Book: 54 40 or Fight

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Now fell long silence. I could hear the breathing of them both, where I
stood in the farther corner of my room. I had dropped both the
derringers back in my pockets now, because I knew there would be no
need for them. Her voice was softer as she went on.

"Tell me, Sir Richard, has not that miracle been done?" she demanded.
"Might not in great stress that thief upon the cross have been a woman?
Tell me, Sir Richard, am I not clean?"

He flung his body into a seat, his arm across the table. I heard his
groan.

"God! Woman! What are you?" he exclaimed. "Clean? By God, yes, as a
lily! I wish I were half as white myself."

"Sir Richard, did you ever love a woman?"

"One other, beside yourself, long ago."

"May not we two ask that other miracle of yourself?"

"How do you mean? You have beaten me already."

"Why, then, this! If I could keep my promise, I would. If I could give
you myself, I would. Failing that, I may give you gratitude. Sir
Richard, I would give you gratitude, did you restore this treaty as it
was, for that new consideration. Come, now, these savages here are the
same savages who once took that little island for you yonder. Twice they
have defeated you. Do you wish a third war? You say England wishes
slavery abolished. As you know, Texas is wholly lost to England. The
armies of America have swept Texas from your reach for ever, even at
this hour. But if you give a new state in the north to these same
savages, you go so far against oppression, against slavery--you do
_that_ much for the doctrine of England, and her altruism in the world.
Sir Richard, never did I believe in hard bargains, and never did any
great soul believe in such. I own to you that when I asked you here this
afternoon I intended to wheedle from you all of Oregon north to
fifty-four degrees, forty minutes. I find in you done some such miracle
as in myself. Neither of us is so bad as the world has thought, as we
ourselves have thought. Do then, that other miracle for me. Let us
compose our quarrel, and so part friends."

"How do you mean, Madam?"

"Let us divide our dispute, and stand on this treaty as you wrote it
yesterday. Sir Richard, you are minister with extraordinary powers. Your
government ratifies your acts without question. Your signature is
binding--and there it is, writ already on this scroll. See, there are
wafers there on the table before you. Take them. Patch together this
treaty for me. That will be _your_ miracle, Sir Richard, and 'twill be
the mending of our quarrel. Sir, I offered you my body and you would not
take it. I offer you my hand. Will you have _that_, my lord? I ask this
of a gentleman of England."

It was not my right to hear the sounds of a man's shame and
humiliation; or of his rising resolve, of his reformed manhood; but I
did hear it all. I think that he took her hand and kissed it. Presently
I heard some sort of shufflings and crinkling of paper on the table. I
heard him sigh, as though he stood and looked at his work. His heavy
footfalls crossed the room as though he sought hat and stick. Her
lighter feet, as I heard, followed him, as though she held out both her
hands to him. There was a pause, and yet another; and so, with a
growling half sob, at last he passed out the door; and she closed it
softly after him.

When I entered, she was standing, her arms spread out across the door,
her face pale, her eyes large and dark, her attire still disarrayed. On
the table, as I saw, lay a parchment, mended with wafers.

Slowly she came, and put her two arms across my shoulders. "Monsieur!"
she said, "Monsieur!"




CHAPTER XXXV

THE PROXY OF PAKENHAM

A man can not possess anything that is better than a good woman,
nor anything that is worse than a bad one.--_Simonides_.


When I reached the central part of the city, I did not hasten thence to
Elmhurst Mansion. Instead, I returned to my hotel. I did not now care to
see any of my friends or even to take up matters of business with my
chief. It is not for me to tell what feelings came to me when I left
Helena von Ritz.

Sleep such as I could gain, reflections such as were inevitable,
occupied me for all that night. It was mid-morning of the following day
when finally I once more sought out Mr. Calhoun.

He had not expected me, but received me gladly. It seemed that he had
gone on about his own plans and with his own methods. "The Senora
Yturrio is doing me the honor of an early morning call," he began. "She
is with my daughter in another part of the house. As there is matter of
some importance to come up, I shall ask you to attend."

He despatched a servant, and presently the lady mentioned joined us. She
was a pleasing picture enough in her robe of black laces and
sulphur-colored silks, but her face was none too happy, and her eyes, it
seemed to me, bore traces either of unrest or tears. Mr. Calhoun handed
her to a chair, where she began to use her languid but effective fan.

"Now, it gives us the greatest regret, my dear Senora," began Mr.
Calhoun, "to have General Almonte and your husband return to their own
country. We have valued, their presence here very much, and I regret the
disruption of the friendly relations between our countries."

She made any sort of gesture with her fan, and he went on: "It is the
regret also of all, my dear lady, that your husband seems so shamelessly
to have abandoned you. I am quite aware, if you will allow me to be so
frank, that you need some financial assistance."

"My country is ruined," said she. "Also, Senor, I am ruined. As you say,
I have no means of life. I have not even money to secure my passage
home. That Senor Van Zandt--"

"Yes, Van Zandt did much for us, through your agency, Senora. We have
benefited by that, and I therefore regret he proved faithless to you
personally. I am sorry to tell you that he has signified his wish to
join our army against your country. I hear also that your late friend,
Mr. Polk, has forgotten most of his promises to you."

"Him I hate also!" she broke out. "He broke his promise to Senor Van
Zandt, to my husband, to me!"

Calhoun smiled in his grim fashion. "I am not surprised to hear all
that, my dear lady, for you but point out a known characteristic of that
gentleman. He has made me many promises which he has forgotten, and
offered me even of late distinguished honors which he never meant me to
accept. But, since I have been personally responsible for many of these
things which have gone forward, I wish to make what personal amends I
can; and ever I shall thank you for the good which you have done to this
country. Believe me, Madam, you served your own country also in no ill
manner. This situation could not have been prevented, and it is not your
fault. I beg you to believe that. Had you and I been left alone there
would have been no war."

"But I am poor, I have nothing!" she rejoined.

There was indeed much in her situation to excite sympathy. It had been
through her own act that negotiations between England and Texas were
broken off. All chance of Mexico to regain property in Texas was lost
through her influence with Van Zandt. Now, when all was done, here she
was, deserted even by those who had been her allies in this work.

"My dear Senora," said John Calhoun, becoming less formal and more
kindly, "you shall have funds sufficient to make you comfortable at
least for a time after your return to Mexico. I am not authorized to
draw upon our exchequer, and you, of course, must prefer all secrecy in
these matters. I regret that my personal fortune is not so large as it
might be, but, in such measure as I may, I shall assist you, because I
know you need assistance. In return, you must leave this country. The
flag is down which once floated over the house of Mexico here."

She hid her face behind her fan, and Calhoun turned aside.

"Senora, have you ever seen this slipper?" he asked, suddenly placing
upon the table the little shoe which for a purpose I had brought with me
and meantime thrown upon the table.

She flashed a dark look, and did not speak.

"One night, some time ago, your husband pursued a lady across this town
to get possession of that very slipper and its contents! There was in
the toe of that little shoe a message. As you know, we got from it
certain information, and therefore devised certain plans, which you have
helped us to carry out. Now, as perhaps you have had some personal
animus against the other lady in these same complicated affairs, I have
taken the liberty of sending a special messenger to ask her presence
here this morning. I should like you two to meet, and, if that be
possible, to part with such friendship as may exist in the premises."

I looked suddenly at Mr. Calhoun. It seemed he was planning without my
aid.

"Yes," he said to me, smiling, "I have neglected to mention to you that
the Baroness von Ritz also is here, in another apartment of this place.
If you please, I shall now send for her also."

He signaled to his old negro attendant. Presently the latter opened the
door, and with a deep bow announced the Baroness von Ritz, who entered,
followed closely by Mr. Calhoun's inseparable friend, old Doctor Ward.

The difference in breeding between these two women was to be seen at a
glance. The Dona Lucrezia was beautiful in a way, but lacked the
thoroughbred quality which comes in the highest types of womanhood.
Afflicted by nothing but a somewhat mercenary or personal grief, she
showed her lack of gameness in adversity. On the other hand, Helena von
Ritz, who had lived tragedy all her life, and now was in the climax of
such tragedy, was smiling and debonaire as though she had never been
anything but wholly content with life! She was robed now in some light
filmy green material, caught up here and there on the shoulders and
secured with silken knots. Her white neck showed, her arms were partly
bare with the short sleeves of the time. She stood, composed and easy,
a figure fit for any company or any court, and somewhat shaming our
little assembly, which never was a court at all, only a private meeting
in the office of a discredited and disowned leader in a republican
government. Her costume and her bearing were Helena von Ritz's answer to
a woman's fate! A deep color flamed in her cheeks. She stood with head
erect and lips smiling brilliantly. Her curtsey was grace itself. Our
dingy little office was glorified.

"I interrupt you, gentlemen," she began.

"On the contrary, I am sure, my dear lady," said Doctor Ward, "Senator
Calhoun told me he wished you to meet Senora Yturrio."

"Yes," resumed Calhoun, "I was just speaking with this lady over some
matters concerned with this Little slipper." He smiled as he held it up
gingerly between thumb and finger. "Do you recognize it, Madam
Baroness?"

"Ah, my little shoe!" she exclaimed. "But see, it has not been well
cared for."

"It traveled in my war bag from Oregon to Washington," said I. "Perhaps
bullet molds and powder flasks may have damaged it."

"It still would serve as a little post-office, perhaps," laughed the
baroness. "But I think its days are done on such errands."

"I will explain something of these errands to the Senora Yturrio," said
Calhoun. "I wish you personally to say to that lady, if you will, that
Senor Yturrio regarded this little receptacle rather as official than
personal post."

For one moment these two women looked at each other, with that on their
faces which would be hard to describe. At last the baroness spoke:

"It is not wholly my fault, Senora Yturrio, if your husband gave you
cause to think there was more than diplomacy between us. At least, I can
say to you that it was the sport of it alone, the intrigue, if you
please, which interested me. I trust you will not accuse me beyond
this."

A stifled exclamation came from the Dona Lucrezia. I have never seen
more sadness nor yet more hatred on a human face than hers displayed. I
have said that she was not thoroughbred. She arose now, proud as ever,
it is true, but vicious. She declined Helena von Ritz's outstretched
hand, and swept us a curtsey. "_Adios!_" said she. "I go!"

Mr. Calhoun gravely offered her an arm; and so with a rustle of her
silks there passed from our lives one unhappy lady who helped make our
map for us.

The baroness herself turned. "I ought not to remain," she hesitated.

"Madam," said Mr. Calhoun, "we can not spare you yet."

She flashed upon him a keen look. "It is a young country," said she,
"but it raises statesmen. You foolish, dear Americans! One could have
loved you all."

"Eh, what?" said Doctor Ward, turning to her. "My dear lady, two of us
are too old for that; and as for the other--"

He did not know how hard this chance remark might smite, but as usual
Helena von Ritz was brave and smiling.

"You are men," said she, "such as we do not have in our courts of
Europe. Men and women--that is what this country produces."

"Madam," said Calhoun, "I myself am a very poor sort of man. I am old,
and I fail from month to month. I can not live long, at best. What you
see in me is simply a purpose--a purpose to accomplish something for my
country--a purpose which my country itself does not desire to see
fulfilled. Republics do not reward us. What _you_ say shall be our chief
reward. I have asked you here also to accept the thanks of all of us who
know the intricacies of the events which have gone forward. Madam, we
owe you Texas! 'Twas not yonder lady, but yourself, who first advised of
the danger that threatened us. Hers was, after all, a simpler task than
yours, because she only matched faiths with Van Zandt, representative of
Texas, who had faith in neither men, women nor nations. Had all gone
well, we might perhaps have owed you yet more, for Oregon."

"Would you like Oregon?" she asked, looking at him with the full glance
of her dark eyes.

"More than my life! More than the life of myself and all my friends and
family! More than all my fortune!" His voice rang clear and keen as that
of youth.

"All of Oregon?" she asked.

"All? We do not own all! Perhaps we do not deserve it. Surely we could
not expect it. Why, if we got one-half of what that fellow Polk is
claiming, we should do well enough--that is more than we deserve or
could expect. With our army already at war on the Southwest, England, as
we all know, is planning to take advantage of our helplessness in
Oregon."

Without further answer, she held out to him a document whose appearance
I, at least, recognized.

"I am but a woman," she said, "but it chances that I have been able to
do this country perhaps something of a favor. Your assistant, Mr. Trist,
has done me in his turn a favor. This much I will ask permission to do
for him."

Calhoun's long and trembling fingers were nervously opening the
document. He turned to her with eyes blazing with eagerness. "_It is
Oregon!_" He dropped back into his chair.

"Yes," said Helena von Ritz slowly. "It is Oregon. It is bought and paid
for. It is yours!"

So now they all went over that document, signed by none less than
Pakenham himself, minister plenipotentiary for Great Britain. That
document exists to-day somewhere in our archives, but I do not feel
empowered to make known its full text. I would I had never need to set
down, as I have, the cost of it. These others never knew that cost; and
now they never can know, for long years since both Calhoun and Doctor
Ward have been dead and gone. I turned aside as they examined the
document which within the next few weeks was to become public property.
The red wafers which mended it--and which she smilingly explained at
Calhoun's demand--were, as I knew, not less than red drops of blood.

In brief I may say that this paper stated that, in case the United
States felt disposed to reopen discussions which Mr. Polk peremptorily
had closed, Great Britain might be able to listen to a compromise on the
line of the forty-ninth parallel. This compromise had three times been
offered her by diplomacy of United States under earlier administrations.
Great Britain stated that in view of her deep and abiding love of peace
and her deep and abiding admiration for America, she would resign her
claim of all of Oregon down to the Columbia; and more, she would accept
the forty-ninth parallel; provided she might have free navigation
rights upon the Columbia. In fact, this was precisely the memorandum of
agreement which eventually established the lines of the treaty as to
Oregon between Great Britain and the United States.

Mr. Calhoun is commonly credited with having brought about this treaty,
and with having been author of its terms. So he was, but only in the
singular way which in these foregoing pages I have related. States have
their price. Texas was bought by blood. Oregon--ah, we who own it ought
to prize it. None of our territory is half so full of romance, none of
it is half so clean, as our great and bodeful far Northwest, still young
in its days of destiny.

"We should in time have had _all_ of Oregon, perhaps," said Mr. Calhoun;
"at least, that is the talk of these fierce politicians."

"But for this fresh outbreak on the Southwest there would have been a
better chance," said Helena von Ritz; "but I think, as matters are
to-day, you would be wise to accept this compromise. I have seen your
men marching, thousands of them, the grandest sight of this century or
any other. They give full base for this compromise. Given another year,
and your rifles and your plows would make your claims still better. But
this is to-day--"

"Believe me, Mr. Calhoun," I broke in, "your signature must go on
this."

"How now? Why so anxious, my son?"

"Because it is right!"

Calhoun turned to Helena von Ritz. "Has this been presented to Mr.
Buchanan, our secretary of state?" he asked.

"Certainly not. It has been shown to no one. I have been here in
Washington working--well, working in secret to secure this document for
you. I do this--well, I will be frank with you--I do it for Mr. Trist.
He is my friend. I wish to say to you that he has been--a faithful--"

I saw her face whiten and her lips shut tight. She swayed a little as
she stood. Doctor Ward was at her side and assisted her to a couch. For
the first time the splendid courage of Helena von Ritz seemed to fail
her. She sank back, white, unconscious.

"It's these damned stays, John!" began Doctor Ward fiercely. "She has
fainted. Here, put her down, so. We'll bring her around in a minute.
Great Jove! I want her to _hear_ us thank her. It's splendid work she
has done for us. But _why_?"

When, presently, under the ministrations of the old physician, Helena
von Ritz recovered her consciousness, she arose, fighting desperately to
pull herself together and get back her splendid courage.

"Would you retire now, Madam?" asked Mr. Calhoun. "I have sent for my
daughter."

"No, no. It is nothing!" she said. "Forgive me, it is only an old habit
of mine. See, I am quite well!"

Indeed, in a few moments she had regained something of that magnificent
energy which was her heritage. As though nothing had happened, she arose
and walked swiftly across the room. Her eyes were fixed upon the great
map which hung upon the walls--a strange map it would seem to us to-day.
Across this she swept a white hand.

"I saw your men cross this," she said, pointing along the course of the
great Oregon Trail--whose detailed path was then unknown to our
geographers. "I saw them go west along that road of destiny. I told
myself that by virtue of their courage they had won this war. Sometime
there will come the great war between your people and those who rule
them. The people still will win."

She spread out her two hands top and bottom of the map. "All, all, ought
to be yours,--from the Isthmus to the ice, for the sake of the people of
the world. The people--but in time they will have their own!"

We listened to her silently, crediting her enthusiasm to her sex, her
race; but what she said has remained in one mind at least from that day
to this. Well might part of her speech remain in the minds to-day of
people and rulers alike. Are we worth the price paid for the country
that we gained? And when we shall be worth that price, what numerals
shall mark our territorial lines?

"May I carry this document to Mr. Pakenham?" asked John Calhoun, at
last, touching the paper on the table.

"Please, no. Do not. Only be sure that this proposition of compromise
will meet with his acceptance."

"I do not quite understand why you do not go to Mr. Buchanan, our
secretary of state."

"Because I pay my debts," she said simply. "I told you that Mr. Trist
and I were comrades. I conceived it might be some credit for him in his
work to have been the means of doing this much."

"He shall have that credit, Madam, be sure of that," said John Calhoun.
He held out to her his long, thin, bloodless hand.

"Madam," he said, "I have been mistaken in many things. My life will be
written down as failure. I have been misjudged. But at least it shall
not be said of me that I failed to reverence a woman such as you. All
that I thought of you, that first night I met you, was more than true.
And did I not tell you you would one day, one way, find your reward?"

He did not know what he said; but I knew, and I spoke with him in the
silence of my own heart, knowing that his speech would be the same were
his knowledge even with mine.

"To-morrow," went on Calhoun, "to-morrow evening there is to be what we
call a ball of our diplomacy at the White House. Our administration,
knowing that war is soon to be announced in the country, seeks to make a
little festival here at the capital. We whistle to keep up our courage.
We listen to music to make us forget our consciences. To-morrow night we
dance. All Washington will be there. Baroness von Ritz, a card will come
to you."

She swept him a curtsey, and gave him a smile.

"Now, as for me," he continued, "I am an old man, and long ago danced my
last dance in public. To-morrow night all of us will be at the White
House--Mr. Trist will be there, and Doctor Ward, and a certain lady, a
Miss Elisabeth Churchill, Madam, whom I shall be glad to have you meet.
You must not fail us, dear lady, because I am going to ask of you one
favor."

He bowed with a courtesy which might have come from generations of an
old aristocracy. "If you please, Madam, I ask you to honor me with your
hand for my first dance in years--my last dance in all my life."

Impulsively she held out both her hands, bowing her head as she did so
to hide her face. Two old gray men, one younger man, took her hands and
kissed them.

Now our flag floats on the Columbia and on the Rio Grande. I am older
now, but when I think of that scene, I wish that flag might float yet
freer; and though the price were war itself, that it might float over a
cleaner and a nobler people, over cleaner and nobler rulers, more
sensible of the splendor of that heritage of principle which should be
ours.




CHAPTER XXXVI

THE PALO ALTO BALL

A beautiful woman pleases the eye, a good woman pleases the heart;
one is a jewel, the other a treasure.--_Napoleon I_.


On the evening of that following day in May, the sun hung red and round
over a distant unknown land along the Rio Grande. In that country, no
iron trails as yet had come. The magic of the wire, so recently applied
to the service of man, was as yet there unknown. Word traveled slowly by
horses and mules and carts. There came small news from that far-off
country, half tropic, covered with palms and crooked dwarfed growth of
mesquite and chaparral. The long-horned cattle lived in these dense
thickets, the spotted jaguar, the wolf, the ocelot, the javelina, many
smaller creatures not known in our northern lands. In the loam along the
stream the deer left their tracks, mingled with those of the wild
turkeys and of countless water fowl. It was a far-off, unknown, unvalued
land. Our flag, long past the Sabine, had halted at the Nueces. Now it
was to advance across this wild region to the Rio Grande. Thus did smug
James Polk keep his promises!

Among these tangled mesquite thickets ran sometimes long bayous, made
from the overflow of the greater rivers--_resacas_, as the natives call
them. Tall palms sometimes grew along the bayous, for the country is
half tropic. Again, on the drier ridges, there might be taller detached
trees, heavier forests--_palo alto_, the natives call them. In some such
place as this, where the trees were tall, there was fired the first gun
of our war in the Southwest. There were strange noises heard here in the
wilderness, followed by lesser noises, and by human groans. Some faces
that night were upturned to the moon--the same moon which swam so
gloriously over Washington. Taylor camped closer to the Rio Grande. The
fight was next to begin by the lagoon called the Resaca de la Palma. But
that night at the capital that same moon told us nothing of all this. We
did not hear the guns. It was far from Palo Alto to our ports of
Galveston or New Orleans. Our cockaded army made its own history in its
own unreported way.

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