The Red City: A Novel of the Second Administration of President Washington

by S. Weir Mitchell

  XVII

  On Thursday, at the dawn of a gloomy winter morning, the two sleighscrossed over a mile of ice to the Jersey shore. Large flakes of snowwere falling as Schmidt drove, the little doctor, Chovet, beside him, DeCourval silent on the back seat. Nothing could keep Chovet quiet verylong. "I was in the duel of Laurens, the President of the Congress. Oh,it was to be on Christmas Day and near to Seven Street. Mr. Penn--oh,not the fat governor but the senator from Georgia--he slipped in the mudon the way, and Laurens he help him with a hand, and they make up all atonce and no further go, and I am disappoint." It was an endless chatter."And there was the Conway duel, too. Ah, that was good business!"

  Schmidt, out of patience, said at last, "If you talk any more, I willthrow you out of the sleigh."

  "Oh, _le diable!_ and who then will heal these which go to stick one theother? Ha! I ask of you that?"

  "The danger will be so much the less," said Schmidt. Chovet wassilenced.

  On the shore they met De la Foret and Carteaux, and presently found inthe woods an open space with little snow. The two men stripped to theshirt, and were handed the dueling-swords, Schmidt whispering: "Be cool;no temper here. Wait to attack."

  "And now," said the consul, as the seconds fell back, "on guard,Messieurs!"

  Instantly the two blades rang sharp notes of meeting steel as theycrossed and clashed in the cold morning air. "He is lost!" murmuredSchmidt. The slighter man attacked furiously, shifting his ground, atfirst imprudently sure of his foe. A prick in the chest warned him. Thenthere was a mad interchange of quick thrusts and more or less competentdefense, when De Courval, staggering, let fall his rapier and dropped,while Carteaux, panting, stood still.

  Schmidt knelt down. It was a deep chest wound and bled but littleoutwardly. De Courval, coughing up foamy blood, gasped, "It is over fora time--over." Chovet saw no more to do than to get his man home, and sostrangely does associative memory play her tricks that Schmidt, as herose in dismay, recalled the words of the dying _Mercutio_. Then, withapparent ease, he lifted Rene, and, carrying him to the sleigh, wrappedhim in furs, and drove swiftly over the ice to the foot of the garden."Fasten the horse, Doctor," he said, "and follow me." Rene smiled as theGerman carried him. "The second time of home-coming wounded. Howstrange! Don't be troubled, sir. I do not mean to die. Tell my motheryourself."

  "If you die," murmured Schmidt, "he shall follow you. Do not speak,Rene."

  He met Margaret on the porch. "What is it?" she cried, as he went by herwith his burden. "What is the matter?"

  "A duel. He is wounded. Call your mother." Not waiting to say more, hewent carefully up-stairs, and with Chovet's help Rene was soon in hisbed. It was quietly done, Mrs. Swanwick, distressed, but simply obeyingdirections, asked no questions and Margaret, below-stairs, outwardlycalm, her Quaker training serving her well, was bidding Nanny to ceasecrying and to get what was needed.

  Once in bed, Rene said only, "My mother--tell her, at once." She hadheard at last the quick haste of unwonted stir and met Schmidt at herchamber door.

  "May I come in?" he asked.

  "Certainly, Monsieur. Something has happened to Rene. Is he dead?"

  "No; but, he is hurt--wounded."

  "Then tell me the worst at once. I am not of those to whom you mustbreak ill news gently. Sit down." He obeyed her.

  "Rene has had a duel. He is badly wounded in the lung. You cannot seehim now. The doctor insists on quiet."

  "And who will stop me?" she said.

  "I, Madame," and he stood between her and the door. "Just now you canonly do him harm. I beg of you to wait--oh, patiently--for days,perhaps. If he is worse, you shall know it at once."

  For a moment she hesitated. "I will do as you say. Who was the man?"

  "Carteaux, Madame."

  "Carteaux here! _Mon Dieu!_ Does he live?"

  "Yes. He was not hurt."

  "And men say there is a God! Christ help me; what is it I have said? Howcame he here, this man?"

  He told her the whole story, she listening with moveless, pale, asceticface. Then she rose: "I am sorry I did not know of this beforehand. Ishould have prayed for my son that he might kill him. I thank you,Monsieur. I believe you love my Rene."

  "As if he were my son, Madame."

  Days went by, darkened with despair or brightened with faint hope. Alas!who has not known them? The days grew to weeks. There were no longerguests, only anxious inquirers and a pale, drooping young woman and twomothers variously troubled.

  But if here there were watching friendship and love and service and aman to die to-day or to-morrow to live, in the darkened room werespirits twain ever whispering love or hate. Outside of the house whereDe Courval lay, the Jacobin clubs rejoiced and feasted Carteaux, whoburned De Courval's note and held his tongue, while Fauchet complainedof the insult to his secretary, and Mr. Randolph neither would nor coulddo anything.

  The February of 1794 passed, and March and April, while Glentworth,Washington's physician, came, and afterward Dr. Rush, to Chovet'sdisgust. Meanwhile the young man lay in bed wasting away with grimdoubts of phthisis in the doctors' minds until in May there was a gain,and, as once before, he was allowed a settle, and soon was in the air onthe upper porch, and could see visitors.

  Schmidt, more gaunt than ever, kissed the hand of the vicomtesse in hisGerman fashion, as for the first time through all the long vigils theyhad shared with Mary Swanwick she thanked him for positive assurance ofrecovery.

  "He is safe, you tell me. May the God who has spared my son remember youand bless you through all your days and in all your ways!"

  He bent low. "I have my reward, Madame."

  Some intuitive recognition of what was in his mind was perhaps naturallyin the thought of both. She said, "Will it end here?"

  Seeing before him a face which he could not read, he replied, "It is tobe desired that it end here, or that some good fortune put the seabetween these two."

  "And can you, his friend, say that? Not if he is the son I bore. I trustnot," and, turning away, she left him; while he looked after her andmurmured: "There is more mother in me than in her," and going out towhere Rene lay, he said gaily: "Out of prison at last, my boy. A grimjail is sickness."

  "Ah, to hear the birds who are so free," said Rene. "Are they ever ill,I wonder?"

  "Mr. Hamilton is below, Rene--just come from New York. He has been heretwice."

  "Then I shall hear of the world. You have starved me of news." There waslittle good to tell him. The duke, their cousin, had fled from France,and could write to madame only of the Terror and of deaths and ruin.

  The Secretary came up fresh with the gaiety of a world in which he wasstill battling fiercely with the Republican party, glad of the absenceof his rival, Jefferson, who saw no good in anything he did or said.

  "You are very kind," said De Courval, "to spare me a little of yourtime, sir." Indeed he felt it. Hamilton sat down, smiling at theeagerness with which Rene questioned him.

  "There is much to tell, Vicomte. The outrages on our commerce by theEnglish have become unendurable, and how we are to escape war I do notsee. An embargo has been proclaimed by the President; it is for thirtydays, and will be extended to thirty more. We have many English ships inour ports. No one of them can leave."

  "That ought to bring them to their senses," said Rene.

  "It may," returned Hamilton.

  "And what, sir, of the treaty with England?"

  Hamilton smiled. "I was to have been sent, but there was too muchopposition, and now, as I think, wisely, Chief-Justice Jay is to go toLondon."

  "Ah, Mr. Hamilton, if there were but war with England,--and there iscause enough,--some of us poor exiles might find pleasant occupation."

  The Secretary became grave. "I would do much, yield much, to escape war,Vicomte. No man of feeling who has ever seen war desires to see itagain. If the memory of nations were as retentive as the memory of aman, there would be an end of wars."

  "And yet, sir," said Rene, "I hardly see how
you--how thispeople--endure what you so quietly accept."

  "Yes, yes. No man more than Washington feels the additions of insult toinjury. If to-day you could give him a dozen frigates, our answer toEngland would not be a request for a treaty which will merely securepeace, and give us that with contempt, and little more. What itpersonally costs that proud gentleman, our President, to preserve hisneutral attitude few men know."

  Rene was pleased and flattered by the thoughtful gravity of thestatesman's talk.

  "I see, sir," he said. "There will be no war."

  "No; I think not. I sincerely hope not. But now I must go. Mycompliments to your mother; and I am glad to see you so well."

  As he went out, he met Schmidt in the hall. "Ah, why did you not preventthis duel?" he said.

  "No man could, sir. It is, I fear, a business to end only when one ofthem dies. It dates far back of the blow. Some day we will talk of it,but I do not like the outlook."

  "Indeed." He went into the street thoughtful. In principle opposed toduels, he was to die in the prime of life a victim to the pistol ofBurr.

  The pleasant May weather and the open air brought back to De Courvalhealth and the joys of life. The girl in the garden heard once more hisbits of French song, and when June came with roses he was able to lie onthe lower porch, swinging at ease in a hammock sent by Captain Biddle,and it seemed as if the world were all kindness. As he lay, Schmidtread to him, and he missed only Margaret, ordered out to the country inthe care of Aunt Gainor, while, as he grew better, he had the strangejoy of senses freshened and keener than in health, as if he were rebornto a new heritage of tastes and odors, the priceless gift of wholesomeconvalescence.

  He asked no questions concerning Carteaux or what men said of the duel;but as Schmidt, musing, saw him at times gentle, pleased, merry, oragain serious, he thought how all men have in them a brute ancestorready with a club. "Just now the devil is asleep." He alone, and themother, fore-looking, knew; and so the time ran on, and every one wantedhim. The women came with flowers and strawberries, and made much of him,the gray mother not ill-pleased.

  In June he was up, allowed to walk out or to lie in the boat whileSchmidt caught white perch or crabs and talked of the many lands he hadseen. Then at last, to Rene's joy, he might ride.

  "Here," said Schmidt, "is a note from Mistress Gainor. We are asked todine and stay the night. No, not you. You are not yet fit for dinnersand gay women. These doctors are cruel. There will be, she writes, Mr.Jefferson, here for a week; Mr. Langstroth, and a woman or two; andWolcott of the Treasury, 'if Hamilton will let him come,' she says." Forperhaps wisely the new official followed the ex-Secretary's counsels, tothe saving of much needless thinking. "A queer party that!" saidSchmidt. "What new mischief are she and the ex-Quaker Josiah devising?"He would be there at three, he wrote, the groom having waited a reply.

  "Have you any message for Miss Margaret, Rene?" he asked next day.

  "Tell her that all that is left of me remembers her mother's kindness."And, laughing, he added: "That there is more of me every day."

  "And is that all?"

  "Yes; that is all. Is there any news?"

  "None of moment. Oh, yes, I meant to tell you. The heathen imagine avain thing--a fine republican mob collected in front of the Harp andCrown yesterday. There was a picture set up over the door in the war--apicture of the Queen of France. A painter was made to paint a ring ofblood around the neck and daub the clothes with red. If there is a fooldevil, he must grin at that."

  "_Canaille!_" said Rene. "Poor queen! We of the religion did not loveher; but to insult the dead! Ah, a week in Paris now, and these cowardswould fly in fear."

  "Yes; it is a feeble sham." And so he left Rene to his book and rodeaway with change of garments in his saddle-bags.