Читать книгу A Volunteer with Pike - Robert Ames Bennet - Страница 15

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There may be more disagreeable tasks than waiting on the uncertain favor of public officials. If so, I have never chanced upon them. Backed by letters of introduction from prominent men in New Orleans and St. Louis and by my father's old-time friend Senator Adair of Kentucky, I had thought to obtain the coveted leadership of the westward expedition for the asking.

To my surprise, even the letter of so great a merchant as Daniel Clark met with scant consideration from the Eastern office-holders, and Senator Adair soon confessed to his lack of influence with the Government with regard to my interest. At the same time he intimated to me that should I be able to gain the good word of Colonel Burr, it was not unlikely I might receive my appointment direct from General Wilkinson.

"But, sir," I protested, "what has Colonel Burr to do with a military expedition planned by the Commander-in-Chief of the Army?"

The Senator gave me a sharp glance, and considered for some moments before replying: "Young man, one of the greatest aids to success in life is the ability to recognize helpful friends. I have received a letter from Colonel Burr in the last Philadelphia post. You met him at the President's House, and I gather from his remarks regarding the occasion that he was greatly taken with yourself."

"Unfortunately the favorable impression was not mutual," I said.

"It is indeed unfortunate—for you, John," reproved the Senator. "Such men as Colonel Burr can pick and choose from thousands."

"I am willing to be passed over."

"Tut! a boyish whim! Do not say no to me. You will cultivate the friendship of the Colonel." I made an impatient gesture. "At the least, you will not rebuff him."

"Sir, I have not sought his advances. But since it is you who ask, I will not take positive stand against him."

"That is better. It might be more—yet enough for the time. Let me tell you, John, Colonel Burr is still a man of mark in this Republic, and I shall be vastly surprised if he does not add laurels to those he has already gathered."

"It is I who am surprised," I replied. "A once successful politician, now discredited from Maine to Virginia—a man who seven years ago tied with Mr. Jefferson in the vote for the Presidency, and last election was all but unanimously rejected, alike by the people and by the electoral college—for you to speak of such a man winning other laurels!"

"You forget the West."

"The West?"

"Consider his reception west of the Alleghanies this past year—his triumphant progress from Pittsburg to New Orleans and return."

"The West will elect no Presidents in many years to come."

The Senator gave me an odd look. "Perhaps not—perhaps not. These people of the original States would not consider it a possibility even of the remotest future," he murmured. Again he considered. At last, "Has it occurred to you, John, that this expedition may have other object than the exploration of our Western boundaries?"

"There will be treaties to make with the powerful tribes of plains Indians—the Pawnees and perhaps the Ietans, or Comanches, as some call them."

"Ah, yes; with the Pawnees—and others. Did you never hear it said that, could an overland trade with Santa Fe be established, it would be of no small profit to those fortunate enough to obtain the concession from the Spanish authorities? Santa Fe is the nearest gateway to the mines of Mexico—to El Dorado."

"I know a certain Señor Liza of St. Louis who would not forego a chance to join in such a venture," I replied.

"True—true. But he is a Spanish Creole, and, I fear, not too well disposed toward us. My point is, would it be too great an improbability that a certain projected expedition should chance to come in friendly touch with the authorities of northern New Spain?"

Having given me food for thought to last me many a day, the Senator dropped the subject. During all my subsequent months of waiting I could not induce him to discuss it again.

The time of this conversation was the third week of my stay in Washington. Being well supplied with funds and on agreeable terms both socially and professionally with Dr. Frederick May, I had settled down in my comfortable boarding-house, prepared, if need were, to besiege the Government throughout the Winter. Should I fail to attain my desired end, I had only to return West to find a fair practice awaiting me either at St. Louis or New Orleans. At the worst there would be ample recompense for my expenditures in the experience of a Winter in the Federal City.

Even had I been certain of the rejection of the formal application which, a few days after the dinner at the White House, I had placed on file in the War Office, I should have prolonged my stay for some time. Within the week I had taken advantage of the invitations to call tendered me by the ladies of the President's party. Within another week I found myself fairly launched in the social swim.

It is not remarkable that a man well under thirty, who has spent many of his years riding the wilderness traces, should plunge into social affairs with a zest unknown to the city dweller. To this zest there was added in my case the keen desire to meet again my haughty Señorita Alisanda. Yet devote myself as I might to attendance at balls, fêtes, dinners, routs, and calls innumerable, it was only to meet with repeated disappointments. Although, thanks to the kindness of Dr. May and my lady patronesses, there were few social gatherings, small or great, to which I was not invited, I failed to gain another meeting with the lady of my heart. She was not present even at the grand New Year's fête at the White House, when Mr. Jefferson, as was his custom, received and entertained all Washington.

That I was desperately in love with the señorita I had soon found myself compelled to admit. For nothing less than the depth and passion of my feeling could have prevented me from laughing myself out of it for the sheer absurdity of such a thing.

Reared among a people whose daughters marry at sixteen and their sons at nineteen and twenty, I had safely survived my calf-love, had even run the seductive gantlet of the creole belles of New Orleans—only to fall victim in my mature twenties to the first glance of this haughty Spanish señorita. What could I hope from one who doubtless regarded me as our Western girls regard the red Indian? I do not mean with the like horror, but with a like contempt.

Not alone was she a Spanish Catholic, to whom marriage with a heretic would mean little less than sacrilege—she was the daughter of a Castilian family whose name implied kinship with one of the royal houses of France. I was a man without a grandfather, and, what gave me real concern, a citizen of a Republic which, in return for the carrying trade of the world, was grovelling at the feet of England and France, submissive to their contemptuous kicks.

True, Spain also bowed beneath the iron hand of Napoleon, but it was because of the might of that hand, and not, as with us, because of a willingness to endure shame rather than part with the commerce of which our humiliation was the price. Far better war and death than such barter of principles for gold!

As I thought of my abject countrymen I did not wonder that my lady had looked upon me with hauteur; and yet I could not but reflect on the graciousness of her thanks from the carriage window and that inscrutable glance at our last parting. Hope interpreted the glance to mean that she was heart-free and to be won by him who could stir her heart. Despair said that she had gone forever beyond my reach, to the far distant home of her uncle in New Spain. One answer to this last was the wild fancy that, could I but attain the leadership of the Western expedition, I might penetrate the wilderness and seek her out in the midst of her people.

At the height of my fantastic scheming, gossip at last enlightened me to the fact that my lady was yet in the city, stopping with a humble family of Catholics, and precluded from attendance at social functions by the absence of her uncle on a trip to Philadelphia.

Rumor added that the señor had gone to the old Capitol in company with Colonel Burr, who, having spent much time at the British Legation with Mr. Merry, the English Minister, had hurried North to confer with the Marquis de Casa Yrujo. But Rumor and Colonel Burr were old bedmates, and I gave little heed to the report at the time.

My interest was centred on the joyous news that the señorita was still in Washington, not upon the curious information that her uncle and Colonel Burr were supposed to have business with the Spanish Minister, who, though he had severed diplomatic relations with our Government some months since, yet lingered at Philadelphia.

Significant as should have been this report to one with my interests and information, I must confess that not even the mention of Señor Vallois drew second thought from me. For the time being my whole intent was to find myself once more in the presence of the señorita. The question was how and where? She was not to be seen in society, and I was not quite so mad as to thrust myself in upon her at her retreat.

Hope flamed up again when all seemed darkest. As is well known to all people of information, the Sunday assemblage in the Hall of Representatives at the Capitol is frequently varied by the preaching of distinguished clergymen of various sects and denominations. Being rather given to Free Thought, though not to Atheism, I had thus far refrained from attending these quasi-official services, much as I had heard about them as the social levees of the city.

Chance, however, brought to Washington a noted Catholic bishop, and the announcement that he would preach the following Sabbath in place of the chaplain stirred me with the hope of a pleasant possibility. That Sunday I went early to the assemblage hall, dressed in my best attire, my chin swathed high enough by my pudding cravat to shame a London beau, my trousers cut to the most modish, baggy shape and flapping loosely about my shins.