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On reaching Pittsburg I found many private letters; one from Ord, then a first-lieutenant in Company F, Third Artillery, at Fort McHenry, Baltimore, saying that his company had just received orders for California, and asking me to apply for it.
It soon appeared that he was in the sulks. When McHenry wrote to him about proceeding with the organization of the army, he replied that he was willing provided Knox's precedence was acknowledged, and he added that the five New England States would not patiently submit to the humiliation of having Knox's claim disregarded. From August 4 to October 13, wrangling over this matter went on.
We met McTavish, the host of the hotel, an aging planter, who kept his public house as an adjunct of his farm, and more for sociability than gain. He was in a depressed and angry mood, for one of his eyes was closed, and the other battered about the rim and beginning to turn black and blue. He knew McHenry, for both had been in these seas half their lives.
Lying Bill, with his drink down, and his pipe smoking, resumed, with no attention to McHenry, and a withering glance at Fung Wah, who was bored and walked over to the wall to glance at the barometer. "Well, there's David dead on the doorstep, 'e probably shot 'imself about midnight, and Llewellyn comes rollin' in a couple o' hours later, an' stumbles over 'is bloody corpse.
Our question was destined to remain unanswered. Whatever Ducat had said, it was something that hushed McHenry forever. He never mentioned the subject again, nor did any of us. But McHenry's attitude had subtly changed. Ducat's words had destroyed that last secret refuge of the soul in which every man keeps the vestiges of self-justification and self-respect.
Landers, the head of a considerable business in Australasia, with a Papeete branch, had time heavy on his hands. Lying Bill and McHenry were seamen-traders ashore until their schooner sailed for another swing about the French groups of islands.
We plead our own cases, and never in the history of the world did a nation or people see mothers tried for trying to save their loved ones from the slaughter of a government whose business is to protect women and their children. Tears were in the eyes of many when sister Lucy Wilhoite and sister McHenry told of their boys being led into vice by the officials of Wichita.
Yet their welcoming shout of fellowship was pleasant, despite a note of derision for my staying so long away from the fleshpots of Papeete. Pincher and McHenry were themselves lately arrived, but evidently had learned of my absence from Lovaina. "What did you do? Buy a vanilla plantation?" asked McHenry.
We, guests in their own comfortable house, did not ask them to join us. Llewellyn, when I put the question, answered: "No. I am both white and of too high native rank. You cannot afford to let the native become your social equal." McHenry said: "You're bloody well right. Keep him in his stall, and he's all right; but out of it, ye'll get no peace."
There he reformed a brigade and fell back toward the city, as far as Worthington's Mill, where they were joined by General Winder and some fresh troops. Fernando witnessed the bombardment of Fort McHenry during that terrible night, when Mr. Francis S. Key, a prisoner on board an English vessel, composed the song which immortalized him, "The Star-Spangled Banner."
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