The Red City Part 21

XII

An express-rider from Chester had ridden through the night to carry to Mr. Wynne at Merion the news of his s.h.i.+ps' return and a brief note from the captain to say that all had gone well.

Though weaker than he was willing to believe, De Courval was able with some help to get on deck and was welcomed by Wynne, who saw with sudden anxiety the young man's pallor; for although neither wound was serious, he had lost blood enough to satisfy even the great Dr. Rush, and limped uneasily as he went to the rail to meet the s.h.i.+p-owner.

"Are you hurt?" asked Wynne.

"Not badly. We had a little bout with a British corvette. Captain Biddle will tell you, sir. St. Denis! but it was fun while it lasted; and the cutting out, too."

"I envy you," said Wynne, with swift remembrance of the market-place in Germantown, the glow of battle in his gray Welsh eyes.

De Courval's face lighted up at the thought of it. "But now," he said--"now I must see my mother--oh, at once."

"The tide is at full flood. A boat shall drop you at the foot of the garden. Can you walk up from the sh.o.r.e, or shall I send you a chaise?"

"I can walk, sir." He was too eager to consider his weakness, and strong hands helping him into and out of the boat, in a few minutes, for the distance was small, he was set ash.o.r.e at the foot of the garden, now bare and leafless. He dismissed the men with thanks, and declared he required no further help. With much-needed care he limped up the slope, too aware of pain and of an increase of weakness that surprised him, but nevertheless with a sense of exhilaration at the thought of coming home--yes, home--after having done what he well knew would please his mother. No other thought was in his mind.

Of a sudden he heard voices, and, looking up, saw Mrs. Swanwick and Margaret. Gay, excited, and happy, he stumbled forward as they came, the girl crying out: "The vicomte, mother!"

"Ah, but it is good to see you!" he said as he took the widow's hand and kissed it, and then the girl's, who flushed hot as he rose unsteadily.

Seeing her confusion, he said: "Pardon me. It is our way at home, and I am so, so very glad to get back to you all!"

"But--thou art lame!" cried the widow, troubled.

"And his face--he is hurt, mother!"

"Yes, yes; but it is of no moment. We had a one-sided battle at sea."

Then he reeled, recovering himself with effort. "My mother is well?"

"Yes. Lean on me. Put a hand on my arm," said Mrs. Swanwick. "Ah, but the mother will be glad!" And thus, the Pearl walking behind, they went into the house. "Tell madame he is here, Margaret." The young woman went by them and up-stairs to the vicomtesse's bedroom, breathless as she entered in haste.

The vicomtesse said sharply: "Always knock, child."

"I forgot. He is come. He is here. I--we are so glad for thee."

"My son?" She rose.

"Yes, yes." Margaret fled away. It was not for other eyes; she knew that. The vicomtesse met him on the landing, caught him in her arms, kissed him, held him off at arm's-length, and cried. "Are you ill, Rene?"

"No, no; a little hurt, not badly. I have lost blood," and then, tottering, added faintly, "a wound, a wound," and sank to the floor. She called loudly in alarm, and Schmidt, coming in haste from his room and lifting him, carried him to his bedchamber. He had overestimated his strength and his power of endurance.

Mother and hostess took possession of him. Nanny hurried with the warming-pan for the bed; and reviving, he laughed as they came and went, acknowledged the welcome comfort of lavender-scented sheets and drank eagerly the milk-punch they brought.

Within an hour Schmidt had the little French surgeon at his bedside, and soon Rene's face and torn thigh were fitly dressed. There was to be quiet, and only madame or Mrs. Swanwick, and a little laudanum and no starvation. They guarded him well, and, as he said, "fiercely," and, yes, in a week he might see people. "Not Mistress Wynne," said the doctor; "a tornado, that woman: but Mr. Schmidt and Mr. Wynne." He was impatient enough as he lay abed and ate greedily wonderful dishes from Darthea Wynne; and there, from the only greenhouse in the town, were flowers, with Mrs. Robert Morris's compliments, and books, the latest, from Mistress Gainor, "for the hero, please," for by now the town was astir with Captain Biddle's story. The German wrote for him notes of thanks, but as yet would not talk. He could wait to hear of his voyage.

He was on a settle one morning alone with Schmidt. There came a discreet knock at the door. "Come in," called Schmidt, and Margaret entered, saying: "These are the first. I gathered them myself at Uncle Josiah's,"

from which it may be understood that Josiah had made his peace.

"I found them on the Wissahickon. Smell of them," she said as she set her bowl of fragrant trailing-arbutus before him, coloring a little, and adding: "Mother said I must not stay. We are glad thou art better."

"Oh, thank you, thank you," said the young man. The air of spring, the youth of the year, was in the room. As the door closed behind Margaret, Schmidt asked: "Rene, did you ever see the Quaker lady?--the flower, I mean."

"Yes, once. And now again. How she grows!"

"Yes, she does grow," said Schmidt. "I have noticed that at her age young women grow." While he spoke, Mr. Wynne came in, a grave, reserved, st.u.r.dy man, in whom some of the unemotional serenity of his Quaker ancestry became more notable as he went on into middle life.

Schmidt excused himself, and Wynne sat down, saying: "You seem quite yourself, Vicomte. I have heard the whole story from Captain Biddle. You have made one more friend, and a good one. You will be amused to learn that the French party is overjoyed because of your having victualed the starving Jacobins. The Federals are as well pleased, and all the s.h.i.+p-owners at the baffling of the corvette. No, don't speak; let me finish. The merchants at the coffee-house have voted both of you tankards, and five hundred dollars for the crew, and what the women will say or do the Lord knows. You will have need to keep your head cool among them all."

"Ah, Mr. Wynne, if my head was not turned by what you said to me when we parted, it is safe enough."

"My opinion has been fully justified; but now for business. Both s.h.i.+ps are in. You have made an unlooked-for gain for me. Your share--oh, I shall take care of the captain, too--your share will be two thousand dollars. It is now in the bank with what is left of your deposit with me. I can take you again as my clerk or Stephen Girard will send you as supercargo to China. For the present I have said my say."

"I thank you, sir. It is too much, far too much. I shall go back to my work with you."

"And I shall be glad to have you. But I fear it may not be for life--as I should wish."

"No, Mr. Wynne. Some day this confusion in France must end, and then or before, though no Jacobin, I would be in the army."

"I thought as much," said Wynne. "Come back now to me, and in the fall or sooner something better may turn up; but for a month or two take a holiday. Your wages will go on. Now, do not protest. You need the rest, and you have earned it." With this he added: "And come out to Merion. My wife wants to thank you; and madame must come, too. Have you heard that we are to have a new French minister in April?"

"Indeed? I suppose he will have a great welcome from the Republicans."

"Very likely," said Wynne.

It was more from loss of blood that Rene had suffered than from the gravity of the wound. His recovery was rapid, and he was soon released from the tyranny which woman loves to establish about the sickness-fettered man. The vicomtesse had some vague regret when he a.s.serted his independence, for again he had been a child, and her care of him a novel interest in a life of stringent beliefs, some prejudices, and very few positive sources of pleasure. The son at this time came to know her limitations better and to recognize with clearer vision how narrow must always have been a life of small occupations behind which lay, as yet una.s.sailed, the pride of race and the more personal creed of the obligations of a caste which no one, except Mistress Wynne, ventured to describe to Schmidt as needing social spectacles. "A provincial lady," she said; "a lady, but of the provinces." The German smiled, which was often his only comment upon her shrewd insight and unguarded talk.

The vicomtesse settled down again to her life of books, church, and refusals to go anywhere except to Darthea at Merion, where she relaxed and grew tender among the children. She would have her son go among gayer people, and being free for a time he went as bidden, and was made much of at the town houses of the gay set. But as he would not play loo for money, and grew weary at last of the role of Oth.e.l.lo and of relating, much against his will, his adventures to a variety of attentive Desdemonas who asked questions about his life in France, of which he had no mind to speak, he soon returned to the more wholesome company of Schmidt and the tranquil society of the widow's house.

Schmidt, with increasing attachment and growing intimacy of relation, began again the daily bouts with the foils, the long pulls on the river, and the talks at night when the house was quiet in sleep.

The grave young Huguenot was rather tired of being made to pa.s.s as a hero, and sternly refused the dinners of the Jacobin clubs, declining to claim for himself the credit of relieving the Jacobin vicomte, his kinsman.

The more certain news of war between France and Great Britain had long since reached Philadelphia, and when, one afternoon in April, Mr.

Alexander Hamilton, just come from a visit to New York, appeared at the widow's, he said to Schmidt that Citizen Genet, the French minister, had reached Charleston in the _Ambuscade_, a frigate. He had brought commissions for privateers, and had already sent out two, the _Citizen Genet_ and the _Sans Culottes_, to wage war on English commerce. The Secretary of State, Jefferson, had protested against the French consul's condemning prizes, but the republican Jacobins, gone mad with joy, took sides against their leader, and mocked at the President's proclamation of neutrality. Such was his news. Mr. Hamilton was depressed and had lost his usual gaiety. It was all bad, very bad. The man's heart ached for the difficulties of his friend, the hara.s.sed President.

Meanwhile imitative folly set the Jacobin fas.h.i.+ons of long pantaloons and high boots for good republicans. The young men took to growing mustachios. Tricolor c.o.c.kades appeared in the streets, while the red cap on barbers' poles and over tavern signs served, with news of the ma.s.sacres in France, to keep in De Courval's mind the thought of his father's fate. In the meantime, amid feasts and clamorous acclaim, Genet came slowly north with his staff of secretaries.

Schmidt saw at this time how depressed his young friend had become and felt that in part at least it was due to want of steady occupation.

Trying to distract him one evening, he said: "Let us go to the fencing school of the Comte du Vallon. I have long meant to ask you. It is late, but the _emigres_ go thither on a Friday. It will amuse you, and you want something I cannot teach. Your defense is slow, your attack too unguarded."

"But," said De Courval, "I cannot afford lessons at a dollar. It is very well for Morris and Lloyd."

Schmidt laughed. "I let the comte have the rooms free. The house is mine. Yes, I know, you avoid the _emigres_; but why? Oh, yes, I know you have been busy, and they are not all to your taste, nor to mine; but you will meet our bookseller De Mery and De Noailles, whom you know, and you will like Du Vallon."

It was nine o'clock when, hearing foils ringing and laughter, they went up-stairs in an old warehouse on the north side of Dunker's Court, and entered presently a large room amid a dozen of what were plainly French gentlemen, who were fencing in pairs and as merry as if no heads of friends and kindred were day by day falling on the guillotine. Schmidt knew them all and had helped many. They welcomed him warmly.