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Updated: May 19, 2025
"My dear Ethel, don't frown so horribly, or it will spoil your eloquence," said Margaret. "I don't understand either," said Richard gravely. "Not understand when they can understand? What do you mean?" "Why, Ritchie, don't you see? If they don't learn them hard, firm, by rote when they can't they won't understand when they can."
"The expedition, as you know, has been as much of a farce as Citizen Genet's commissions. But it has been a sad farce to me, inasmuch as it involves the honor of my old friend and Colonel, General Clark, and the safety of my cousin, Mr. Temple." "So you were with Clark in Illinois?" said the Baron, craftily. "Pardon me, Mr. Ritchie, but I should have said that you are too young."
"To a woman's whim, Monsieur le Baron," she answered, "for a man would not have dared to disturb you. May I present to your Excellency, Mr. David Ritchie of Kentucky?" His Excellency bowed stiffly, looked at me with no pretence of pleasure, and I had had sufficient dealings with men to divine that, in the coming conversation, the overflow of his temper would be poured upon me.
And I, David Ritchie, saw the flags of three nations waving over it in the space of two days. And it came to pass in this wise. Rumors of these things which I have told above had filled Kentucky from time to time, and in November of 1803 there came across the mountains the news that the Senate of the United States had ratified the treaty between our ministers and Napoleon.
James Ritchie, manager of the Bank of Montreal, glanced from the letter in his hand to the young man who had just given it to him. "Ah! you have just arrived from the old land," he said, a smile of genial welcome illuminating his handsome face. "I am pleased to hear from my old friend, Sir Archibald Brodie, and pleased to welcome any friend of his to Canada."
Bunce, second lieutenant, I am much indebted for his exertions on the main-deck, and his diligence was unremitting in distributing men where most wanted. Mr. Ritchie, master's mate, was particularly distinguished for his gallantry and activity; and the behaviour of the whole, my Lord, was such as entitles them to my warmest gratitude, and general commendation.
Ritchie tells me he found it at Madame Bouvet's, was it not, Monsieur?" Auguste looked at me. "Mille diables!" he said, and sat down again heavily. "Mr. Ritchie has returned it to your sister, a service which puts him heavily in our debt," said Monsieur de St. Gre. "Now, sir," he added to me, rising, "you have had a tiresome day.
There was the thing in my pocket, still wrapped in Polly Ann's handkerchief. I glanced at the Vicomtesse shyly, and turned away again. Her face was all repressed laughter, the expression I knew so well. "I think we should feel better in the shade, Mr. Ritchie," she said in English, and, leaping lightly down from the bank, crossed the road again. I followed her, perforce.
There were frequent "affairs of honor" notably about Richmond in Virginia and Charleston in South Carolina sometimes fatal meetings, as in the case of John H. Pleasants and one of the sons of Thomas Ritchie in which Pleasants was killed, and the yet more celebrated affair between Graves, of Kentucky, and Cilley, of Maine, in which Cilley was killed; Bladensburg the scene, and the refusal of Cilley to recognize James Watson Webb the occasion.
Polly Ann gave back in a kind of dismay, and I shivered. "Yes," I answered, "I am David Ritchie." "You you dare to judge me!" she cried. I knew not why she said this. "To judge you?" I repeated. "Yes, to judge me," she answered. "I know you, David Ritchie, and the blood that runs in you. That was her condemnation of me, and it stung me more than had a thousand sermons.
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