ENTER PO LUN
Broderick returned to Washington; he wrote seldom, but the newspapers
printed, now and then, extracts from his speeches. The Democrats were
once more a dominating power and their organs naturally attacked the
California Senator who defied both President and party; they asserted
that Broderick was an ignorant boor, whose speeches were written for him
by a journalist named Wilkes. But they did not explain how Broderick
more than held his own in extemporaneous debate with the nation's
seasoned orators. Many of these would have taken advantage of his
inexperience, for he was the second youngest Senator in Congress. But he
revealed a natural and disconcerting skill at verbal riposte which made
him respected, if not feared by his opponents. One day, being harried by
administration Senators, he struck back with a savagery which, for the
moment, silenced them.
The San Francisco papers--for that matter, all the journals of the
nation--printed Broderick's words conspicuously. And, as they held with
North or South, with Abolition or with Slavery, they praised or
censured him.
"I hope, in mercy to the boasted intelligence of this age, the
historian, when writing the history of these times, will ascribe the
attempt of the President to enforce the Lecompton resolution upon an
unwilling people to the fading intellect, the petulant passion and the
trembling dotage of an old man on the verge of the grave."
"Buchanan will be furious," said Benito. "They say he's an old beau who
wears a toupee and knee-breeches. All Washington that dares to do so
will be laughing at him, especially the ladies."
Benito returned from the office one foggy June evening with a copy of
The Bulletin that contained a speech by Broderick. It was dusk and Alice
had lighted the lamp to read the Washington dispatch as she always did
with eager interest, when there came a light, almost stealthy knock at
the door. Benito, rather startled, opened it. There stood a Chinese
youth of about 18, wrapped in a huge disguising cloak. He bowed low
several times, then held forth a letter addressed in brush-fashioned,
India-ink letters to "B. Windham Esquire."
Curiously he opened it and read:
"The hand of the 'avenger' has smitten. I have not long to live. Will
you, in your honorable kindness, protect my nephew, Po Lun? He will make
a good and faithful servant, requiting kindness with zeal. May the Lord
of Heaven bless you."
"WONG LEE."
Excitedly and with many gestures Po Lun described the killing of his
uncle by a Hip Yee "hatchetman." But even in his dying hour Wong Lee had
found means to protect a kinsman. Po Lun wept as he told of Wong Lee's
goodness. Suddenly he knelt and touched his forehead three times to the
floor at Alice's feet. "Missee, please, you let me stay?" he pleaded.
"Po Lun plenty work. Washee, cookee, clean-em house." His glance strayed
toward the cradle. "Takem care you' li'l boy."
Benito glanced at Alice questioningly. "Would you--trust him?" he
whispered.
"Yes," she said impulsively. "He has a good face ... and we need a
servant." She beckoned to Po Lun. "Come, I will show you the kitchen and
a place to sleep."
* * * * *
Broderick came back from Washington and entered actively into the State
campaign. He found its politics a hodge-podge of unsettled, bitter
policies. The Republicans made overtures to him; they sought a coalition
with the Anti-Lecompton Democrats as opposed to Chivalry or Solid South
Democracy.
Benito and Alice saw little of Broderick. He was here, there,
everywhere, making impassioned, often violent speeches. Most of them
were printed in the daily papers.
"They'll be duelling soon," said Windham anxiously, as he read of
Broderick's accusations of "The Lime Point Swindle," "The Mail-carrying
Conspiracy," his reference to Gwin and Latham as "two great criminals,"
to the former, "dripping with corruption."
Then came Judge Terry with an unprovoked attack on members of the
Anti-Lecompton party. "They are the personal chattels of one man," he
said, "a single individual whom they are ashamed of. They belong heart,
soul, body and breeches to David C. Broderick. Afraid to acknowledge
their master they call themselves Douglas Democrats.... Perhaps they
sail under the flag of Douglas, but it is the Black Douglas, whose name
is Frederick, not Stephen."
Frederick Douglas was a negro. Therefore, Terry's accusation was the
acme of insult and contumely, which a Southerner's imagination could
devise. Broderick read it in a morning paper as he breakfasted with
friends in the International Hotel and, wounded by the thrust from one
he deemed a friend, spoke bitterly:
"I have always said that Terry was the only honest man on the bench of a
miserably corrupt court. But I take it all back. He is just as bad as
the others."
By some evil chance, D.W. Perley overheard that statement--which
proceeded out of Broderick's momentary irritation. Perley was a man of
small renown, a lawyer, politician and a whilom friend of Terry.
Instantly he seized the opportunity to force a quarrel, and, in Terry's
name, demanded "satisfaction." Broderick was half amused at first, but
in the end retorted angrily. They parted in a violent altercation.
"Dave," said Alice, as he dined with them that evening, "your're not
going to fight this man?"
"I shall ignore the fellow. I've written him that I fight with no one
but my equal. He can make what he likes out of that. I've been in a duel
or two. Nobody will question my courage."
* * * * *
Po Lun proved a model servitor, a careful nurse. Alice often left in his
efficient hands her household tasks. Sometimes she and Benito took an
outing of a Saturday afternoon, for there was now a pleasant drive down
the Peninsula along the new San Bruno turnpike to San Mateo.
The Windhams were returning from such a drive in the pleasant afternoon
sunshine when a tumult of newsboys hawking an extra edition
arrested them.
"Big duel ... Broderick and Terry!" shrieked the "newsies." Benito
stopped the horse and bought a paper, perusing the headlines feverishly.
Alice leaned over his shoulder, her face white. Presently Benito faced
her. "Terry's forced a fight on Dave," he said huskily. "They're to meet
on Monday at the upper end of Lake Merced."