Book: 54 40 or Fight

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"That means also Oregon?"

He nodded. "Always with the Texas question comes the Oregon question.
Mr. Calhoun is none too friendly to Mr. Polk, and yet he knows that
through Jackson's influence with the Southern democracy Polk has an
excellent chance for the next nomination for the presidency. God knows
what folly will come then. But sometime, one way or another, the joint
occupancy of England and the United States in the Oregon country must
end. It has been a waiting game thus far, as you know; but never think
that England has been idle. This meeting in Montreal will prove that to
you."

In spite of myself, I began to feel the stimulus of a thought like this.
It was my salvation as a man. I began to set aside myself and my own
troubles.

"You are therefore," he concluded, "to go to Montreal, and find your own
way into that meeting of the directors of the Hudson Bay Company. There
is a bare chance that in this intrigue Mexico will have an emissary on
the ground as well. There is reason to suspect her hostility to all our
plans of extension, southwest and northwest. Naturally, it is the card
of Mexico to bring on war, or accept it if we urge; but only in case she
has England as her ally. England will get her pay by taking Texas, and
what is more, by taking California, which Mexico does not value. She
owes England large sums now. That would leave England owner of the
Pacific coast; for, once she gets California, she will fight us then for
_all_ of Oregon. It is your duty to learn all of these matters--who is
there, what is done; and to do this without making known your own
identity."

I sat for a moment in thought. "It is an honor," said I finally; "an
honor so large that under it I feel small."

"Now," said Doctor Ward, placing a gnarled hand on my shoulder, "you
begin to talk like a Marylander. It's a race, my boy, a race across this
continent. There are two trails--one north and one mid-continent. On
these paths two nations contend in the greatest Marathon of all the
world. England or the United States--monarchy or republic--aristocracy
or humanity'? These are some of the things which hang on the issue of
this contest. Take then your duty and your honor, humbly and
faithfully."

"Good-by," he said, as we steamed into Baltimore station. I turned, and
he was gone.




CHAPTER XIII

ON SECRET SERVICE

If the world was lost through woman, she alone can save it.--_Louis
de Beaufort._


In the days of which I write, our civilization was, as I may say, so
embryonic, that it is difficult for us now to realize the conditions
which then obtained. We had great men in those days, and great deeds
were done; but to-day, as one reflects upon life as it then was, it
seems almost impossible that they and their deeds could have existed in
a time so crude and immature.

The means of travel in its best form was at that time at least curious.
We had several broken railway systems north and south, but there were
not then more than five thousand miles of railway built in America. All
things considered, I felt lucky when we reached New York less than
twenty-four hours out from Washington.

From New York northward to Montreal one's journey involved a choice of
routes. One might go up the Hudson River by steamer to Albany, and
thence work up the Champlain Lake system, above which one might employ
a short stretch of rails between St. John and La Prairie, on the banks
of the St. Lawrence opposite Montreal. Or, one might go from Albany west
by rail as far as Syracuse, up the Mohawk Valley, and so to Oswego,
where on Lake Ontario one might find steam or sailing craft.

Up the Hudson I took the crack steamer _Swallow_, the same which just
one year later was sunk while trying to beat her own record of nine
hours and two minutes from New York to Albany. She required eleven hours
on our trip. Under conditions then obtaining, it took me a day and a
half more to reach Lake Ontario. Here, happily, I picked up a frail
steam craft, owned by an adventurous soul who was not unwilling to risk
his life and that of others on the uncertain and ice-filled waters of
Ontario. With him I negotiated to carry me with others down the St.
Lawrence. At that time, of course, the Lachine Canal was not completed,
and the Victoria Bridge was not even conceived as a possibility. One
delay after another with broken machinery, lack of fuel, running ice and
what not, required five days more of my time ere I reached Montreal.

I could not be called either officer or spy, yet none the less I did not
care to be recognized here in the capacity of one over-curious. I made
up my costume as that of an innocent free trader from the Western fur
country of the states, and was able, from my earlier experiences, to
answer any questions as to beaver at Fort Hall or buffalo on the
Yellowstone or the Red. Thus I passed freely in and about all the public
places of the town, and inspected with a certain personal interest all
its points of interest, from the Gray Nunneries to the new cathedrals,
the Place d'Armes, the Champ de Mars, the barracks, the vaunted brewery,
the historic mountain, and the village lying between the arms of the two
rivers--a point where history for a great country had been made, and
where history for our own now was planning.

As I moved about from day to day, making such acquaintance as I could, I
found in the air a feeling of excitement and expectation. The hotels,
bad as they were, were packed. The public places were noisy, the private
houses crowded. Gradually the town became half-military and half-savage.
Persons of importance arrived by steamers up the river, on whose expanse
lay boats which might be bound for England--or for some of England's
colonies. The Government--not yet removed to Ottawa, later capital of
Ontario--was then housed in the old Chateau Ramezay, built so long
before for the French governor, Vaudreuil.

Here, I had reason to believe, was now established no less a personage
than Sir George Simpson, Governor of the Hudson Bay Company. Rumor had
it at the time that Lord Aberdeen of England himself was at Montreal.
That was not true, but I established without doubt that his brother
really was there, as well as Lieutenant William Peel of the Navy, son of
Sir Robert Peel, England's prime minister. The latter, with his
companion, Captain Parke, was one time pointed out to me proudly by my
inn-keeper--two young gentlemen, clad in the ultra fashion of their
country, with very wide and tall bell beavers, narrow trousers, and
strange long sack-coats unknown to us in the States--of little shape or
elegance, it seemed to me.

There was expectancy in the air, that was sure. It was open secret
enough in England, as well as in Montreal and in Washington, that a
small army of American settlers had set out the foregoing summer for the
valley of the Columbia, some said under leadership of the missionary
Whitman. Britain was this year awakening to the truth that these men had
gone thither for a purpose. Here now was a congress of Great Britain's
statesmen, leaders of Great Britain's greatest monopoly, the Hudson Bay
Company, to weigh this act of the audacious American Republic. I was not
a week in Montreal before I learned that my master's guess, or his
information, had been correct. The race was on for Oregon!

All these things, I say, I saw go on about me. Yet in truth as to the
inner workings of this I could gain but little actual information. I
saw England's ships, but it was not for me to know whether they were to
turn Cape Hope or the Horn. I saw Canada's _voyageurs_, but they might
be only on their annual journey, and might go no farther than their
accustomed posts in the West. In French town and English town, among
common soldiers, _voyageurs_, inn-keepers and merchants, I wandered for
more than one day and felt myself still helpless.

That is to say, such was the case until there came to my aid that
greatest of all allies, Chance.




CHAPTER XIV

THE OTHER WOMAN

The world is the book of women.--_Rousseau_.


I needed not to be advised that presently there would be a meeting of
some of the leading men of the Hudson Bay Company at the little gray
stone, dormer-windowed building on Notre Dame Street. In this old
building--in whose vaults at one time of emergency was stored the entire
currency of the Canadian treasury--there still remained some government
records, and now under the steep-pitched roof affairs were to be
transacted somewhat larger than the dimensions of the building might
have suggested. The keeper of my inn freely made me a list of those who
would be present--a list embracing so many scores of prominent men whom
he then swore to be in the city of Montreal that, had the old Chateau
Ramezay afforded twice its room, they could not all have been
accommodated. For myself, it was out of the question to gain admittance.

In those days all Montreal was iron-shuttered after nightfall,
resembling a series of jails; and to-night it seemed doubly screened and
guarded. None the less, late in the evening, I allowed seeming accident
to lead me in a certain direction. Passing as often as I might up and
down Notre Dame Street without attracting attention, I saw more than one
figure in the semi-darkness enter the low chateau door. Occasionally a
tiny gleam showed at the edge of a shutter or at the top of some little
window not fully screened. As to what went on within I could only guess.

I passed the chateau, up and down, at different times from nine o'clock
until midnight. The streets of Montreal at that time made brave pretense
of lighting by virtue of the new gas works; at certain intervals
flickering and wholly incompetent lights serving to make the gloom more
visible. None the less, as I passed for the last time, I plainly saw a
shaft of light fall upon the half darkness from a little side door.
There emerged upon the street the figure of a woman. I do not know what
led me to cast a second glance, for certainly my business was not with
ladies, any more than I would have supposed ladies had business there;
but, victim of some impulse of curiosity, I walked a step or two in the
same direction as that taken by the cloaked figure.

Careless as I endeavored to make my movements, the veiled lady seemed to
take suspicion or fright. She quickened her steps. Accident favored me.
Even as she fled, she caught her skirt on some object which lay hidden
in the shadows and fell almost at full length. This I conceived to be
opportunity warranting my approach. I raised my hat and assured her that
her flight was needless.

She made no direct reply to me, but as she rose gave utterance to an
expression of annoyance. "_Mon Dieu!_" I heard her say.

I stood for a moment trying to recall where I had heard this same voice!
She turned her face in such a way that the light illuminated it. Then
indeed surprise smote me.

"Madam Baroness," said I, laughing, "it is wholly impossible for you to
be here, yet you are here! Never again will I say there is no such thing
as chance, no such thing as fate, no such thing as a miracle!"

She looked at me one brief moment; then her courage returned.

"Ah, then, my idiot," she said, "since it is to be our fortune always to
meet of dark nights and in impossible ways, give me your arm."

I laughed. "We may as well make treaty. If you run again, I shall only
follow you."

"Then I am again your prisoner?"

"Madam, I again am yours!"

"At least, you improve!" said she. "Then come."

"Shall I not call a _caleche?_--the night is dark."

"No, no!" hurriedly.

We began a midnight course that took us quite across the old French
quarter of Montreal. At last she turned into a small, dark street of
modest one-story residences, iron-shuttered, dark and cheerless. Here
she paused in front of a narrow iron gate.

"Madam," I said, "you represent to me one of the problems of my life.
Why does your taste run to such quarters as these? This might be that
same back street in Washington!"

She chuckled to herself, at length laughed aloud. "But wait! If you
entered my abode once," she said, "why not again? Come."

Her hand was at the heavy knocker as she spoke. In a moment the door
slowly opened, just as it had done that night before in Washington. My
companion passed before me swiftly. As she entered I saw standing at the
opening the same brown and wrinkled old dame who had served that night
before in Washington!

For an instant the light dazzled my eyes, but, determined now to see
this adventure through, I stepped within. Then, indeed, I found it
difficult to stifle the exclamation of surprise which came to my lips.
Believe it or not, as you like, we _were_ again in Washington!

I say that I was confronted by the identical arrangement, the identical
objects of furnishing, which had marked the luxurious boudoir of Helena
von Ritz in Washington! The tables were the same, the chairs, the
mirrors, the consoles. On the mantel stood the same girandoles with
glittering crystals. The pictures upon the walls, so far as I could
remember their themes, did not deviate in any particular of detail or
arrangement. The oval-backed chairs were duplicates of those I had seen
that other night at midnight. Beyond these same amber satin curtains
stood the tall bed with its canopy, as I could see; and here at the
right was the same low Napoleon bed with its rolled ends. The figures of
the carpets were the same, their deep-piled richness, soft under foot,
the same. The flowered cups of the sconces were identical with those I
had seen before. To my eye, even as it grew more studious, there
appeared no divergence, no difference, between these apartments and
those I had so singularly visited--and yet under circumstances so
strangely akin to these--in the capital of my own country!

"You are good enough to admire my modest place," said a laughing voice
at my shoulder. Then indeed I waked and looked about me, and saw that
this, stranger than any mirage of the brain, was but a fact and must
later be explained by the laborious processes of the feeble reason.

I turned to her then, pulling myself together as best I could. Yes, she
too was the same, although in this case costumed somewhat differently.
The wide ball gown of satin was gone, and in its place was a less
pretentious robing of some darker silk. I remembered distinctly that the
flowers upon the white satin gown I first had seen were pink roses. Here
were flowers of the crocus, cunningly woven into the web of the gown
itself. The slippers which I now saw peeping out as she passed were not
of white satin, but better foot covering for the street. She cast over
the back of a chair, as she had done that other evening, her light
shoulder covering, a dark mantle, not of lace now, but of some thin
cloth. Her jewels were gone, and the splendor of her dark hair was free
of decoration. No pale blue fires shone at her white throat, and her
hands were ringless. But the light, firm poise of her figure could not
be changed; the mockery of her glance remained the same, half laughing
and half wistful. The strong curve of her lips remained, and I recalled
this arch of brow, the curve of neck and chin, the droop of the dark
locks above her even forehead. Yes, it was she. It could be no one else.

She clapped her hands and laughed like a child as she turned to me.
"Bravo!" she said. "My judgment, then, was quite correct."

"In regard to what?"

"Yourself!"

"Pardon me?"

"You do not show curiosity! You do not ask me questions! Good! I think
I shall ask you to wait. I say to you frankly that I am alone here. It
pleases me to live--as pleases me! You are alone in Montreal. Why should
we not please ourselves?"

In some way which I did not pause to analyze, I felt perfectly sure that
this strange woman could, if she cared to do so, tell me some of the
things I ought to know. She might be here on some errand identical with
my own. Calhoun had sent for her once before. Whose agent was she now? I
found chairs for us both.

An instant later, summoned in what way I do not know, the old
serving-woman again reappeared. "Wine, Threlka," said the baroness;
"service for two--you may use this little table. Monsieur," she added,
turning to me, "I am most happy to make even some slight return for the
very gracious entertainment offered me that morning by Mr. Calhoun at
his residence. Such a droll man! Oh, la! la!"

"Are you his friend, Madam?" I asked bluntly.

"Why should I not be?"

I could frame neither offensive nor defensive art with her. She mocked
me.

In a few moments the weazened old woman was back with cold fowl, wine,
napery, silver.

"Will Monsieur carve?" At her nod the old woman filled my glass, after
my hostess had tasted of her own. We had seated ourselves at the table
as she spoke.

"Not so bad for a black midnight, eh?" she went on, "--in a strange
town--and on a strange errand? And again let me express my approbation
of your conduct."

"If it pleases you, 'tis more than I can say of it for myself," I began.
"But why?"

"Because you ask no questions. You take things as they come. I did not
expect you would come to Montreal."

"Then you know--but of course, I told you."

"Have you then no question?" she went on at last. Her glass stood half
full; her wrists rested gently on the table edge, as she leaned back,
looking at me with that on her face which he had needed to be wiser than
myself, who could have read.

"May I, then?"

"Yes, now you may go on."

"I thank you. First, of course, for what reason do you carry the secrets
of my government into the stronghold of another government? Are you the
friend of America, or are you a spy upon America? Are you my friend, or
are we to be enemies to-night?"

She flung back her head and laughed delightedly. "That is a good
beginning," she commented.

"You must, at a guess, have come up by way of the lakes, and by batteau
from La Prairie?" I ventured.

She nodded again. "Of course. I have been here six days."

"Indeed?--you have badly beaten me in our little race."

She flashed on me a sudden glance. "Why do you not ask me outright _why_
I am here?"

"Well, then, I do! I do ask you that. I ask you how you got access to
that meeting to-night--for I doubt not you were there?"

She gazed at me deliberately again, parting her red lips, again smiling
at me. "What would you have given to have been there yourself?"

"All the treasures those vaults ever held."

"So much? What will you give me, then, to tell you what I know?"

"More than all that treasure, Madam. A place--"

"Ah! a 'place in the heart of a people!' I prefer a locality more
restricted."

"In my own heart, then; yes, of course!"

She helped herself daintily to a portion of the white meat of the fowl.
"Yes," she went on, as though speaking to herself, "on the whole, I
rather like him. Yet what a fool! Ah, such a droll idiot!"

"How so, Madam?" I expostulated. "I thought I was doing very well."

"Yet you can not guess how to persuade me?"

"No; how could that be?"

"Always one gains by offering some equivalent, value for
value--especially with women, Monsieur."

She went on as though to herself. "Come, now, I fancy him! He is
handsome, he is discreet, he has courage, he is not usual, he is not
curious; but ah, _mon Dieu_, what a fool!"

"Admit me to be a fool, Madam, since it is true; but tell me in my folly
what equivalent I can offer one who has everything in the world--wealth,
taste, culture, education, wit, learning, beauty?"

"Go on! Excellent!"

"Who has everything as against my nothing! _What_ value, Madam?"

"Why, gentle idiot, to get an answer ask a question, always."

"I have asked it."

"But you can not guess that _I_ might ask one? So, then, one answer for
another, we might do--what you Americans call some business--eh? Will
you answer _my_ question?"

"Ask it, then."

"_Were you married_--that other night?"

So, then, she was woman after all, and curious! Her sudden speech came
like a stab; but fortunately my dull nerves had not had time to change
my face before a thought flashed into my mind. Could I not make
merchandise of my sorrow? I pulled myself into control and looked her
fair in the face.

"Madam," I said, "look at my face and read your own answer."

She looked, searching me, while every nerve of me tingled; but at last
she shook her head. "No," she sighed. "I can not yet say." She did not
see the sweat starting on my forehead.

I raised my kerchief over my head. "A truce, then, Madam! Let us leave
the one question against the other for a time."

"Excellent! I shall get my answer first, in that case, and for nothing."

"How so?"

"I shall only watch you. As we are here now, I were a fool, worse than
you, if I could not tell whether or not you are married. None the less,
I commend you, I admire you, because you do not tell me. If you are
_not_, you are disappointed. If you _are_, you are eager!"

"I am in any case delighted that I can interest Madam."

"Ah, but you do! I have not been interested, for so long! Ah, the great
heavens, how fat was Mr. Pakenham, how thin was Mr. Calhoun! But
you--come, Monsieur, the night is long. Tell me of yourself. I have
never before known a savage."

"Value for value only, Madam! Will you tell me in turn of yourself?"

"All?" She looked at me curiously.

"Only so much as Madam wishes."

I saw her dark eyes study me once more. At last she spoke again. "At
least," she said, "it would be rather vulgar if I did not explain some
of the things which become your right to know when I ask you to come
into this home, as into my other home in Washington."

"In Heaven's name, how many of these homes have you, then? Are they all
alike?"

"Five only, now," she replied, in the most matter-of-fact manner in the
world, "and, of course, all quite alike."

"Where else?"

"In Paris, in Vienna, in London," she answered. "You see this one, you
see them all. 'Tis far cooler in Montreal than in Washington in the
summer time. Do you not approve?"

"The arrangement could not be surpassed."

"Thank you. So I have thought. The mere charm of difference does not
appeal to me. Certain things my judgment approves. They serve, they
suffice. This little scheme it has pleased me to reproduce in some of
the capitals of the world. It is at least as well chosen as the taste of
the Prince of Orleans, son of Louis Philippe, could advise."

This with no change of expression. I drew a long breath.

She went on as though I had spoken. "My friend," she said, "do not
despise me too early. There is abundant time. Before you judge, let the
testimony be heard. I love men who can keep their own tongues and their
own hands to themselves."

"I am not your judge, Madam, but it will be long before I shall think a
harsh thought of you. Tell me what a woman may. Do not tell me what a
secret agent may _not_. I ask no promises and make none. You are very
beautiful. You have wealth. I call you `Madam.' You are married?"

"I was married at fifteen."

"At fifteen! And your husband died?"

"He disappeared."

"Your own country was Austria?"

"Call me anything but Austrian! I left my country because I saw there
only oppression and lack of hope. No, I am Hungarian."

"That I could have guessed. They say the most beautiful women of the
world come from that country."

"Thank you. Is that all?"

"I should guess then perhaps you went to Paris?"

"Of course," she said, "of course! of course! In time reasons existed
why I should not return to my home. I had some little fortune, some
singular experiences, some ambitions of my own. What I did, I did. At
least, I saw the best and worst of Europe."

She raised a hand as though to brush something from before her face.
"Allow me to give you wine. Well, then, Monsieur knows that when I left
Paris I felt that part of my studies were complete. I had seen a little
more of government, a little more of humanity, a little more of life, a
little more of men. It was not men but mankind that I studied most. I
had seen much of injustice and hopelessness and despair. These made the
fate of mankind--in that world."

"I have heard vaguely of some such things, Madam," I said. "I know that
in Europe they have still the fight which we sought to settle when we
left that country for this one."

She nodded. "So then, at last," she went on, "still young, having
learned something and having now those means of carrying on my studies
which I required, I came to this last of the countries, America, where,
if anywhere, hope for mankind remains. Washington has impressed me more
than any capital of the world."

"How long have you been in Washington?" I asked.

"Now you begin to question--now you show at last curiosity! Well, then,
I shall answer. For more than one year, perhaps more than two, perhaps
more than three!"

"Impossible!" I shook my head. "A woman like you could not be
concealed--not if she owned a hundred hidden places such as this."

"Oh, I was known," she said. "You have heard of me, you knew of me?"

I still shook my head. "No," said I, "I have been far in the West for
several years, and have come to Washington but rarely. Bear me out, I
had not been there my third day before I found you!"

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