“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 reassuring 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 friendship 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 sex, 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?”