Blowing weather

by John T. McIntyre

This commercial house had a record of achievement that reached back into the years of the king's governors. Its founder, old Rufus Stevens,—Anthony could remember him as a white-haired, big-bodied man, still unbroken, though in his eightieth year, and holding the lion voice that had roared his men to their posts in many a driving gale,—had, in that distant time, walked off the quarter-deck of the East Indiaman he'd commanded, and on board a schooner he had bought. This craft he stowed with shrewdly bought merchandise and traded it to large advantage in the French islands. Within the same year he had taken over a second schooner and a brig; and by the time war threw the neighboring seas into a turmoil his house had taken its stand upon the very spot where it now stood; his vessels had grown more and more numerous; his name had become known everywhere to men who followed the sea, and to men who dealt in goods that came by way of it.

From things Anthony had heard his grandfather say, old Rufus had not hated the king very greatly for his unjust laws; for his mind did not turn to such matters. But because of the harrying of the sea's trade he had stormed curses at old George that might well have made him rock on his throne. However, prowling frigates could not keep his vessels in port; they crept out, armed and crammed with goods, making for whatever place trade promised. Some fell prey to the cruisers of the enemy, but others again made through and back, laden with cargo that, in those narrowed days, was all but worth its weight in Spanish dollars. When the enemy entered the city he departed, but his trade went on, in one way or another, in other places; and no sooner was the town free of them than he was back again, pulling his power together with a strong, shrewd hand.

The thing that can broaden in the face of adversity is a strong thing; and the house of Rufus Stevens proved its strength by laying its widest and deepest foundations in stormy and uncertain times. And when the sea roads grew quiet once more the structure began to tower upon this base like magic; out of the sight of men its huge roots grew under the sea and far away, tapping populous ports, and rivers that flowed through gifted places.

The two sons of old Rufus had been bred to the trade; they had sailed in his ships and seen to his branch houses in foreign places; and their genius and industry turned an ever-increasing tide of business in the firm's direction. The horizon of the house widened; but it did not change until—and this was before the war began—the younger son sent word from New Orleans, where he had gone to encourage the trade in furs, that he had taken to himself a wife. When old Rufus learned she was of Creole stock his lips set, and there was distrust in his flinty old eyes.

Anthony called up a picture of his beautiful young mother, with her shining hair and Spanish eyes. She had not fitted very well into the life of the sober, mercantile town when she came there; her heart was lonely; she longed for a warmer sky and a less contained people. But, and she told Anthony this more than once when he was a growing boy, she had read what was in the old man's mind. She would, so he thought, take his son away; she would take a prop from under the bulky business before it got the strength of full maturity; and by so doing she would destroy much that he had labored to build.

"I was proud," she told her son, and Anthony recalled how her eyes shone as she said it. "He despised my people. He thought them weak; he believed they could not bear up under suffering."

If this were so, she proved him wrong, for she stayed on uncomplainingly until the old man's death; then her resolution would carry her no further; her health began to break, and Anthony's father, who was devoted to her, took her back to the low, soft country she loved.

A dray, rattling over the stones and under one of the arches, roused Anthony from his thoughts. He looked about. The counting-house would, of course, face upon Water Street, and so he made his way around and presented himself therein. It was a fine, airy place with wide spaces and an air of opulent leisure. A man with an affable manner, and his graying hair done in an old-fashioned queue, glanced at him inquiringly.

"I should like," said Anthony, "to speak with Mr. Charles Stevens."

"I'm sorry," said the affable man, "but he is not in the city at present. Could you step in at another time; or would you care to entrust me with a message?"