico, of course, if that
iniquitous measure should take the form of war. But not Oregon--we might
as well or better fight in Africa than Oregon. It is not yet time. In
God's name, Jim Polk, be careful of what you do! Cease this cry of
taking all of Oregon. You will plunge this country not into one war,
but two. Wait! Only wait, and we will own all this continent to the
Saskatchewan--or even farther north."

"Well," said the other, "have you not said there is a God of Battles?"

"The Lord God of Hosts, yes!" half screamed old John Calhoun; "yes, the
God of Battles for _nations_, for _principles_--but _not_ for _parties_!
For the _principle_ of democracy, Jim Polk, yes, yes; but for the
Democratic _party_, or the Whig _party_, or for any demagogue who tries
to lead either, no, no!"

The florid face of Polk went livid. "Sir," said he, reaching for his
hat, "at least I have learned what I came to learn. I know how you will
appear on the floor of the convention, Sir, you will divide this party
hopelessly. You are a traitor to the Democratic party! I charge it to
your face, here and now. I came to ask of you your support, and find you
only, talking of principles! Sir, tell me, what have _principles_ to do
with _elections_?"

John Calhoun looked at him for one long instant. He looked down then at
his own thin, bloodless hands, his wasted limbs. Then he turned slowly
and rested his arms on the table, his face resting in his hands. "My
God!" I heard him groan.

To see my chief abused was a thing not in my nature to endure. I forgot
myself. I committed an act whose results pursued me for many a year.

"Mr. Polk, sir," said I, rising and facing him, "damn you, sir, you are
not fit to untie Mr. Calhoun's shoe! I will not see you offer him one
word of insult. Quarrel with me if you like! You will gain no votes here
now in any case, that is sure!"

Utterly horrified at this, Mr. Polk fumbled with his hat and cane, and,
very red in the face, bowed himself out, still mumbling, Mr. Calhoun
rising and bowing his adieux.

My chief dropped into his chair again. For a moment he looked at me
directly. "Nick," said he at length slowly, "you have divided the
Democratic party. You split that party, right then and there."

"Never!" I protested; "but if I did, 'twas ready enough for the
division. Let it split, then, or any party like it, if that is what must
hold it together! I will not stay in this work, Mr. Calhoun, and hear
you vilified. Platforms!"

"Platforms!" echoed my chief. His white hand dropped on the table as he
still sat looking at me. "But he will get you some time, Nicholas!" he
smiled. "Jim Polk will not forget."

"Let him come at me as he likes!" I fumed.

At last, seeing me so wrought up, Mr. Calhoun rose, and, smiling, shook
me heartily by the hand.

"Of course, this had to come one time or another," said he. "The split
was in the wood of their proposed platform of bluff and insincerity.
`What do the people say?' asks Jim Polk. 'What do they _think_?' asks
John Calhoun. And being now, in God's providence; chosen to do some
thinking for them, I have thought."

He turned to the table and took up a long, folded document, which I saw
was done in his cramped hand and with many interlineations. "Copy this
out fair for me to-night, Nicholas," said he. "This is our answer to the
Aberdeen note. You have already learned its tenor, the time we met Mr.
Pakenham with Mr. Tyler at the White House."

I grinned. "Shall we not take it across direct to Mr. Blair for
publication in his _Globe_?"

Mr. Calhoun smiled rather bitterly at this jest. The hostility of Blair
to the Tyler administration was a fact rather more than well known.

"'Twill all get into Mr. Polk's newspaper fast enough," commented he at
last. "He gets all the news of the Mexican ministry!"

"Ah, you think he cultivates the Dona Lucrezia, rather than adores her!"

"I know it! One-third of Jim Polk may be human, but the other two-thirds
is politician. He will flatter that lady into confidences. She is well
nigh distracted at best, these days, what with the fickleness of her
husband and the yet harder abandonment by her old admirer Pakenham; so
Polk will cajole her into disclosures, never fear. In return, when the
time comes, he will send an army of occupation into her country! And
all the while, on the one side and the other, he will appear to the
public as a moral and lofty-minded man."

"On whom neither man nor woman could depend!"

"Neither the one nor the other."

The exasperation of his tone amused me, as did this chance importance of
what seemed to me at the time merely a petticoat situation.

"Silk! Mr. Calhoun," I grinned. "Still silk and dimity, my faith! And
you!"

He seemed a trifle nettled at this. "I must take men and women and
circumstances as I find them," he rejoined; "and must use such agencies
as are left me."

"If we temporarily lack the Baroness von Ritz to add zest to our game,"
I hazarded, "we still have the Dona Lucrezia and her little jealousies."

Calhoun turned quickly upon me with a sharp glance, as though seized by
some sudden thought. "By the Lord Harry! boy, you give me an idea. Wait,
now, for a moment. Do you go on with your copying there, and excuse me
for a time."

An instant later he passed from the room, his tall figure bent, his
hands clasped behind his back, and his face wrinkled in a frown, as was
his wont when occupied with some problem.




CHAPTER XX

THE LADY FROM MEXICO

As soon as women are ours, we are no longer theirs.
--Montaigne.


After a time my chief reentered the office room and bent over me at my
table. I put before him the draft of the document which he had given me
for clerical care.

"So," he said, "'tis ready--our declaration. I wonder what may come of
that little paper!"

"Much will come of it with a strong people back of it. The trouble is
only that what Democrat does, Whig condemns. And not even all our party
is with Mr. Tyler and yourself in this, Mr. Calhoun. Look, for instance,
at Mr. Polk and his plans." To this venture on my part he made no
present answer.

"I have no party, that is true," said he at last--"none but you and Sam
Ward!" He smiled with one of his rare, illuminating smiles, different
from the cold mirth which often marked him.

"At least, Mr. Calhoun, you do not take on your work for the personal
glory of it," said I hotly; "and one day the world will know it!"

"'Twill matter very little to me then," said he bitterly. "But come,
now, I want more news about your trip to Montreal. What have you done?"

So now, till far towards dawn of the next day, we sat and talked. I put
before him full details of my doings across the border. He sat silent,
his eye betimes wandering, as though absorbed, again fixed on me, keen
and glittering.

"So! So!" he mused at length, when I had finished, "England has started
a land party for Oregon! Can they get across next fall, think you?"

"Hardly possible, sir," said I. "They could not go so swiftly as the
special fur packets. Winter would catch them this side of the Rockies.
It will be a year before they can reach Oregon."

"Time for a new president and a new policy," mused he.

"The grass is just beginning to sprout on the plains, Mr. Calhoun," I
began eagerly.

"Yes," he nodded. "God! if I were only young!"

"I am young, Mr. Calhoun," said I. "Send _me!_"

"Would you go?" he asked suddenly.

"I was going in any case."

"Why, how do you mean?" he demanded.

I felt the blood come to my face. "'Tis all over between Miss Elisabeth
Churchill and myself," said I, as calmly as I might.

"Tut! tut! a child's quarrel," he went on, "a child's quarrel! `Twill
all mend in time."

"Not by act of mine, then," said I hotly.

Again abstracted, he seemed not wholly to hear me.

"First," he mused, "the more important things"--riding over my personal
affairs as of little consequence.

"I will tell you, Nicholas," said he at last, wheeling swiftly upon me.
"Start next week! An army of settlers waits now for a leader along the
Missouri. Organize them; lead them out! Give them enthusiasm! Tell them
what Oregon is! You may serve alike our party and our nation. You can
not measure the consequences of prompt action sometimes, done by a man
who is resolved upon the right. A thousand things may hinge on this. A
great future may hinge upon it."

It was only later that I was to know the extreme closeness of his
prophecy.

Calhoun began to pace up and down. "Besides her land forces," he
resumed, "England is despatching a fleet to the Columbia! I doubt not
that the _Modeste_ has cleared for the Horn. There may be news waiting
for you, my son, when you get across!

"While you have been busy, I have not been idle," he continued. "I have
here another little paper which I have roughly drafted." He handed me
the document as he spoke.

"A treaty--with Texas!" I exclaimed.

"The first draft, yes. We have signed the memorandum. We await only one
other signature."

"Of Van Zandt!"

"Yes. Now comes Mr. Nicholas Trist, with word of a certain woman to the
effect that Mr. Van Zandt is playing also with England."

"And that woman also is playing with England."

Calhoun smiled enigmatically.

"But she has gone," said I, "who knows where? She, too, may have sailed
for Oregon, for all we know."

He looked at me as though with a flash of inspiration. "That may be,"
said he; "it may very well be! That would cost us our hold over
Pakenham. Neither would we have any chance left with her."

"How do you mean, Mr. Calhoun?" said I. "I do not understand you."

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