Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker Part 11

"Why, Savoy! How earnest thou here?" I said.

"The devil fetched me, I guess."

He was far gone in liquor. "I am like Mr. Sterne's starling: 'I can't get out.' Ever read Mr. Sterne's--what is it?--oh, his 'Sentimental Journey'?"

Here was one worse than I, and I felt inclined to use what Friends call a precious occasion, a way being opened.

"This is a sad business, Savoy," I said.

"Dre'ful," he returned. "_Facilis descensus taverni._ No use to talk to me. I am tired of life. I am going to die. Some men shoot themselves, some like the rope, and some cold water. You know what Bishop what's-his-name--I mean Jeremy Taylor--says about ways to die: 'None please me.' But drink is the best. I mean to drink myself dead--dead--d--dead," and here he fell on to my shoulder. Letting him down easily, I loosed his neckerchief, and stood beside him, pitiful and shocked. Then in a moment I felt that I was drunk. The room whirled, and with an effort I got to the open window, stumbling over legs of men, who looked up from their cards and cursed me.

Of what chanced after this I knew for a time but little, until I was in one instant sobered. This was an hour later, and nigh to twelve o'clock.

What took place I heard from others; and, as it concerns a turning-point in my life, I shall try to relate it as if I myself had been conscious all the while.

The better for air, I went over to a table in the centre of the room not far from the door. Leaning heavily on Captain Small's shoulder, I threw on the table the last gold joe my aunt had given me with her final lesson in morals.

"Best in three, Etherington."

"Take it," he cried.

I threw double sixes, he threes, and I deuce ace. Then he cast some numbers as good. Certainly the devil meant to have me. I threw a third time; a six and a five turned up, and he an ace and a four. I had won.

"Double or quits," I said; "one throw." I won again, and at this I went on until the pile of gold grew beneath my eyes, amid laughter, curses, and all manner of vileness. Presently I heard the colonel exclaim, "This won't do, gentlemen," and I felt some one trying to draw me from the table. It was Captain Wynne. I cried out, "Hands off! no liberties with me! I am the head of thy house; thou art only a cadet." He laughed as I pushed him aside.

"You said double or quits," cried the stout major. How he got into the game I knew not.

"It is a mere boy! for shame!" cried the colonel. "I forbid it."

"I am a gentleman," I said. "Thou canst order thy officers; thou canst not order me," and as I spoke I cast so hard that I crushed the box.

I heard some one cry, "A d.a.m.n pretty Quaker! By George, he has lost! A clean hundred pounds!" Even in this drunken revel there was a pause for a moment. I was, after all, but a tipsy lad of twenty, and some were just not far enough gone to feel that it might look to others an ugly business. The colonel said something to Major Milewood as to disrespect, I hardly know what; for at this moment there was a loud knocking at the door. In the lull that followed I heard the colonel's voice.

Then the tumult broke out anew. "By Jove, it is a woman!" cried Wynne.

"I hear her. Wine and women! A guinea to a guinea she's pretty!"

"Done!" cried some one.

"Here's the key," said the major; "let's have her in."

"_Place aux dames_," hiccoughed a cornet.

The colonel rose, but it was too late. Wynne, seizing the key, unlocked the door and threw it wide open, as my mother, followed by Jack Warder, entered the room, and stood still a moment, dazed.

Captain Wynne, leering and unsteady, caught at her waist, exclaiming, "By George! she might be younger, but I've won. A toast! a toast! A Quaker, by George!"

Whether I was sobered or not, I know not. I can only say that of a sudden I was myself, and strangely quiet. I saw the dear lady, brave, beautiful, and with her curls falling about her neck, as she shrank back from the man's touch.

"Come, Hugh," she said.

"Yes, mother," I said; "but first--" and I struck Captain Wynne full in the face, so that, unprepared as he was, he fell over a table and on to the floor.

Every one started up. There was instant silence.

In a moment he was on his feet, and, like myself, another man. Turning, he said, with amazing coolness, wiping the blood away, for I was strong, and had hit hard, "Madam, I beg your pardon; we have been behaving like beasts, and I am fitly punished. As to you, Mr. Wynne, you are a boy, and have undertaken to rough it with men. This shall go no further."

"It shall go where I please," I cried.

"No, no; Hugh, Hugh!" said my mother.

"'We will talk it over to-morrow," said the captain; and then, turning, "I mean, gentlemen, that this shall stop here. If any man thinks I am wrong, let him say so. I shall know how to settle accounts with him."

"No, no," said the colonel; "you are right, and if any officer thinks otherwise, I too am at his service." In the silence which came after he added, "Permit me, madam;" and offering his arm to my mother, we following, they went downstairs, Jack and I after them, and so into the street and the reproachful calm of the starlit April night.

VIII

"Even so far away as now," says Jack, writing in after-days, "it grieves me to think of that winter, and of this mad scene at the London Coffee-house. When I saw Hugh go in with the officers, I waited for an hour, and then went away. Returning later, I learned that he was still upstairs. I felt that if I stayed until he came forth, although he might not be in a way to talk to me, to know that I had waited so long might touch him and help him to hear me with patience. I walked to and fro until the clock had struck twelve, fearful and troubled like a woman.

Sometimes I think I am like a woman in certain ways, but not in all.

"There were many people who loved Hugh, but, save his mother, none as I did. He had a serious kindliness in his ways, liking to help people, and for me at certain times and in certain crises a rea.s.suring directness of swift dealing with matters in hand, most sustaining to one of my hesitating nature. His courage was instinctive, mine the result of obedience to my will, and requiring a certain resolute effort.

"I think of him always as in time of peril, throwing his head up and his shoulders back, and smiling, with very wide-open eyes, like his mother's, but a deeper blue. The friends.h.i.+p of young men has often for a partial basis admiration of physical force, and Hugh excelled me there, although I have never been considered feeble or awkward except among those of another s.e.x, where always I am seen, I fear, to disadvantage.

"Just after twelve I saw a woman coming hastily up Front street. As she came to a pause in the light which streamed from the open door, I knew her for Madam Marie, as she had taught me to call her. She wore a _caleche_ hood, fallen back so that I saw her hair, half tumbled from under the thin gauze cap worn on the top of the head by most Quakers.

She was clad quite too slightly, and had for wrap only a thin, gray silk shawl.

"'_Mon Dieu!_' she exclaimed, 'I had to come. Jack, is he here? _Il faut que je monte_, I must go upstairs.' In excitement she was apt to talk French, and then to translate. 'Let me go,' said I; but she cried out, 'No, no! come!'

"There were many rough folks without, and others called together by the noise above, and no wonder. I said,' Come in; I will go up with thee.' She pushed me aside, and, with staring eyes, cried, _'Ou est l'escalier?'_ As we went through the coffee-room, the loungers looked at her with surprise. She followed me without more words, ran by me on the stairs, and in a moment beat fiercely on the door, crying, _'Ouvrez!_ open! quick!' Then there was that madhouse scene."

And this was how it came about, as Jack has here told, that, still hot and angry, but much sobered, I, her son, walked beside my mother till we came to our door, and Jack left us, saying:

"Wilt thou see me to-morrow?"

I said, "Yes. G.o.d bless thee! Thou art the real son," and we entered.

Then it was sweet to see her; she said no word of reproach except, "_Il ne faut pas me donner ton baiser du soir._ No, no; I am not to be kissed." And so I went, sorrowful and still dizzy, up to my sleepless couch.

At the first gray light of dawn I rose, and was soon away half a mile from sh.o.r.e in my boat. As I came up from my first plunge in the friendly river, and brushed the water from my eyes, I do a.s.sure you the world seemed different. The water was very cold, but I cared nothing for that. I went home another and a better man, with hope and trust and self-repose for company. That hour in the water at early morn forever after seemed to me a mysterious separation between two lives, like a mighty baptismal change. Even now I think of it with a certain awe.

I pulled home as the sun rose, and lingered about until our servants came in for the early wors.h.i.+p of the day. Soon I had the mother's kiss, and underwent a quick, searching look, after which she nodded gaily, and said, "_Est-ce que tout est bien, mon fils?_ Is all well with thee, my son?" I said, "Yes--yes." I heard her murmur a sweet little prayer in her beloved French tongue. Then she began to read a chapter. I looked up amazed. It was the prodigal's story.

I stood it ill, thinking it hard, that she should have made choice of that reproachful parable. I stared sideways out at the stream and the s.h.i.+ps, but lost no word, as, with a voice that broke now and then, she read the parable to its close. After this should have come prayer, silent or spoken; but, to my surprise, she said, "We will not pray this morning," and we went in to breakfast at once.

As for me, I could not eat. I went out alone to the garden and sat down.

I knew she would come to me soon. It seemed to me a long while. I sat on the gra.s.s against a tree, an old cherry, as I remember, and waited.