// ppgen source patroon-src.txt
// 20160826000526stephenson
// KD Weeks, MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
// first edit: 4/10/2018
// source: https://archive.org/details/patroonvanvolken00step
.dt Patroon van Volkenberg, by Henry Thew Stephenson
.de a:link { text-decoration: none; }
.de div.tnotes { padding-left:1em;padding-right:1em;background-color:#E3E4FA;border:1px solid silver; margin:1em 5% 0 5%; text-align: justify;}
.de .blackletter { font-family: "Old English Text MT", Gothic, serif;}
.de .epubonly {visibility: hidden; display: none; }
.de @media handheld { .epubonly { visibility: visible; display: inline; } }
.de .htmlonly {visibility: visible; display: inline;}
.de @media handheld { .htmlonly { visibility: hidden; display: none; } }
.de .column-container { margin: auto; clear: both; }
.de .left { display: inline-block; text-align: left; vertical-align: bottom; width:49%; }
.de .right { display: inline-block; text-align: right; vertical-align: top; width:49%; }
.de .underline { text-decoration: underline; font-size:105%; }
.de .titlefont { font-size:105%; }
.dm underline $1
.if t
==$1==
.if-
.if h
$1
.if-
.dm-
.de div.box { border: 3px solid black; }
.de div.innerbox { border: 2px solid black; margin: 2%;}
.de .sigleft { display: inline-block; text-align: left; vertical-align: bottom; width:34%; }
.de .sigright { display: inline-block; text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom; width:64%; }
.de ins.correction { text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray; }
.de .quote { font-size: 95%; margin-top: 1.0em; margin-bottom: 1.0em; }
.de .linegroup .group { margin: 0em auto; }
.sr t |\[oe\]|œ|
.sr h |text-align: left; text-indentF: -1em;|text-align: justify; text-indent: -1em;|
.sr h |||
.sr h |||
.sr t ||=|
.sr t ||=|
.sr h ||==|
.sr h |||
.sr t |||
.sr h |||
.sr t |||
.de hr.doubletop { border-top: medium solid black; border-bottom: thin solid black; border-left: none; border-right: none; padding-top:0.25em; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%; margin-right: 0%; }
.de hr.doublebot { border-top: thin solid black; border-bottom: medium solid black; border-left: none; border-right: none; padding-top:0.25em; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%; margin-right: 0%; }
.de hr.double { border-top: thin solid black; border-bottom: thin solid black; border-left: none; border-right: none; padding-top:0.25em; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%; margin-right: 0%; }
.dm hrule $1
.if t
.hr 100%
.if-
.if h
.li
.li-
.if-
.dm-
//.sr h |width: 97%;|width:100%; padding-top: 0.25em; border-right: none; border-left: none; border-top: thin solid black;|
//.sr h |width: 99%;|width:100%; padding-top: 0.25em; border-right: none; border-left: none; border-top: medium solid black;|
//.sr h |width: 98%;|width:100%; 0em; padding-top: 0.25em; border-right: none; border-left: none; border-bottom: medium solid black; border-top: thin solid black;|
//.sr h |width: 99%;|width:100%; 0em; padding-top: 0.25em; border-right: none; border-left: none; border-bottom: medium solid black; border-top: thin solid black;|
// create errata table page references
.dm cref $1
.if t
$1
.if-
.if h
#$1:corr$1#
.if-
.dm-
// create markup
.dm corr_noid $1 $2
.if h
$2
.if-
.dm-
.dm corr $1 $2 $3
.if t
$3
.if-
.if h
$3$3
.if-
.dm-
.dm start_summary
.fs 90%
.in 4
.ti -4
.dm-
.dm end_summary
.fs 100%
.in
.dm-
//Begin quote
.dm start_quote
.if t
.in 2
.if-
.if h
.dv class='quote'
.if-
.dm-
//End Quote
.dm end_quote
.if h
.dv-
.if-
.if t
.in
.if-
.dm-
// Begin Poetry
.dm start_poem
.sp 1
.fs 95%
.nf b
.dm-
// End Poetry
.dm end_poem
.nf-
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.dm-
.pb
.pi
.dv class='tnotes'
.ce
Transcriber’s Note:
.if t
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical
effects. Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
.if-
There are several full page images, which have been moved slightly
to the nearest paragraph break.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s #note:endnote# at the end of this text
for details regarding the handling of any textual issues encountered
during its preparation.
.if h
.dv class='htmlonly'
Any corrections are indicated using an
highlight. Placing the cursor over the correction will produce the
original text in a small popup.
.il fn=cover.jpg w=60%
.dv-
.dv class='epubonly'
Any corrections are indicated as hyperlinks, which will navigate the
reader to the corresponding entry in the corrections table in the
note at the end of the text.
.dv-
.if-
.dv-
.bn 001.png
.sp 4
.h1
Patroon Van Volkenberg
.h2
.bn 002.png
.bn 003.png
.bn 004.png
.il fn=i_frontis.jpg w=350px ew=60%
.ca
“HE WHEELED ROUND IN
AMAZEMENT AND DROPPED
THE GIRL’S HAND.”—p. 23
.ca-
.bn 005.png
.dv class='box' w=100%
.dv class='innerbox' w=95%;
.nf c
Patroon Van
Volkenberg
A Tale of Old Manhattan in the Year
Sixteen Hundred & Ninety-nine.
.sp 2
BY
HENRY THEW STEPHENSON
.sp 2
ILLUSTRATED BY
C. M. REYLEA
.sp 2
Fifth Edition
.nf-
.sp 2
.il fn=i_title.jpg w=30px ew=5%
.sp 2
.nf c
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS \ \ \ \ \ \ \ :: \ \ \ \ \ \ \ NEW YORK
.nf-
.dv-
.dv-
.bn 006.png
.pb
.sp 4
.nf c
Copyright, 1900
The Bowen-Merrill Company
All Rights Reserved
.nf-
.bn 007.png
.pb
.sp 4
.in 10
.ll 60
In memory of my aunt, Mary T. W.
Curwen, whose kindness and care for
many years has been greater than my utmost
gratitude and affection can express
.in
.ll
.bn 008.png
.bn 009.png
.sp 4
.h2
Contents
.sp 2
.ta l:50 r:10 w=90%
I
The Flight from Paris | #1#
II
The Maid at the Mariner’s Rest | #13#
III
The Royal Lion | #26#
IV
The Buccaneer’s Gift | #41#
V
The Jacobite Coffee-House | #54#
VI
An Interview with the Earl | #69#
VII
Pierre’s Secret | #80#
VIII
Lady Marmaduke | #93#
.bn 010.png
IX
The Red Band at Drill | #102#
X
My First Commission | #111#
XI
The Escape from the Rattle-Watch | #126#
XII
Van Volkenberg’s Window | #135#
XIII
Van Volkenberg in Disgrace | #144#
XIV
Plotting without the Earl | #154#
XV
The Silver Buttons | #171#
XVI
Fire and Sleete and Candle Light | #181#
XVII
The Events of Next Day | #196#
XVIII
Another Secret Burial | #214#
.bn 011.png
XIX
I Meet the Patroon Again | #233#
XX
The Skeleton in the Patroon’s Closet | #251#
XXI
Meg’s Pleading | #265#
XXII
A Fruitless Resolution | #277#
XXIII
Van Volkenberg and the Earl | #291#
XXIV
Captain William Kidd | #305#
XXV
The Effect of Kidd’s Visit | #315#
XXVI
The Great Secret | #331#
XXVII
The Last of the Patroon | #340#
XXVIII
Conclusion | #357#
.ta-
.bn 012.png
.bn 013.png
.pn 1
.sp 4
.ce
PATROON VAN VOLKENBERG
.sp 4
.h2 nobreak
CHAPTER I | THE FLIGHT FROM PARIS
.sp 2
The long-boat of Captain Tew had set me ashore
on the southwest end of Long Island in a cove near
the village of Gravesoon, which is just across the
end of the island from New York. In those days
the pirates were in bad repute with the government
and Captain Tew durst not land me nearer
the town for fear of the king’s officers; so I had to
make the rest of my way alone. I was not cast
down, however, for I had always a hopeful heart,
and, in addition to this fact, I was sick and tired of
the bad-smelling ship and of its lawless crew of
buccaneers. Yet I ought not to cry out against
their captain. He and I possessed a strong bond
of friendship. I had done him one good turn and
he had done me another, though, at that moment,
neither of us foresaw what the latter would amount
to in the end.
I turned on my heel to look at the town in which
I intended to lodge for the night. It was now late
and fully dark, and one or two dim lights were all
that I could see in Gravesoon by way of welcome.
At that moment a feeling of loneliness took such
.bn 014.png
.pn +1
strong hold of me that I cast my eyes once more
upon the open sea for the meagre companionship
of the pirate crew that was gliding away into the
dark. But the ship was already so far from shore
that the sounds that always accompany getting
under way could no longer reach me, though I
strained hard to hear them. In ten minutes even
the vague outline of the vessel against the sky had
completely blended with the darkness. Then I realized
for the first time that I was all alone in a
strange land. My only companions were the heavy
sorrow in my heart and a strong hope that this
sorrow would soon be turned to joy by virtue of
the errand that was now bringing me to New
York.
I had nearly reached the middle time of life and
knew by hard experience that when the future
looks the darkest one is most likely to be near the
light. This thought gave me fresh comfort and
put new life into my step as I set out briskly along
the shore of the cove. The wind blew strong in
my face, and I had to bend over and lean upon it,
as it were, to prevent my slipping upon the rocks.
Whatever a misstep might mean to me, it would
certainly bring misfortune, perhaps death, to one
whom I loved better than myself a hundred times.
So I picked my way carefully over the rough
places, balancing myself upon the wind and setting
my feet firmly when I came to rocks that were wet
and slippery. By dint of much perseverance I made
.bn 015.png
.pn +1
fair progress towards the lights of Gravesoon, for
all it was so dark upon the shore. As I drew near
the town I spied more lights, and at last I came
to the lamp hanging over the doorway that betokened
a house of public entertainment. I opened
the door of the ordinary and went in. The room
was quite deserted and I rapped twice upon the
table before the host appeared in answer to my
summons.
He was a pleasant looking man of no particular
appearance. He served me quickly with something
to eat and drink, and then sat down on the other
side of the table, rippling with questions. I am
not given to talking and never was; yet, because I
saw here an opportunity to gain information that I
should not otherwise possess until I reached New
York, I did not turn away from my host’s cross-examination
as my temper at first prompted me to
do.
He had seen the pirate ship in the offing that
afternoon and would like to know its name, guessing
shrewdly how I had come ashore; but I put
him off with an indirect reply and he was fain to
be content with my own name, a poor substitute,
though he made the most of it.
“Le Bourse,” he said thoughtfully. “That
sounds like a French name. Are you going to
friends in Yorke?”
“I am a stranger there, but I am seeking a person
who may help me to a sight of friends.”
.bn 016.png
.pn +1
“What is his name?”
“Van Volkenberg: one of the patroons I think.”
“Ah, yes, Patroon Kilian; the armed patroon is
what the burghers call him. We know him well.”
“Is he in New York now?”
“Yes, indeed. He never leaves the island. Kilian
Van Volkenberg is too great a man to let himself
go far from port. His ships need his attention
every day. Now, when I saw yon ship in the offing,
I said to myself, ’Tis a ship of the patroon’s.’ But
you seem to say not.”
I had said nothing of the kind; but I let the matter
pass without correction, knowing that it was
only another effort on his part to learn the mystery
of my arrival.
“How can I get to New York from here?” I
asked after a short pause.
“There is a good road direct, not more than
eight or ten miles, with a ferry at the end of it.
You will see a tree with a shell tied up to blow for
the ferryman—he is likely to be on the Yorke side
of the river. Can you blow a shell?”
I could not, never having seen this custom before,
whereupon the obliging host bustled out to
find one. He returned shortly with a huge sea shell
in his hands, by means of which he instructed me
in the manner of using it as a horn. The trick was
not difficult to learn, not so hard by half as whistling
with your fingers in your mouth, which feat
I never did learn to do well. But after five minutes
.bn 017.png
.pn +1
practice with the shell I could blow as mournful a
tone as you ever heard on the moors of a spooky
night.
My music lesson over, I went to my room. As
soon as I was alone I took out the pocket Bible
that had been the companion of all my wanderings.
I opened it at the book of Ruth; this book was my
favorite reading, for my sister’s name was Ruth.
My separation from her long years before this, my
great search and heavy disappointment had at last
led me to this point in my wanderings. But there
was still a strong hope in my heart; and hope will
keep the pulse bounding even when the shadows
are dark.
But before I continue my story, let me go back
and relate the strange events which resulted in
my being set on shore in the dead of night like a
criminal, from one of the ships which was under the
displeasure of his royal majesty the king.
When I was but a lad of three and twenty my
parents both died and I was left the only protector
of little Ruth, my sister, who was then a
child, scarce fifteen years of She was a bright-faced,
cheery sister, who did as much as a full-grown
woman could have done to make our modest
home in Paris comfortable and happy. I prized
her more than life and would not let her go out
of my sight. In this respect the more caution was
needed because the long Huguenot peace was
.bn 018.png
.pn +1
drawing to a close and people of our faith were
subject to all manner of persecution.
Our heaviest troubles began, of course, in the
year 1685, when King Louis revoked the Edict of
Nantes; but for years before that the Huguenots
were afflicted with innumerable unjust restrictions.
There was one of the king’s decrees that caused
more confusion than all the others put together.
This was the law permitting children at the age
of seven to renounce the faith in which they had
been bred, and to enter the Roman church. Every
kind of inducement was held out to persuade them
to acknowledge belief in the Catholic religion.
Once confessed, they were considered to be under
the jurisdiction of the priesthood. When dolls,
fairy stories, idle promises of childish pleasures,
failed to make a mere infant nod to some statement
mumbled by the priest—when all such ways of
seducing little children failed, they were often
shamelessly kidnapped and carried away to a convent
by force. It was mainly against this latter
danger that I had to protect Ruth, for she clung
so tenaciously to me and to our Protestant faith
that I had no fear of their cajoling her by any fair
and open means.
One day Ruth and I were walking in the fields
near the edge of Paris. We were on our way home
about twilight, and Ruthie, as I called her then,
danced ahead of me like a golden-haired butterfly.
She always danced—bless her heart!—and carried
.bn 019.png
.pn +1
sunlight wherever she went. Suddenly, while she
was passing the dark gateway of a court-yard, a
priest in a black mantle stepped out from the
covered way and caught my sister by the arm.
“Come in here,” he cried insinuatingly, at the
same time drawing her swiftly towards the doorway.
Ruth resisted, and then the priest clapped a big
hand over her mouth so she could not scream.
Shame on him! And she a mere child! But he
was reckoning without me when he made that false
move. I was at her side even before he noticed
me. He called for help and soon brought another
priest to his assistance. Even so, it was only two to
one, which was hardly fair considering my size and
the fact that I had been bred to arms. It was a
dreadful thing for me to do, but, in a trice, and
without even stopping to draw my sword, I had
stretched one of them unconscious upon the
ground and sent the other crying for help, with
his blood dripping all the way.
For the moment, the rashness of my deed quite
overcame me. I had struck a priest. In those days
the penalty for such an offence could be none other
than death; and Ruth would be left alone to worse
than death. She and I resolved to fly from the
capital and to escape from the country altogether
if we could. We packed what little of value we
possessed, and in twenty minutes had left our lodgings
behind us. It was our haste only—always excepting
.bn 020.png
.pn +1
the grace of God—that saved us from
immediate pursuit. Even so, it seems a miracle
that we got out of the city and found ourselves
safe upon the road to La Rochelle.
Ruth bore up very bravely in those hard times
and never spoke a single word to reproach me for
my hasty act. She sang pleasant songs to me on
the way and would comfort me by saying that she
was not tired, though I knew she must be weary
enough to lie right down in the road and give up.
On the third day after leaving Paris we fell in with
a party of Protestants and continued our journey
with them. We were thankful for their company
at the time, but it would have been better had we
not met them, for their flight was known to the
authorities and was the ultimate cause of my separation
from little Ruth.
These fugitives had already made arrangements
with a ship owner at La Rochelle to transport them
to England. We had at last come to a little stream
almost within sight of the town and of safety when
we were overtaken by four of the troopers of the
Paris guard. A narrow way led down to the place
where we should cross the stream. We thought
that the advantageous position of this path would
enable two of us to keep back all four of the
guardsmen. We cast lots to see which of us should
defend the others and one of the lots fell to me.
Ruth was much grieved at heart when she knew
that I must stay behind and risk capture while she
.bn 021.png
.pn +1
and the others went forward; but she said bravely,
“Do your duty, Vincie boy, and the Lord will take
care of us.”
The guards fortunately had no guns and were
armed only with short swords. We held them at
bay for some time; then, making a charge together,
they killed my companion and I was left alone to
bar the path, with a deep wound in my shoulder
which prevented my using my cloak as a guard.
The rest of our party of fugitives escaped, but, on
the arrival of some more soldiers, I was disarmed
and taken to prison.
For some reason, I never discovered what, I did
not suffer the penalty I expected. Instead of being
led immediately to the scaffold, I was kept close in
prison among others of my faith whose only crime
was an attempt to avoid the oppressive hand with
which the church of Rome strove to drain the lifeblood
of the Protestants.
During the long months of my captivity, I pondered
much upon little Ruth. Where had she gone?
I thought that England was the destination of the
party we had fallen in with. Sometimes I pictured
my sister in America, alone in that far off land; but
a little thought would convince me that she was not
there. Ruth was a hopeful girl. She would never
bring herself to think—unless she heard of my
actual death—that I should not come to her eventually.
In that case, where would I be so likely to
look as in England? No, Ruth would not go to
.bn 022.png
.pn +1
the colonies. As I thought about her whereabouts
I became more and more sure, and at last I was
certain, in my own mind at least, that she had taken
refuge in England.
At the end of a year a happy accident opened
the way to my escape. I shall never forget the
burden that fell from my shoulders, the long breath
of unutterable, thankful relief that I drew upon the
day I crossed the French frontier into Holland.
I left my native land with my mind firmly resolved
upon two things: the first was to find Ruth; the
second was to bring confusion to the church of
Rome, the slayers of God’s people, the tormentors
of me and mine. Wherever I should meet a Catholic,—sleeping
or waking, in sickness or in health,—he
was my enemy.
I made my way at once for England, where I
inquired diligently for my sister in all the great
cities. A year of this searching brought me no
tidings and exhausted my slender means of support.
Then I fell back upon military service for a
livelihood. My great strength and my skill of
fence soon found me employment. I could even
choose my master in a way, and managed to take
service with those who would lead me into distant
parts. You may be sure that during all my foreign
campaigns I never lost sight of the darling desire
of my heart. But as time wore on and I did not
find her, I became less and less positive that Ruth
was still alive.
.bn 023.png
.pn +1
In the years that followed I walked in many
strange cities; in all of them I searched the streets
hungrily for Ruth. I glanced up into windows; I
peered down into cellar ways; but I never saw a
familiar face. Once I penetrated in disguise to La
Rochelle itself. Even there I could hear nothing of
Ruth or of the ship-master who had taken her to
England. I began to doubt whether she had escaped
at all. At such moments my fierce resentment
against our oppressors grew bitter as gall.
More than once in those stern, tumultuous times,
I fought under the banners of the Protestant chiefs
of Europe, and my blade was no sluggard.
At last a new fear began to haunt me day and
night. What if I should meet Ruth and not recognize
her! She was fifteen years old when I lost her.
How a girl changes between fifteen and twenty!
I must look now, not for the slim childish figure I
remembered, but for the full roundness of a woman.
How often I had—and as I grew older it occurred
ever the more often—how often I had looked into
faces that I felt sure I had seen somewhere before.
Then, when it was too late to follow, I would be
startled with the idea that perhaps the person I had
just seen was Ruth. Such moments wrung my
heart.
At last, after eight or nine years of fruitless hunting,
I found myself again in England. I had long
since abandoned all hope of finding Ruth. I became
the trusted servant of an English lord. I
.bn 024.png
.pn +1
was now three and thirty years of age, though
people who judged from my appearance thought I
was older. King William was on the throne and
my master stood well in the sovereign’s graces.
Everything, so far as worldly prospects went, gave
promise of a happy life. Then of a sudden my
master fell under the displeasure of the government.
With the quickness of a summer storm,
misfortune came upon him. Two months after the
first thunder-clap he was a condemned prisoner in
the Tower, and I once more masterless and adrift.
This calamity occurred in the year 1698, a
twelvemonth before my arrival in New York. I
had saved some money and, strange to say, there
came to me suddenly and without reason a new
conviction that I should yet find Ruth. But where?
There was only one place in the world where she
might be and in which I had not sought for her:
America. My resolution was immediately taken to
set out over sea and resume the hunt that I had latterly
neglected. With this intent I journeyed to
Bristol, where I intended to take ship at once.
.bn 025.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER II | THE MAID AT THE MARINER’S REST
.sp 2
Bristol was then the second seaport of the kingdom;
only London surpassed it in the number of
ships sailing from its docks and in the amount of
hurly-burly, shuffling traffic in its streets. I arrived
in the city near sundown of an evening. As
soon as I had had a bite to eat I set out for the
water front. The Mariner’s Rest was the principal
tavern, and thither I went to begin my inquiry for
a passage to New York.
A maid served behind the bar and soon brought
me a mug of ale. I could not help but notice her
frail figure and sorrowful eyes; she looked some
two or three and twenty years of age, and had evidently
seen much trouble in her short life. Her
refined face was wonderfully out of keeping with
her coarse surroundings. Sometimes, when she
had been rudely spoken to by a tipsy sailor, she
would retreat to the back of the room and rest her
head in her hands as if from weariness. Though
I pitied her in my heart, I soon fell to musing upon
other things. My mind was always on the alert
now about New York. I constantly pictured myself
wandering along its streets, casting searching
glances to this side and that, as I had so often wandered
.bn 026.png
.pn +1
here in England when I still believed that
Ruth was somewhere near at hand.
I was so wrapped up in my fancy-hope that I did
not notice how the room was filling nor how the
noise of mingled oaths and ribald laughter of the
common herd had risen to a din. I did look up soon,
however, in time to notice the entrance of a seaman
whose appearance was exceedingly unlike the
rest. He wore rich clothes, and a jeweled sword
by his side; he was tall, kindly and benevolent looking.
This man—I took him for a prosperous merchant
who commanded his own ship—made his
way laboriously through the crowd of tables, nodding
now and then to someone he knew. When
he reached the farther side of the room he sat down
a few chairs away from me. There was a patronizing
look of contempt on his face and he turned
his back squarely upon the company. The girl, perhaps,
had been the first to notice him, and her face
brightened at his appearance.
“Will you take me?” she asked, eagerly, as if
her life depended on the answer, as she set his glass
before him.
“This is no life for the like of you to lead,” replied
the seaman. “Yes, I’ll take you and I’ll do
the best I can to find a home fit for you and your
pretty face to live in.”
At that moment a cry of “Wench, wench, I want
some rum,” took the girl back to her uncongenial
.bn 027.png
.pn +1
task behind the bar. As soon as she was gone I
moved my chair nearer to the new comer.
“Will you pardon me, sir?” I began. “I have
arrived from the country only to-day and am a
stranger here. Can you set me on the track of a
ship for America?”
“That I can very quick. I am Captain James
Donaldson of the Royal Lion. She sails for New
York the day after to-morrow. I can let you have
a first-rate cabin and good rations to boot if you
don’t eat too much. You have no idea what a swift
and steady craft she is.”
“Good,” I exclaimed joyfully. “You may count
upon me as a passenger.”
“Tut, tut, you are as hasty as the girl there.
You have not seen the cabin yet, nor do you know
my price.”
“I dare say we can arrange that to our satisfaction.”
“One can never tell,” he said, with a shrug of
his shoulders. “Folk are so particular in these
days; but come to me in the morning and I will
show you over. I know you will like her. I must
be going now. I only stopped in to speak a word
with yon lass. The pretty little wench is going
with me on the voyage.”
He left the tavern immediately, and I remained
for some time longer watching the girl come and
go about the room with her easy grace and soft
manner. Suddenly her attractive face filled me with
.bn 028.png
.pn +1
a sort of half fear. A fortune teller had once foretold
that I should meet my wife in some such place
as this. What if this girl were—! Bah! I should
not let such a thing as that get between me and
my hunt for Ruth. You cannot appreciate the force
with which this recollection took hold of me unless
you remember the new conviction, a sort of presentiment
that I should at last find Ruth. I always
profess great disregard for superstition, but in my
heart of hearts I am more or less affected by it.
For this reason I got up hastily to go out, meaning
to escape from the attractive presence of the pathetic
looking maiden. As I stopped at the bar to
settle my score I was again impressed by the fineness
of the girl’s features and could not suppress
my curiosity.
“Yours is a strange face to see here,” I said while
she was counting out my change.
“No stranger than yours,” she answered. “You
and Captain Donaldson are the only gentlemen
who have been here .” She heaved a sigh.
“I wish they came oftener.”
“You are going across the water with him, I
believe.”
“Did you hear?” she asked in a low, earnest tone.
“Please do not speak of it aloud. My master would
treat me ill if he knew I was going to leave him.”
“Never fear,” I said, turning to go. “God be
with you.”
“Pardon me,” she said as if to call me back. And
.bn 029.png
.pn +1
then, “Oh, pardon me again. I made a mistake.”
I left the tavern wondering what the last exclamation
meant, for she had dropped her eyes when
I turned round to look at her again, and her face
assumed a look of disappointment. Yet I was
glad to be free of the place, for I still feared that
she might come between me and Ruth. For the
moment I quite forgot that we should be together
throughout the long voyage.
The next morning I left my lodgings early and
threaded the badly paved streets that led to the
harbor. The ships were headed close up against
the shore and I walked beneath their high bows
that projected over my head in a row like the half
of an arched passage. Before long I came to the
Royal Lion. Captain Donaldson was busy directing
the movements of his crew, who were engaged
with crows and ropes in stowing away the last portions
of the ship’s cargo. When he saw me, he
called to his mate to take his place, and kindly offered
to explore the ship with me himself. It was
a staunch brig, for the most part fitted out with
new canvas and fresh rigging. What struck my soldier
eye immediately, and what gave the Royal
Lion its best claim as a safe conveyance for passengers,
was its preparation for defense. A
goodly number of large brass cannons were
mounted upon the deck, and Captain Donaldson
assured me that his magazine was well stocked
with small arms and ammunition.
.bn 030.png
.pn +1
An ocean voyage at the end of the seventeenth
century was a dangerous undertaking. The sea
swarmed with pirates. Many a ship returned to
port battered up with cannon shots and its decks
reeky with blood stains. Other ships never came
back at all, and it was as common to attribute their
loss to the attacks of the buccaneers as to the furious
tropic storms.
Captain Donaldson and I soon came to terms
about my passage. As I left the ship in his company—for
he would go part way along the dock to
point out less favored ships and make comparisons
to their disadvantage—as we walked along he told
me what he knew of the lass at the Mariner’s Rest.
She had come of better folk, he told me, and could
no longer endure her present occupation. Her determination
was to go to the colonies and take
service in some respectable family till she could
save enough to buy her a little home in one of the
Huguenot settlements.
“But that is not what she will really do,” said
the Captain. “She is too pretty a wench for that.
Who knows but that you—tut, tut, man, you are
not married, are you?”
He had recalled my fearfulness of the night before
and there was particular force in its being put
into words by a perfect stranger. He continued to
chaff me about the girl till, when I left him, I half
repented the bargain I had made to sail in his ship.
Yet for all that, and in spite of myself, when night
.bn 031.png
.pn +1
came I was sitting in the corner of the Mariner’s
Rest. I fretted inwardly that I was there; but I
persuaded myself that I had better get used to her
face amid the distractions of other interests than
to wait and make her acquaintance in the lonely
isolation of the ship.
I found the inn, if possible, more noisy than on
the night before. During the day two or three
ships had come in from distant parts and many of
their crews were carousing heavily after the long
voyage. Some of the sailors had already drunk
themselves into a stupor, but by far the greater
number swore and shouted lustily in their cups.
The cry of wench, wench, rose repeatedly, and at
times the accompaniment of jocose obscenity was
disgusting.
The maid shrank pitifully from contact with the
rude atmosphere about her; yet there was a hopeful
look in her bright, sparkling eyes. This expression
I set down as due to the fact that to-morrow
she would be free of all this and once more in the
way of a decent life. There were plenty of respectable
homes to be had in the colony of New York,
and I had no doubt but that the good captain
would look out for her to the best of his ability.
Two or three times during the evening the drinkers
fell to brawling. Once at a game of cards a
Portuguese sailor clapped his cutlass across a
comrade’s head and threatened to lop off his pate
if he said a word more. His opponent was a sniveling
.bn 032.png
.pn +1
bit of a coward who whined at this threat,
but swallowed it as best he could, which, however,
he did with a bad grace, being neither a bully nor
a thorough-going jelly fish of a coward.
I could hardly stand the vile smell of their tobacco,
or the look of the sloppy pools upon the
floor where they splattered the foam from their ale.
I was minded once to quit the room altogether,
and had even risen from my feet to go; but I
noticed that the clatter of mugs and the din of
voices and the stamping of feet was growing
louder with every minute. The hopeful look had
crowded out of the girl’s face, and at that moment
the cry of wench was thundered out, together with
an indecent oath that made me wince. She cast a
scared glance of appeal in my direction. I sat down
again, minded to wait and be on hand in case she
should need my protection.
She approached timidly the table of the boor
who had summoned her. She set down the contents
of her tray and was about to retreat when
he caught her roughly by the arm. He tried to
pull her down upon his knee and made as if to
kiss her. I was on my feet in an instant; but before
I could stir a step the landlord had taken her part.
He fetched the drunken sailor a blow in the face
that stretched him on the ground with the blood
dripping from his nose.
“I guess she’s my brat, not yours,” cried the
.bn 033.png
.pn +1
landlord angrily. “Wench, get back to your
place.”
The sailors are such clannish folk that I fully
expected a desperate brawl to follow the landlord’s
attack. There was some violent shuffling of feet
in the corner, and one or two men started up and
took a step or two in the direction of the affray,
eager for a row. But before the mob’s anger
could come to a focus, someone cried out in a
mocking voice:
“Portuguese Tom’s got his lobster now.”
There must have been some local quip to this
phrase that I did not understand, for it produced a
storm of laughter, after which they fell to drinking
again in the best of jovial good humor. Tom
picked himself up, a little crestfallen; but even he
joined in the laugh against him. As soon as the
crisis was passed I turned my attention to the girl.
She had not moved a step from where she stood
with her hands clenched and her lips tightly pressed
together. Her position and the expression of her
face were both so full of fearless scorn that I could
not repress an exclamation of delight.
“Bravo!” I cried.
She looked at me and relaxed into the sensitive
woman instantly. “Sit down,” she said lightly,
motioning me to resume my seat. “It is not often
so bad as it is to-night; but it is over and well over,
too. Thank you, sir; thank you.”
Though I had done nothing she had seen that I
.bn 034.png
.pn +1
had been ready to come to her assistance. “I shall
stay till the room is cleared,” I whispered as she
passed me, and then sat down in my place again to
watch.
I remained in the tavern for some time; in fact,
till it wore on towards midnight. Then, a bell
ringing in the town, the landlord rose and advised
his guests to depart. A rule of the city closed all
public houses at that hour. Slowly, by ones and
twos, the riotous sailors took their leave, helping
along those who were too drunk to walk alone.
My seat was in the corner where a high buffet
threw me into the shadow. For this reason probably
the host overlooked me, and, for I remained
till the last, he thought that the room was quite
empty, though I still lingered in the shadow. He
stepped to the door to usher out the last guest.
On his return he faced the girl menacingly.
“What is this you told me to-day?” he demanded
in a fierce tone.
“I am going to leave you, sir.”
“Ha, hussy, I don’t know about that. By whose
authority are you going to leave?”
“By my own.” She did not quail at his brutal
tone, but stood unflinching as she had stood before
the brute of a sailor who had insulted her in the
early evening. “There is nothing in my agreement
to prevent my going when I like.”
“There is this in our agreement, wench,” he
said, gripping her hand. “We are here alone, and
.bn 035.png
.pn +1
I tell you plainly that you do not leave this house.
You know what I can do when I am in earnest.”
“Let go my hand,” she answered. “You hurt
me.”
Instead of releasing his grip he squeezed her
wrist so hard that she cried out in pain.
“Yes, let go,” said I, stepping into view.
He wheeled round in amazement and dropped
the girl’s hand.
“Who the devil are you?”
The excitement of the evening had told on the
girl’s nerves. Her spirit was weakened as we stood
in the deserted room that a moment before had
been a very bedlam. “Oh, take me away,” she
cried piteously. “He will beat me if you leave me
here.”
The landlord caught up a chair and lifted it
above his head.
“Get out of here,” he cried, coming toward me
with a swing of the chair aloft.
“Too fast,” I replied, drawing my sword. “Too
fast, my friend. Put down that chair.”
He obeyed with a vengeance and I sprang aside
just in time to avoid the blow. The chair broke to
pieces and then I had him at the mercy of my
sword. He was a bully by nature and a coward at
heart. He was soon whimpering in the corner and
begging for grace. I directed the girl to go to her
room and get ready to leave. The main part of her
luggage was already aboard the brig and she had
.bn 036.png
.pn +1
left but a few things to take with her. While she
was doing as I bade her, I guarded the innkeeper
and enjoyed the scared replies he made to my continual
threats. We soon left him to shut up the
shop alone and went out into the street.
“You can obtain respectable lodging for the
night in the house next to where I am stopping,” I
said. “Will you let me take you there?”
A chill breeze was blowing from the sea and as
we walked along it cooled my heated temper. It
must have had the same effect upon the girl, for
her tight grip upon my arm gradually relaxed, and
by the time we reached the second street she was
walking with her usual alert step.
“Monsieur,” she said after a while, “from your
accent you must be French.”
“Ah, yes, from Paris; but that was many years
ago. There is the house I am taking you to.”
“Indeed,” she said musingly. “I am from Paris,
too. Are we so near the place? I am almost afraid
to go to a strange house alone.” We had stopped
beneath one of the occasional lanterns that were
hung out from houses to light the street. “May I
know,” she continued, “who has helped me to-night?”
“My name is Le Bourse.”
“What! What did you say?”
“Michael Le Bourse. Is my name a strange
one?”
“Strange?” She caught me by the shoulders
.bn 037.png
.pn +1
and twisted me towards the light, looking eagerly
in my face. “Was I right last night?” she continued,
all of a tremble with excitement. “Is it—can
it be?” Then she threw herself into my arms.
“Don’t you know me, Vincie, don’t you know
me?”
I held her from me in the light; then I
knew. “Ruth,” I cried. I took her in my
arms and covered her face with kisses. For a moment
we had nothing to say to each other there in
the still street under the solitary lantern. There
seemed to be no world outside; only we two: I and
Ruth, for whom I had sought so many years.
“Ruthie,” I kept whispering again and again.
“I have found my little Ruth.”
.bn 038.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER III | THE ROYAL LION
.sp 2
How long we stood there in the joy of that
moment I can never say. We were brought back
to a sense of our surroundings by the jarring voice
of someone speaking to us from the sidewalk.
“Ah ha! Bless my stars if it isn’t my two passengers
all in one.”
It was Captain Donaldson who had spoken, and
I was glad of a friend to turn to, for I was at my
wits’ end to know what to do. Only a few words
were necessary to acquaint him with our story.
His genial eyes stood out in amazement as the tale
of our long separation and accidental meeting unfolded
itself to his willing sympathy.
“God-a-mercy me,” he cried, striking his chest.
“It is hard to believe how the Lord does go about
it to work His will. ’Twas only yesterday, Mistress
Ruth, that I was charging him to fall in love
with you, and now I suppose I shall lose both my
passengers.”
He took on a thoughtful look at the idea of losing
us. After a moment’s deliberation, however, he
clapped his hands together.
“Well, that shall not prevent my sailing at the
usual hour; no, not if I have to go empty-cabined
inside and out.”
.bn 039.png
.pn +1
Ruth, who clung to my arm affectionately as if
she feared to lose me again, assured the good captain
that she saw no reason why we should not go
on as we had planned. In fact, though we had
not thought it all out, we saw our way clear to
continue our journey to America. It was a long
distance, to be sure, but we had overcome the
greatest obstacle when we had first made up our
minds to go; besides, both Ruth and I were full
of anxious curiosity to see the new land where
so many of our countrymen had found homes of
comfort and prosperity. Suddenly the captain
broke out anew with a surprised question:
“What are the two of you doing here locking
arms at midnight?”
I told him our adventure and all about the brawl
at the tavern, and where I intended to take Ruth
to.
“It will never do,” he said. “It will never do to
rouse decent folk up at this time o' night. Odds
man, they’ve been in bed this three hours past, and
it’s a warm welcome you’d get at one o’clock. No,
no, it will never do. Come with me to the ship and
I’ll make stowaways of ye both till morning.”
The three of us set out together along the
streets to the dock. Now that the distracting
noise of traffic was all spent, I found the vague roof
of ship fronts under which we picked our way
silently far different from what it was by day.
Every vessel creaked and groaned in a thousand
.bn 040.png
.pn +1
joints; the air fairly reeked with the smell of
tar and cordage; the heaving hulks and the tall
figureheads looming upon the prows were ghostly
in their slow rise and fall. I was glad to get away
from the lonely neighborhood and reach the Royal
Lion; Ruth no less so, for she was a timid child
when the excitement of the moment was passed.
Captain Donaldson offered to provide for us, but
we had so much to talk about that we were quite
content to huddle upon the deck with a pair of
shawls to shield us from the wind.
Ruth told me that she had escaped from La
Rochelle in safety ten years before and had found a
good home in England, where she had wearied
through the years waiting for me. Her experience
had not been wholly unlike my own. After many
years her mistress had died and, about the same
time that my good master was sent to the Tower,
Ruth was cast upon her own resources. Before
this event occurred, however, she had given up all
hope of my coming. Upon her mistress’ death
she made up her mind to go to one of the Huguenot
settlements in America. With this intent she
had set out for Bristol. Footpads and highwaymen
on land were then as likely to be met with as
buccaneers upon the sea. The van which brought
her to Bristol was waylaid and Ruth, as well as the
other passengers, robbed of all they had. She arrived
in Bristol penniless and had to take what employment
came to hand in order to earn a living.
.bn 041.png
.pn +1
Thus it happened that she was compelled to such
base labor at the Mariner’s Rest.
“Oh, Vincie,” she sobbed. “It was so hard.”
An angry tremble shook me as I thought of her
harsh treatment; then I recalled the threat the landlord
had made in my hearing.
“What did he mean when he said that you knew
what he could do when he was in earnest?”
“Do not think of that,” she answered softly. She
was always so forgiving. “It is all past now.”
“Tell me what he meant,” I continued fiercely.
“Did he ever dare to—”
“Hush, Vincie,” she murmured, putting her
fingers over my mouth; but I shook her hand
down. “He—must I tell you?” she continued with
hesitation, not wanting to anger me further. But
I insisted that she should speak out. “Well, he
beat me once,—but not hard. What are you going
to do?”
I sprang to my feet and took two steps toward
the gangway; then Ruth was at my elbow. She
gripped me by the arm.
“What are you going to do?”
“Never mind what I am going to do. Let me
go.”
“I shall not let you go,” tightening her grip.
“Stop.”
I looked at her in amazement. I remembered
her as a timid child when I used to think out and
plan everything she did. But the case was different
.bn 042.png
.pn +1
now. I had a notion to shake her off and was almost
on the point of saying as I used to, “Hush,
you are a mere child.” But there was a look in
her eyes which told me plainly that childhood was
past and that, between us two, I was no longer the
master.
“Let me go, Ruth,” I said. But I spoke without
spirit, and when I added “Please” she only
shook her head and began to draw me back to
where we had been sitting.
“I am ashamed of you,” she said, but very gently.
“Do you no longer read your Bible, Vincie?”
“Aye,” I answered, jumping at the chance her
reference gave me. “And it says that whoso sheddeth
man’s blood by man shall his blood be shed.”
“But he did not shed my blood.”
“Give eye for eye, tooth for tooth,—blow for
blow.”
“Ah, Vincie, you read only where you like; love
thy neighbor as thyself. Have you forgot the parable
of the cloak? You must love your enemies
and pray for them who persecute you. Were we
driven out of home for Jesus’ sake to deny all His
teachings and forswear His word? No, no, brother,
do not forget the woman taken in adultery, and
how she was brought before the Christ? Where
were her accusers then? Vincent, turn the word of
God into your own wicked heart before you judge
your neighbor. What shall I say at the great day
if they say to me: ‘Your brother did this or that
.bn 043.png
.pn +1
wrong act in your name?’ Answer me, Vincent,
what shall I say then?”
I could make no answer. Her pure spirit overcame
me. I could only ask her to forgive me.
She bade me kneel down upon the deck just as we
used to kneel when we were children. Ruth prayed
that I might come into a better spirit. I was in
much need of her gentleness, and with great diligence
she set to work to curb my resentment
against the Catholics, which ten long years of disappointment
and continual warfare had tempered
to the hardness of steel. Every morning upon the
deck as we sped across the wide ocean she wrought
against my contrary spirit till it was partly broken.
My little Ruth, whom I had protected so zealously
in her childhood, wound me around her finger and
ruled me firmly, but with all the gentleness of love.
“For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your
heavenly Father will also forgive you.” Her words
and the promises she talked about in the good
Book were like music, and I was beginning to be
a better man. “Did we not prophesy in thy name,
and by thy name cast out devils?” She showed me
what all this meant, and that if I went on in the
way I had begun I should some day be face to face
with the great denial: “And then shall I profess
unto them, I never knew you; depart from me, ye
that work iniquity.”
Such was the burden of her teaching. She
spoke much of the golden rule, and by that text
.bn 044.png
.pn +1
she brought me to see how my fierce zeal against
the Roman church was but persecution under
cover of my own selfish faith as the Catholics persecuted
under theirs. I remember one afternoon
in particular when we were more than half way
across the Atlantic. We were nestling in the bow
of the ship beneath a flapping sail, and Ruth sat by
my side, and teaching me, just as Jesus may have
taught his disciples not to forget what He was
telling them. The sun beat down warm and comfortable
upon the deck. The merry surface of the
water laughed in skipping sunlight. She had
talked to me a long time that afternoon, and as she
talked a great peace came upon me and little by
little the remorse for my evil ways slipped away and
vanished at her forgiving words.
Suddenly our attention was attracted by a commotion
on the main deck where the cannons were.
The sailors began to run this way and that in great
confusion. Half a dozen of them started to drag
the canvas covers off the guns and to get them
ready for use. Others ran below to the magazine
to bring up powder and small arms. I could not
make out what all this rumpus was about till I
glanced in the direction of the cannons’ aim and
saw a large, square-rigged vessel about a mile away,
bearing down upon us like a tower tilted against
the sky. Surely all this preparation must be to repel
an attack, and I guessed at once that the
strange ship was a buccaneer. Our passengers were
.bn 045.png
.pn +1
in a great scare when they found out the truth.
A little baby whose mother lay sick in the cabin set
up a wail of fright at the unusual sounds. No
notice was taken of the child, however, till Ruth
took it up in her arms and hushed it to sleep.
Captain Donaldson was the coolest head among
us. He spoke some hearty words to his crew and
bade them get ready to fight. Some of them went
forward to man the guns in the bow; others
climbed into the rigging to shoot down upon the
enemy’s deck when she came alongside; small arms
were dealt out to the rest of us who stood waiting
near the main hatch. By the time all our operations
were complete the hostile ship was not more
than a quarter of a mile away, and soon she spread
the flag of the buccaneers.
“I knew it,” shouted our captain, and the crew
responded with a rousing cheer. I could scarce
understand the reason of their joy, but put it down
to their love of a good fight, and the escape from
the humiliation that would have followed all their
hurry if the ship had turned out a peaceful trader.
I think the shame of having made a mistake as to
the character of the approaching vessel would have
smote them harder than a battle. Before the ship
had got near us, all the women were sent below as
a matter of precaution. Very soon two long-boats,
bristling with weapons, put off from the buccaneer.
The two boats tilted merrily along the waves
till they were half way to our ship. By that time
.bn 046.png
.pn +1
some men in the pirate’s rigging must have made
out the strength of our defenses, for the long-boats
were hastily summoned back and taken on board
the ship again. The buccaneer now came on under
full sail. As it drew near we could see a squad of
men at each end with ropes and grappling irons
ready to lash us fast the moment we touched.
Ten minutes later, after a harmless exchange of
cannon shots, the two ships were lashed fast together
and the pirates were popping over our side
like frogs into a pond. Captain Donaldson had
placed his men in two lines in such a position that
the buccaneers had to jump aboard between them.
The pirates set themselves back to back in the
middle of the ship and fought both ways at once.
Donaldson cut down the leader of the band opposed
to us. At this his party lost heart and gave
back a step or two upon their comrades. They
were now so close together that one party of the
pirates hampered the other. They fell into confusion,
and in two minutes we were chasing them
back into their own ship.
It is always easier to defend than to attack. The
moment the situation was reversed and we stood
upon the offensive, we found our difficulties grown
tenfold. Captain Donaldson’s voice rang clear
above the din, bidding his men to stand firm and
capture the ship. Suddenly the clamor increased
at a great rate, and I heard hasty orders given to
retreat to the Royal Lion. There was scuffling on
.bn 047.png
.pn +1
the deck, shouts, and orders given in quick succession;
then one of the grappling chains broke
with a noise like the report of a cannon. Just at
that moment I was engaged in a close fight with
one of the pirates and could not turn my head to
see what was happening. So long as he kept his
sword flashing before my eyes I had no desire to
look otherwise than to my guard, and my pride
would not let me run. But soon I had him, for all
he was a good fighter, and, by the time he slumped
backward with a groan, the ships had drifted apart,
and there was fifty feet of clear water between me
and my friends.
Captain Donaldson made every effort to put his
ship alongside again; but the pirates had had
enough of fight for that day and their ship was the
faster sailer. My heart sank as I saw the gulf
widening between us; nor could I catch a last
glance of Ruth, who had gone below with the sleeping
baby in her arms at the beginning of the engagement.
In this way our short-lived reunion came to an
end. I watched the Royal Lion drop behind till,
night coming on, I could no longer see her.
Strange to say, my captors had nothing to say to
me for a while, and left me quite alone as
long as I wished to keep my eyes on the vessel
that contained my sister. In fact the treatment
I met with at the hands of the buccaneers
was such as to belie much of what I had
.bn 048.png
.pn +1
heard concerning their reprobate character. When
I passed my word of honor, they allowed me the
freedom of the deck and set no sort of watch upon
me. Some of them who thought that I had
showed bravery in the fight even pressed me to join
their crew, offering me equal rights with the buccaneers
who had ventured money in the ship.
Though I would not hear to this, I won favor in
other ways, particularly by casting their accounts
and by writing fair in the logbook. I practiced a
good hand for the latter business, which was eventually
the means of saving my life. One day when
I was engrossing the date in large round letters
at the top of the page, the captain, who was looking
over my shoulder, began to laugh. He would not
tell me what amused him, though he imparted it to
his companions. Each one as he heard it looked
at me and clapped his hands for fun. It was not
long, however, before I understood how they intended
to make use of my scanty store of learning.
About a week later we sighted a point of land.
Though we soon passed this cape, I knew by many
signs that we were making for the coast. That
afternoon the chief spoke to me in the cabin.
“Monsieur Le Bourse, you know very well that
you are our prisoner, and we paid dear for you,
too; that was a jolly brush we had with the Royal
Lion. Once more, and this is the last time I’ll
say so, you can have full freedom and a share in
the prize money if you will sign our articles.”
.bn 049.png
.pn +1
“I shall not do it,” I replied haughtily. “Take
your own way with me.”
At that he opened a locker, not at all offended
by my manner, and drew out a suit of black clothes
and a powdered wig which he told me to put on.
This done he handed me a book and a silver-topped
cane.
“Now walk,” he cried, “from here to the porthole
and back again. There, there, you’ll do,” he
went on, chuckling with delight. “Now, look you
here, Monsieur Le Bourse, we are going to redeem
you in the plantations for a schoolmaster, for they
are sore in need of a little sense in Lord Baltimore’s
colony. That’s where we shall set you. On
my life, we’ll do it! And a brave dominie you’ll
make in your black coat and wig.”
I did not resent this arbitrary disposition of my
services. I had expected to walk the plank, and
this was a great sight better than that. So I
waited patiently for this new change in my fortunes.
On the evening before we reached port I
was seated in the bow of the ship alone. No one
was near me, and soon the captain crept stealthily
to my side.
“We’ll bind you out for five years of service,” he
began. “Whoever takes you will pay us twenty
pounds.” He tossed a purse into my lap. “There’s
the money in good pieces of eight, Spanish gold.
Never say Ned Teach of Bristol’s not a gentleman
of honor.”
.bn 050.png
.pn +1
I pressed him to know the cause of so much generosity;
and I learned that the man I had killed in
the fray was a desperate mutineer who threatened
to overthrow the captaincy of Teach.
“Now,” continued the buccaneer, “you’ve got
some money, and if you don’t find a way to escape
in less than six months you deserve to hang.”
The approach of some of the crew prevented any
further talk between us. The next day we ran into
port. I was duly bound out to service in the capacity
of what is called a redemptioner. This kind
of service, I was told, received its name from the
fact that the redemptioner, or bond-servant, could
buy back his freedom by paying a certain sum of
money at any time after five years of service. It
was into this kind of bond that Ruth had intended
to enter before I found her in Bristol. As I had
given her but little ready money, I feared that fate
had again laid its harsh hand on Ruth and me
alike.
The immediate effect upon me of my service, or
imprisonment, for such it really was, was to undo
what small tolerance towards the Roman church
I had learned from Ruth. The buccaneers bound
me out to a Catholic owner of plantations, and
soon, upon an attempt to escape, he had me
stripped and flogged at the public whipping post
on a crowded market day. I was kept close after
that and not allowed to stray from the spot of my
labors.
.bn 051.png
.pn +1
For some time, in memory of Ruth, I struggled
hard against a change of heart. But little by
little my bitter hatred came back to me, and the
mere shadow of a Catholic was something to be
trampled under foot and spat upon. I resolved to
make my escape, come what would, and to this
end I was alert to every accident that could be
turned to my advantage.
At that time the governments of Europe, and
especially of England, were determined to put
down the evil practices of the buccaneers. Orders
were sent to all the American colonies to arrest
the pirates wherever found. They were by this
means driven from the larger ports and forced to
frequent the smaller villages on the sea. Sometimes,
nay, generally, their visits were connived at
because of their liberal exchange in captured goods
and of the cupidity of the merchants. It chanced,
however, that an occasional honest magistrate
made a rapid descent upon some unexpected place
and captured a rover in an out of the way anchorage.
I had been in Maryland nearly a year when an
event occurred that offered me a desperate chance
of freedom. Captain Tew, a noted pirate, was discovered
lying in a cove not far away. The planter
to whom I was bound out, and who was also magistrate
of the district, prepared to capture the buccaneer.
By accident I learned his plans. They were
so well laid that, if carried out in secrecy, they
.bn 052.png
.pn +1
could not but be successful. I made up my mind
to warn the pirate of his danger, to win thereby
his gratitude, and purchase the means of flight. I
succeeded in my venture by so narrow a margin
that Captain Tew was quite aware that I had rendered
him a great service. His gratitude knew no
bounds. Though he had intended to sail farther
to the south, he set his vessel northward again in
order to land me near New York, where I hoped
to find Ruth awaiting me. But before we reached
our destination he did me the service I have already
spoken of. Upon the gift he gave me the
day before we reached Long Island turned an
important part of my career in the province of
New York.
.bn 053.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IV | THE BUCCANEER’S GIFT
.sp 2
We made a quick sail from Maryland to the
neighborhood of New York and drew near Long
Island on a bright day in August. The stiff wind
caught up the jetting water from the prow of our
ship and rained it down upon the slant of the waves
with a rattle like sand falling upon the deck. I
clung to the rail with both my hands and my
heart rose higher with every bound of the ship.
“You look merry to-day,” cried Captain Tew
at my elbow. “I have good news. The lookout on
the mizzen top has sighted land.”
I stretched one hand towards the horizon as if I
could reach Ruth. The buccaneer seemed to
understand my gesture for he continued:
“She’s been there a year, you say? That’s a long
time to stay in Yorke. I suppose she took service
up the Hudson, perhaps even as far as Albany on
the great Van Rensselaer estate. Do you know
any one in Yorke?”
“Not a soul,” I answered, the admission damping
my spirits somewhat. “But I shall hunt up
the Huguenot pastor and inquire of him.”
“I mean no offense, Monsieur Le Bourse,” continued
the pirate. “But if you will take my advice
you will go slow in your dealing with your countrymen
.bn 054.png
.pn +1
in Yorke. I hear they have been on the
fence since the Rebellion:—one year Leisler men;
the next, Jacobites to a man. I don’t know much
of the new governor either, curse him, except that
he keeps us out of the port.”
He stopped talking and looked down absently
at the buttons of his coat, fondling them tenderly
and turning them up one by one so that he could
look at the device engraved on them.
“Fine buttons, Monsieur, fine buttons. Did you
ever stop to look at the workmanship and the coat
of arms on the back? It goes hard with me to
part with them, it does indeed.” Then he cried
out more to himself than to me, as if he had made
up his mind to a difficult task: “You old ungrateful
dog! Off with the pair, I say, off on the
instant!”
With that he drew his cutlass and slashed away
clumsily at two of the buttons which he presented
to me, holding them out on the flat of his hand.
“I’m an ungrateful dog to think twice about
letting them go, but you must know their value.
They came to me from his Excellency, Colonel
Benjamin Fletcher. Ah, he was a merry soul.
When he was governor of Yorke we had no trouble
to land, but the present earl sets close watch
upon the ports. You’ll find the city as full of
brawls as tobacco is of smoke. There are Jacobites
and Earl’s men and the devil knows what besides.
You may be sure of one thing: whatever is at
.bn 055.png
.pn +1
stake, Kilian Van Volkenberg will be at logger-heads
with the new earl. When you get there, show
these buttons to Kilian. He brought them to me
from Fletcher. I’ll stake my ship and cargo he’ll
do all that the love of a good fat bargain can make
a Dutch merchant do.”
Soon after this conversation the buccaneer took
me into his cabin where he presented me with a
purse of money, a pair of pistols, and a handsomely
mounted sword. All these articles put together,
he assured me, were not worth the eye-hole of one
of the buttons. “For,” as he said, “old Ben Fletcher
was a merry dog and profitable to the jolly sea-rovers.”
An hour later we sighted land from the deck.
During the rest of the afternoon our ship stood off
and on, waiting for night. As soon as it grew dark
enough to conceal my landing, a long-boat was
lowered and they put me ashore at Gravesoon. As
I went down the side of the ship, Captain Tew
bade me a last farewell. He thanked me again and
again for the warning I had given him, assuring
me that I had saved him and his ship and all his
crew.
“Commend me to Kilian,” he said. “And to
Ben Fletcher, and mind the factions in the city—and—and—oh,
yes, there’s Mistress Miriam, the
patroon’s daughter. Tell her that old Tommy Tew
hasn’t forgotten her pretty face, and he’ll bring
.bn 056.png
.pn +1
her something from the east when he returns. God
speed!”
The long-boat shoved off and soon I was on
land. I have already told how I made my way to
Gravesoon where the host of the ordinary was
curious to know the manner of my arrival, as well
as anxious to teach me how to blow a summons
upon a conch.
I went to bed that night, as I have already stated,
and rose early the next morning to set out on foot.
The distance to Breuckelen was about ten miles
across the end of the island. The day was bright
and cheery, and the road passed through a rich
country of farms. This region supplied most of
the food for the city and was carefully tilled by
the various tenants of the island. On nearing the
Sound the road, which was a poor, rutty track at
the best, dipped steeply from a crest and in a hundred
yards I was at the water’s edge. A small
wooden platform floated on the surface and near,
tethered to a tree by a thong of buckskin, hung the
sea shell. I put it to my lips and, thanks to my
practice of the night before, I was able, after one
or two unavailing attempts, to send forth a dull
wail that echoed over the water and back again
half a dozen times.
While I was waiting for the ferryman to come
from the Yorke side of the river, my eyes scanned
the town impatiently. The city lay huddled on the
side of a hill covered with verdure. The tiers of
.bn 057.png
.pn +1
flaming red-tiled roofs extended nearly to the
water’s edge where the white walls of the lower
houses made visible the cluster of masts swaying in
the harbor. Two structures stood out in conspicuous
prominence before the rest of the town. High
on the right loomed the Stadt Huys, topped by a
pointed belfry. To the left on a bold hump of
rock squatted the low fort. There the eye lingered
with most interest. The slender staff floated the
flag of England. In one corner the double gable
of the fort chapel peeped above the top of the
bastions. What must have been the portholes were
mere black blotches upon the gray face of the wall;
and below, at the foot of a steep cliff, the climbing
surf fretted the rocks with foam.
My eyes were not drawn from the pleasing scene
for fully half an hour. By that time the boatman
had crossed the river. On the way back both wind
and tide were against us and the crossing took
much longer. We passed beyond the greater part
of the town, having it upon our left, and landed at
a little half-moon battery which projected into the
East River near what was called the Water Gate.
This gate was the eastern entrance to the city
through the Wall, a line of palisades backed by a
ditch that extended quite across the city from the
East River to the Hudson. It formed the northern
boundary of New York, and thus it happened
that I entered the city from the rear or landward
side.
.bn 058.png
.pn +1
“There is the way to Van Volkenberg manor,”
said the ferryman, advancing one arm like a guidepost
and pointing along a road that vanished
northward among the wooded hills. “But you’ll
do no good to follow it now. The patroon will
be in the city to-day. It is all furred up with excitement
at the meeting of the new assembly. What
are you, white or blue?”
I assured him that I was a stranger and that I
belonged to neither party as yet; at this information
he lost all interest in my affairs. Even from
that distance I could hear the confused din of
shouting crowds bowling along the streets in the
lower part of the town. While I stood irresolute,
trying to decide whether to go north towards the
manor-house or south into town, I caught sight of
a woman in the distance. I made off hastily in her
direction with my mind constantly upon Ruth. I
laughed to myself when, all out of breath, I caught
up with the woman and found her a squalid wife
with clumsy wooden shoes that clattered noisily
over the stepping stones of the unpaved street.
In this pursuit I had followed the street next
the Wall which was bordered on the left by the
houses of the chimney sweeps. Now and then a
besooted urchin would run out in front of me,
point to his grimy rags and call out: “Hi, mynher!
I’m an Earl’s man.” This would set him and half
a dozen other sweeps to laughing. I did not understand
the humor of the youngster’s joke till later
.bn 059.png
.pn +1
when I found that white was the color of the Earl’s
party. Then the thought of his little partisans
dressed in their sooty rags would set me laughing
with a will.
There was a smell of slops to the street next the
Wall and nothing attractive about its appearance.
I soon came to a turning and, as I glanced down
an avenue curving broadly to the left, I stood still
with wonder. As far as I could see the street was
loosely filled with people. They were in constant
motion; now opening into a gap, now closing into
a compact mass from house to house; yet the
crowd did not grow smaller nor did it move one
way more than another.
Above their heads flags projected from every
house-front. Many were white, a few were blue;
the most distant were indistinguishable as to color,
being mere silhouette patches against the sky.
They made a pretty sight, fluttering together in
the breeze as if the houses trembled with the same
excitement that throbbed in the streets below.
Bunches of white ribbons hung from the doorknobs
and polished knockers. Festoons of the
same color looped across the street. Just overhead,
so near me that I had not noticed it at first,
a large placard was suspended over the middle of
the street. It bore in tall figures the inscription
“19 to 5.” I accosted a bystander, or runner-by,
for no one was still an instant, and asked the meaning
of the numbers.
.bn 060.png
.pn +1
“Good lack! Are you a stranger? That is our
majority. Ours!”
He twirled a bunch of white ribbons in my face
by way of explanation and then made off towards
the scene of a new excitement. I followed his
direction and began to hear the cry “Marmaduke,
Marmaduke,” which was swelling farther down
the street. I followed the crowd which was all
moving in one direction now, and elbowed my way
along with the others. Men, women and children
pressed eagerly forward in the direction of a low
building with a peaked gable that stood on the
corner of the next street. Soon I fell into a walk;
and then we were so jammed together that I had
to fight my way tooth and nail to gain a yard. I
looked over the tops of people’s heads to where a
coach drawn by six white horses had been brought
to a stand. A lady had stepped half out of the
vehicle and was about to address the people. She
was a strong, dignified looking woman with angular
features and flashing eyes. She lifted one hand
and everyone became still.
“Men of New York,” she began in a rich melodious
voice that won its way to my heart immediately,
“on this day of victory and joy, it does my old
heart good to see the people alive to their rights.
When the liberty of the citizens is at stake, who is
their friend?”
The crowd broke into a shout of “Marmaduke,
Marmaduke.” A woman who stood next me in
.bn 061.png
.pn +1
the street flourished a white flag and cried: “Three
cheers for Lady Marmaduke, the friend of the people!”
The lady who stood on the step of the coach
caught the flag in her hands and motioned for silence.
“Yes, the Marmaduke is the friend of the people.
But that is not what I meant. Our bulwark
is the Earl. Stand by Earl Richard, friends. You
are the strength of Yorke. He is your champion
against the blue.” She waved above her head the
flag she had taken from the woman and cried:
“Three hearty cheers for the Earl of Bellamont!”
By the time the ringing response had died away
and order was once more restored the whole attitude
of Lady Marmaduke had changed. Tears
stood in her eyes and her voice trembled with
emotion.
“Dear people, when it pleased God to take my
husband, He took from you your staunchest
friend. ‘Helen,’ he once said to me, 'if by chance
you should be left alone, never forget the people.'”
Then she grew brave again, and her deep voice
rang clear and distinct. “I shall do all I can, but—remember—remember
what I say: our bulwark
is Earl Richard.”
She sprang back into the carriage. The driver
struck out with his lash. For a moment the six
white horses reared and plunged till the swaying
crowd gave way in front. The huge vehicle lumbered
.bn 062.png
.pn +1
forward over the uneven street, followed by
the cheering of the people.
I turned into a deserted by-way, wondering who
this woman was and hoping to make progress
more quickly towards the lower part of the town.
Even here I met with the same assertion of victory.
Three little bare-legged urchins were belaboring
a fourth who was scarce able to toddle. He
stood on a doorstep warding off the blows of his
assailants with a stick. The cause of their attack
was the blue blouse he wore;—blue was the color
of the defeated party.
“Hiky tiky, you Jacobite!” cried the three little
soldiers of the Earl. “Come down and fight fair,
you coward.”
I caught up the nearest of the three boys and
spanked him well for a bully; upon which the other
two fled precipitately into the midst of a duck pond
where they stood knee deep in the slimy water and
dared me to follow them at my peril.
“I’m as good an Earl’s man as them,” cried the
defender of the doorstep. “But I’ll be a Jacobite
now for spite. Don’t come near me, you rebel
brats.”
He shouldered his stick like a musket and strutted
ahead, offering to accompany me to the next
corner if I was afraid.
I took the little fellow safely to his mother’s
doorstep and then continued my way through King
Street to the Slip, whence I could see the whole
.bn 063.png
.pn +1
water front and the merchant ships lying at anchor.
I had scarcely reached the battery by the Stadt
Huys when a crowd of people came pell mell along
the square. They were shouting and yelling at a
score of persons who went before and were provided
with brooms decked in the victorious white
ribbons of the Earl’s party. They were sweeping
the street industriously. As they drew near I saw
that the ground in front of them was plentifully
strewed with little blue marbles the size of birds’
eggs. The sweepers were thus in play cleansing
the town of the blue taint of their enemies. They
drew near the water, each vying with his neighbor
to be the first to get the marbles in front of him
into the bay. Ere long they were popping merrily
upon the surface. At that moment a diversion
occurred in the form of a charge by a company of
marines from one of the merchant ships in the harbor.
The marines came up the Slip on the run,
and in two minutes a hot fight began.
The brooms were not bad weapons of defense.
The cutlasses of the sailors got entangled in the
brushy ends and sometimes the weapons of the
sailors were jerked clean out of their hands.
Now and then a stinging thrust in the face would
set a man yelling with pain and anger. Meantime
the bystanders amused themselves by egging
on the combatants as if it were a cock fight.
This sort of thing could not last long. One by
one the ends of the brooms were lopped off. The
.bn 064.png
.pn +1
sweepers gave back and at last broke into flight just
as the sheriff and a guard of six men came to their
relief. Not at all daunted by the appearance of the
officers of the law, the marines continued the attack,
now gaining ground, now losing, but keeping to it
with a will.
My blood was up. Swords ringing and mine in
its sheath was a craven plight. I was for joining
in but did not know which side to join. Suddenly
the sheriff fell wounded and his men turned tail to
run.
“Cowards,” I yelled, flourishing my sword, “follow
me.”
They plucked up courage and did as I bade them.
I led them aside some twenty yards to the mouth
of a narrow lane where we were protected on the
flanks by a fence on one side and a house on the
other. Here the fray began again with redoubled
spirit. I had time to notice that each of the sailors
wore about his arm a band of red cloth that gave
his dress somewhat the appearance of a uniform.
Three of them soon lay on the ground by the
mouth of the lane, and I doubt not that they were
killed, for there seemed to be great enmity between
the marines and the city officers. The sailors continued
to fight like fiends, yelling and cursing between
their blows like so many madmen. I have
no doubt they were full of drink, for they did not
fight well together but often turned on one another,
or hampered themselves by crowding shoulder
.bn 065.png
.pn +1
to shoulder too close to fight to good advantage.
In twenty minutes we had reduced their
number by half. The sobering effect of this lively
scrimmage put a little reason into the heads of
those who were still upon their legs. It was now
their turn to run, which they did with a marvelous
speed considering the fact that they were sailors.
The battle at an end, I wiped the blade of my
sword and continued down the Slip, casting my
eyes curiously upon the tradesmen’s signs. There
were but a few names on the street, though a symbol
of some sort stood over the entrance to each
shop. At one place a pair of scissors indicated the
dock barber and peruke maker. A red ball hung before
a vender of cheese; and an empty cask before
every third or fourth door showed where spirits
was sold. I made my way past a long row of petty
shops and small ordinaries till my eyes fell upon
that for which I was looking.
This was a tall, pretentious building decked from
top to bottom in blue hangings. Within the ample
doorway I could see piles of boxes, casks, bales
of cotton, and to the rear there were many clerks
bending over huge account books, or skurrying
about with pots of paint in their hands to mark the
numerous parcels for shipment. What made
this warehouse of more interest to me than all the
others was its sign and the name of its owner. It
read “KILIAN VAN VOLKENBERG—MERCHANT.”
.bn 066.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER V | THE JACOBITE COFFEE-HOUSE
.sp 2
When I recognized the name on the front of
Van Volkenberg’s warehouse I dipped my hand
into my pocket to make sure that the silver buttons
Captain Tew had given me were safe and ready to
be produced by way of introduction. I crossed
the street and entered the open doorway. A courteous
young clerk who desired to be of service to
me regretted that his master was not on the premises.
“Patroon Van Volkenberg went out not long
ago with Colonel Fletcher,” he said. “You know
that the town is in such excitement that the patroon,
who is the chief merchant of the city and
also a member of the governor’s council, has many
cares upon him. But I am in his confidence and
should be glad—no, is it a personal matter? I
am sorry that I cannot attend to your business. I
should advise you to return this afternoon if you
desire to see him in person. He will probably dine
with Colonel Fletcher or perhaps with the governor.
You know that Patroon Van Volkenberg
is one of the most representative men of the city.
I see you are a stranger. Would you like to look at
our cellars and see our ships? There are none equal
to them in the whole province.”
.bn 067.png
.pn +1
I thanked him for his kindness, but said that I
wished to explore the city and would wander about
on the chance of seeing the patroon at large. I
passed out into the busy street and stood at the
door of the patroon’s warehouse for a moment in
hesitation which way to turn. A large sign which
projected into the street not far away on my right
indicated the Leisler Tavern. I turned that way,
intending to find a suitable place to lodge until my
plans became more settled. At the door, however,
I stopped. The room within was noisily full of
people all of whom wore white cockades and
badges. These decorations represented the Earl’s
party and reminded me of the fact that the hangings
on Van Volkenberg’s house were blue. The
Leisler Tavern was evidently not frequented by the
partisans of the patroon. I had better seek farther;
perhaps I should come upon an inn of another
color.
I wandered along, keeping a sharp lookout on
all sides. My attention was much taken up with
the quaint little houses and the curious sights of
this strange city. Before long, on returning from
a near view of the fort which I had already seen at
a distance from my point of vantage on Long Island,
I ran suddenly upon the Jacobite Coffee-House.
This ordinary was draped in blue, and the
empty neighborhood cast upon it the melancholy
atmosphere of defeat.
The large interior was portioned off upon three
.bn 068.png
.pn +1
sides into stalls containing tables like those I had
seen in London. Most of the chairs at these tables
were occupied by persons drinking; but by far the
greater number of people present stood mug in
hand in the open center of the room. Upon my
entrance there was a sudden lull in the conversation;
then they began to whisper among themselves
and look at me. Every person in the room
was soon staring at me as if I were some public
curiosity on exhibition. There was a hostile expression
in their eyes, too, that I could not comprehend.
I wondered whether, after all, this was
really a public ordinary. Had I made a mistake
and blundered into some private place of meeting?
On one side of the tap-room in plain sight hung
the governor’s license to keep open house. No, I
had not made a mistake. What, then, was the
meaning of this obvious turning of eyes in my
direction? How could I account for the hostile
contempt they showed towards me, an utter
stranger?
I crossed the room to where I saw a vacant chair
in one of the stalls. At once two men who were
also seated at the table I was moving towards,
arose, making a great parade of their efforts to
get out of my way. The laugh that followed this
treatment vexed me much. I called out in an
ill temper to the host to fetch me some rum and not
to keep strangers waiting.
.bn 069.png
.pn +1
“Have you a room to let?” I inquired as he set
my liquor down on the table in front of me.
“No,” he replied curtly, turning on his heel, and
showing me his back across the room.
Shortly the attention fell off from me somewhat
and the inmates began to talk again. Kirstoffel,
as they called the host, was a merry fellow. He
soon seemed to repent of the rude way in which
he had answered my question, for he saw when I
took out my purse that I had plenty of ready
money. Taking advantage of a moment when attention
was diverted to the some disturbance in
the street, he came across the room to me and
made a qualified apology.
“Gott, man,” he began. “Your demand was too
sudden. I have got no rooms here to let out. They
were all thrown into one for that what-you-call-it
Jacobite Club to meet in. No, I have no rooms.”
As he seemed to be friendly, I asked him why
my entrance had been the cause of so much attention.
He was about to answer when the people
who had been temporarily attracted to the door
came pouring back. The tapster laid his finger on
his lips, shook his head at me in a warning sort of
way, and then stalked haughtily back to his place
as if to affect his customers with the largeness of
his contempt for me.
I was all alert to discover the clew to this treatment.
As each of several new people entered I
was pointed out amid whispering and shaking of
.bn 070.png
.pn +1
heads and threatening glances. One fellow, a sailorly
looking man, cried out an angry oath and
took a step or two in my direction. A comrade
caught him by the arm and whispered something
in his ear. At that the fellow gave up his notion,
whatever it was, and soon their interest in me
waned.
Everyone I had seen in the room so far wore
somewhere on his coat or hat a bit of the blue
ribbon that stood for the Merchants’ party. It was
not long, however, before I noticed in one corner
a slight, alert man who looked as if he might be a
native of my own country. Furthermore, so far as
I could see, he wore none of the blue ribbon. I
changed my seat so as to come near him. He was
an affable sort of fellow and spoke to me at once.
“You and I seem to be on the under side,” he
began. “I wonder you don’t wear white.”
I told him, as I had told the ferryman, that I was
a stranger in the city and that I had not yet learned
the difference between the parties. He at once
began a long explanation, telling me all about the
Earl of Bellamont and the People’s party whose
color was white, and of the Merchants’ party,
whose color was blue. Thus begun, I pressed the
conversation further to learn why I had been treated
with so much attention when I came into the
coffee-house. He did not know. Had I worn
white or no color at all, as he did, they would have
let me alone. There must be something more than
.bn 071.png
.pn +1
that. Did I not know? “How could I?” I said,
in answer to his question, for I had been in New
York scarce above two hours. All this mystery
was very annoying to me, for every few moments
I was pointed out and showed off to some new
comer like an animal in a cage.
In the meantime my chance acquaintance, who
informed me that his name was Pierre, drank continually
and was in the merrier mood therefor.
“I hate these Dutchmen,” he said, “with their
dozen pairs of breeches like barrels round their
middles. And the women, ha! I’ve seen a very
bean-pole swell out below like a double jib.”
This reference to the Dutchmen reminded me of
my desire to see the patroon, and I asked Pierre
if he knew Van Volkenberg.
“Know him? I’d know his bones in a button
shop. You couldn’t polish the crabbedness out of
him. I could tell you where he is at this very
moment only—I declare, my head is getting fuddled.
I must have a gill of rum to settle this weak
beer with.” In a moment he came back from the
tap-rail, empty-handed and shaking his head disconsolately.
“He will not trust me, not another
stuyver. I’m plum fuddled. Where was I?”
I suggested Van Volkenberg, but he did not
seem to know the name. I handed him half a
crown, but he would not take it.
“No, sir; I’m not a beggar,” he said with a little
dignity. “That would hurt me to the heart,
.bn 072.png
.pn +1
and what would Annetje say?” Then he added
cunningly: “You are a man of influence. If you
would speak to him and ask him to extend my
score on credit a little he would do it out of respect
to you.”
A moment later Pierre was sipping rum to his
satisfaction and I was secretly a shilling out to the
landlord.
“Where was I?” continued Pierre, whose memory
was improving now that I had got him some
liquor without offending his dignity with money.
“Where was I? Oh, yes, Van Volkenberg. He is
in the room above this one—president of the Jacobite
Club. If you wait here you will see him.
They always come in for a sup all worn out and dry
with thinking.”
Pierre soon fell asleep and I awaited the appearance
of the patroon. In a short space of time I
was again quite out of the consideration of every
person in the room. They talked in low tones as
people will who have not the honorable sense of
success to be noisy over. They no longer paid any
heed to me, not even when further additions were
made to their number.
I kept my ears open and I soon learned from
the drift of conversation what was the present state
of politics in New York. The recently defeated
Merchants’ party had been in power for many
years; in fact, ever since the trial and execution
of the leader, Jacob Leisler. This party’s
.bn 073.png
.pn +1
grip on affairs had, however, been steadily failing
ever since and it was quite loosened by the arrival
of a new governor. This governor was the Earl of
Bellamont. Upon his arrival in New York he had
at once espoused the cause of the Popular party,
as the adherents of Leisler were called. He made
it his especial duty to enforce the Acts of Trade
and to put down the illegal traffic with the buccaneers.
This unlawful trade was the chief bone of
contention between the two parties. To the Merchants’
party belonged all the great tradesmen of
the city, hardly one of whom had not in times past,
or was not at that very moment engaged in the
profitable but unlawful exchange of smuggled
goods. It was to continue this trade in defiance of
the law that they stood together against the Earl.
In the recent election they had been overthrown
by a large majority. Their defeat was due mainly
to the Frenchmen, which portion of the population
of New York was then quite under the control
of Lady Marmaduke. She was the lady I had
already seen addressing the people from the step
of her coach.
While I was gathering the above information
piecemeal from the subdued conversation about me
in the coffee-room, my acquaintance, Pierre, had
roused himself occasionally, swallowed another
draught of rum, and then relapsed into sleepy unconsciousness.
The group in the room was continually
changing, but the people composing it had
.bn 074.png
.pn +1
ceased to point me out as an object of interest.
Two or three men had latterly come in who wore
upon their arms a band of red cloth like what I
had seen on the sailors I had fought against in
company with the sheriff’s men. But these fellows
took no notice of me, nor did I recognize them as
belonging to the band we had fought with.
Before long a sudden lull in the conversation
greeted the appearance of two men. Heretofore I
had examined the face of every visitor as he came
in, wondering if he were Van Volkenberg. I now
scanned these two with like attention. The older
looking of the two was a large man, powerful but
spare in build, with a sharp passionate eye. He returned
cordially the numerous greetings with which
he was welcomed. Then, for everyone in the room
stood silent as if in expectation of a speech, he
struck his ebony cane with decision on the floor
and began to speak.
“Friends, we have suffered a severe defeat and
to-day the Assembly goes into session that will unmake
our laws. But the race is not to the swift nor
the battle to the strong. We are not yet dead.
Power shall return to us. Hush——” He raised
his cane and made a motion to cut short a slight
attempt to cheer. “Our enemies have triumphed
through the vote of the Frenchmen. But you must
not let this turn you against them. They are led
by the black Lady Marmaduke. We must bring
them back to our support. They are willing to
.bn 075.png
.pn +1
come, but we must not drive them sharply. There
is one thing I have to tell you that will make you
glad at heart. To-day I have been at the governor’s
council board. He is at heart our friend. To
be sure, he has restored the confiscated property to
the family of the traitor Leisler. That strikes home
against us, but he could not help himself. The
attainder was removed in England and he was
bound to carry it out whether he liked to do so or
not. This victory has been won in his name, but it
is not of his heart. Do not the two traitors still
lie at the foot of the gallows?”
A sullen murmur of dissatisfaction followed this
appeal. “Ay, they have lain there these eight
years,” cried one. “May they rot in their graves
forever,” said another. For a moment the air was
full of sharp, savage curses directed against the
memory of the two leaders of the people.
“And now,” continued the speaker, as Kirstoffel
handed him a cup, “let us drink to the health of our
stout friend, Colonel Benjamin Fletcher.”
Fletcher! I remembered that name. He was
the person who had sent to Captain Tew the buttons
that I now had in my pocket. The toast was
drunk enthusiastically. Then someone sprang
upon a chair and began to beat time; the company
followed his example and soon they were all singing
this song which they accompanied boisterously
with the jingle of mugs and the clatter of feet:
.bn 076.png
.pn +1
.pm start_poem
“Hi! Ho! Kirstoffel’s brew,
Gi' good den to Kilian’s crew;
Klink the can,
Let every man
Drink to Van Volkenberg.”
.pm end_poem
At the last word the tall speaker bowed right and
left, whereby I knew he was the patroon.
I felt in my pocket for the silver buttons and,
taking one of them in the hollow of my hand with
my fingers closed over so as to conceal it till the
proper moment, I rose to approach the patroon.
This act drew all eyes upon me. There was the
same ominous silence as before, accompanied now,
however, with ten times the contempt and anger
shown at my first entrance. The ill feeling against
me was so evident and, so far as I knew, so without
cause, that I was fairly nonplussed. No one spoke.
The only sounds were the ticking of the tall clock
in the corner and a few taps of Van Volkenberg’s
cane upon the floor. He likewise seemed to share
the general resentment against me.
“Mynher,” said I, as yet holding the button in
my hand. “I came to ask——”
“Ask nothing of me, villain.”
“Ay, he is a villain,” chorused several voices.
“Mynher,” I began again, astonished at this reception
from a perfect stranger.
“Not a word, wretch, not a word to me. I have
no dealings with vagabonds, scum of the streets.
If you have anything to say, go talk to my dogs.
Zounds! Away! Out of my sight!”
.bn 077.png
.pn +1
I was about to expostulate, having no idea whatever
how to account for this sudden burst of anger,
but he raised his cane to strike me. Then I noticed
a narrow band of red cloth about his left arm just
beyond the elbow.
“Hush, Kilian,” said the companion who had entered
with him. “Do not anger yourself.”
“Pish! May I not strike a dog?”
“’Tis not for him but for yourself. Beware,
Kilian.”
The patroon was visibly affected by this rejoinder
and made an effort to control himself.
“You say you don’t understand what I mean?”
he continued in disdain, for he had given me a
chance to profess myself ignorant of offense. “Have
you not stood against my men? Have you not
drawn your sword against the Red Band? Bah,
dog! You shall know what it is to kill the men
of the Red Band. You shall hang for this if there
is a law left in the province.”
He had begun this speech with a measure of
self-control. But as the words followed one upon
another, he spoke quicker and quicker, and with
more and more anger, till he had worked himself
to such a height of passion that his friend interfered
a second time.
“Be careful, Kilian. These are grave times and
we must be on our guard. You know your failing.
What if you should make some——” He
spoke the rest so low that I could not hear it. It
.bn 078.png
.pn +1
had the effect, however, of calming the patroon.
“Hear the man,” continued his friend. “Hear what
he has to say.”
“Mynher Van Volkenberg,” I explained, “if the
men I fought with on the Slip this morning were
your men, I can only say that we gave and took
fair blows. Half a score of men fighting two or
three or four is what no man of honor will stand
by and see unstirred. I fought fair and I confess
no crime. I should do the same against the very
troops of the Earl.”
“Damn the Earl!” burst out the patroon.
He shook and trembled with rage. This time
there was no holding him back. He stormed up
and down the room, cursing me, and the Earl, and
even his companion, for trying to quiet him. What
had been the outcome of our altercation but for
an accident I do not know. Just at that moment
Pierre, who had been sleeping quietly on my rum
all this while, roused himself and stumbled to his
feet. When I had first spoken to him a short time
before, he was merrily drunk; by now he had swallowed
himself into a royal state for quarreling.
“Hi, my duck!” he hiccoughed, as he lurched
across the room. “At it again, eh?”
The room was dumb at this sudden outbreak
from an unexpected quarter. Pierre drew upon
him the attention of us all except the man who had
entered with the patroon. His eyes were fixed
.bn 079.png
.pn +1
upon Van Volkenberg, his hand was laid upon the
patroon’s arm.
“Come with me, Kilian,” he said in a voice so
low that few heard it. “You are wrought up to-day.
You cannot trust yourself. Come home
with me. Remember how much depends upon
your coolness.”
“Old man,” Pierre cried as he tottered indirectly
out of the corner where he had been asleep. “You
will set your dogs on me, will you?”
There was almost no sound from anyone. Only
the slow tick of the clock and the sand crunching
beneath Pierre’s feet. Van Volkenberg trembled
with fury, but was unable to speak. His companion
tried in vain to drag him from the room. Pierre
stopped two steps in front of them.
“Take that,” he cried savagely, emptying a glass
of rum on the patroon’s waistcoat. Then, waving
his arms drunkenly, he began to sing:
.pm start_poem
“Klink the can,
Let every man—
Down with Van Volkenberg.”
.pm end_poem
In the uproar that followed I was aware of but
two facts. The patroon was dragged off by his
companion through one door, and Pierre by the
crowd through another. In the midst of the pushing
and shoving about the street door someone
plucked my elbow. It was Kirstoffel, the host,
with his finger to his lips.
.bn 080.png
.pn +1
“His offense is ducking,” he said, jerking his
thumb over his shoulder towards Pierre. “But you.
Gott, man! You’ve killed three of the patroon’s
best men. I would not be in your shoes for a
month’s brew. You will be up for——.” He
pointed significantly, first at his neck and then at
a beam over head. “Take my advice. Seek you
the French dominie. He has got a great hold
on Lady Marmaduke as well as the governor. But
don’t stand still on your legs or you will hang
fast by your neck.”
The fact that I was in unusual danger on account
of my part in the brawl of the morning came home
to me now for the first time. I resolved to take
Kirstoffel’s advice without delay, feeling keenly the
danger of my situation. I inquired where the house
of the Huguenot pastor was and then asked the
name of the person who had been so eager to
restrain the patroon’s wrath.
“That? That was Colonel Fletcher, the governor
of the province before this one came to the
fort.”
It was a strange coincidence that I should be
thus thrown against the only two men in New
York from whom I had expected any help. All
this time I still held the silver button clasped in
my hand. I put it back into my pocket and set
out along the street in search of the minister who
I hoped would be able to assist me out of my
difficult situation.
.bn 081.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VI | AN INTERVIEW WITH THE EARL
.sp 2
The French pastor met me at his door with a
cordial welcome. I laid my case before him without
reservation, telling him how I had joined in
with the weaker party in the street attack that
morning, and how I had encountered Van Volkenberg
in the tavern.
“It is a bad business,” he said. “I wish it had
not happened. What can be done? Let me see.
What can be done?” He was thoughtful for a few
moments. “We must go to the Earl. He is a fine
gentleman and a kind man. He sets great value on
the city officers. Yes, he will do what he can for
you. You say that some of the men were killed?”
“I was told as much by the tavern keeper, and,
in truth, I guess there were. It was very stirring
for a time. I think the sheriff was also killed.”
“It’s a bad business, as I said. Van Volkenberg
and his Red Band will ruin the city yet. I must
speak of your case to Lady Marmaduke as well
as to the governor. She is very popular with the
people and stands as leader of our countrymen here,
for all she is an Englishwoman.”
“I have already seen her,” said I. “And I heard
them speak of her at the coffee-house as the black
Lady Marmaduke.”
.bn 082.png
.pn +1
The minister smiled. “There are two meanings
to that. She has black eyes and a dark skin;
and Lady Marmaduke is a black enemy to the
patroon and his band of soldiers. Ay, she’s the
black lady sure enough. But what was your message
to the patroon that he cut short before you
had the chance to deliver it?”
This question reminded me that I should be
thinking of something else besides my own selfish
needs.
“I had hoped to inquire of him some way to find
my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes. I have some hope that she is in the
province of New York.”
“How comes it that you are here with so little
knowledge of her whereabouts?”
I gave him an account of the last sad year of
our life; our meeting in Bristol; our second separation
on the high seas; and, last of all, the year I had
spent in Maryland. “Thus it was,” I ended, “that
I expected to find my sister waiting for me when
I got to New York.”
“Ay, take cheer. She is doubtless somewhere
near at hand. Last July, you say? I was in Albany
then. I have forgotten it; what did you say
your surname is?”
“Le Bourse.”
He repeated the name over again half aloud.
“I have heard that name somewhere,” he muttered.
.bn 083.png
.pn +1
“Yet I was in Albany this time twelve-month.”
He was silent several minutes longer,
and then he broke out with, “Where have I heard
that name?”
How I hoped he would remember! I durst not
speak to him lest I disturb his thoughts. Suddenly
he fixed his eye on me and, while he gazed,
a look of recognition overspread his features.
“I have heard it,” he said, his eyes opening wider
and wider; “and I have seen—can I be mistaken?”
He took both my hands in his and I could feel that
they were all of a tremble with emotion. “It is
you I have seen. Don’t you mind the brook by La
Rochelle, and how we cast lots years agone, and
how one fell to you and one to my brother? I
recall you plain now. I looked back and saw my
brother fall. The Lord giveth and He taketh away,
blessed be His name. But you stood firm and
the rest of us were saved. How many times, my
lad, an old man’s prayers have gone up to the
Throne that you might be safe.”
We clasped hands in silence; my feelings were
too deep for words. The change brought about by
the lapse of ten years in even the happiest life
is stuff for sorrow. What must I have felt after
ten unhappy years of wandering and fight, of sorrow
and disappointment, year in and year out?
The minister’s voice was the first to break a long
silence.
.bn 084.png
.pn +1
“Let us go to the Earl,” he said, but he was
not yet master of his voice.
As we made our way to the fort through crooked
narrow streets my companion was at great pains
to enlighten me still further in regard to the condition
of affairs in the city.
“Friend Michael, you must know somewhat, so
that you can talk well to his Excellency. He and
Patroon Van Volkenberg are at swords points day
and night. I count much on that as telling in
your favor. But his hands are half tied in spite
of all. I wonder that you can look so calm, for
I must say plain the patroon is a powerful man
and clever at the law-twisting. Kirstoffel told you
what it would be, but I hope he cannot bring it
to that. He’s a cruel man, a cruel man. What
little Pierre said about the dogs—that was some
of it. Poor little Pierre! He had gone up to
see his sweetheart, Annetje Dorn, at the manor-house.
But the patroon set the dogs on him and
now he will have to be ducked. But it is your case
that worries me.”
We had nearly reached the fort. A large green
sloped gently up to the walls. Near the entrance
a dozen soldiers in the gray uniform of the Governor’s
Guards loitered about a public pump.
“Do you see yon dipping trough of stone?” queried
my companion, pointing towards the pump.
“When you get close you can see the Marmaduke
arms cut in the side. That is only one of the
.bn 085.png
.pn +1
things she has done to make the people throw
up their hats when she comes along. We used
to get the water we drink from the Tea-Water
pump, which is more than a mile beyond the city
wall to the north. All the wells in this part of town
were brackish till this one was dug and presented
to the city free of cost by Lady Marmaduke. Ask
anyone—yon tradesman in his shop door, for instance—who
is Lady Marmaduke. Like as not
he will answer that she dug the Marmaduke well.
She has been a great benefactor to the city in
other ways than that, and there is a warm spot for
her in everybody’s heart.”
Thus, doing his best to keep my mind off the
subject of my suspense, the minister led me through
the great stone gateway into the fort. The buildings
were ranged along the four sides of an open
court which we crossed to reach the governor’s
mansion. We entered this through a wide door
and were shown into a spacious reception room,
from the end of which the Earl came forward to
greet us. He was a tall man of much dignity,
with a calm, benevolent face and bright, understanding
eyes. He welcomed my friend cordially
and then addressed me in a gracious tone.
“Monsieur Le Bourse, I have already heard of
you. Patroon Van Volkenberg has killed one of
my best officers, and he says that you did the same
by three of the sailors of the Red Band. But he
smiled when he said it and added, ‘If you will not
.bn 086.png
.pn +1
prosecute, neither shall I.’ The patroon does not
often smile in a case like this, but he smiled to-day
and you are to be congratulated.”
The three of us passed words of mutual congratulation
at my fortunate escape from the evil eye of
the patroon. Then my story and Ruth’s was related
to the governor.
“And you say it was your intention to communicate
with mynheer for assistance?”
“Yes. I had an introduction to him in the
shape of a button given me by Captain Thomas
Tew.”
Bellamont started perceptibly and his face
clouded when I mentioned the name of the buccaneer.
I stopped short in my talk. More than
once during the account of my adventures my
voice had faltered when I came to speak of my sister;
hence it was that the governor misunderstood
my hesitation.
“Do not haste, my friend. You have my kindliest
sympathy in your distress. Take your time
and recover yourself.”
“It was not for that I stopped, your Excellency.”
His eyebrows lifted. “No? What then?”
“I am a plain spoken man, Earl Bellamont; shall
I have free leave to speak what I feel? Your
face showed disfavor when I mentioned the name
of Captain Tew. I am ignorant of what he may
be to you, but I do not wish to compromise one
who has played the part of a good friend to me.”
.bn 087.png
.pn +1
I stopped. There was a look of amusement in
the Earl’s eyes as he put out his hand and touched
a bell. A servant appeared who, at the governor’s
bidding, fetched a tray with wine and glasses for
three upon it, and a dish of salt. I could hardly
contain my surprise at this unusual proceeding,
nor did I understand its import till the Earl, after
moistening his finger in the wine, placed it on the
salt and then touched his tongue.
“It is an old custom we have in Yorke,” he
said, smiling.
“You honor me more than I deserve,” I cried in
admiration at the way he had put it out of his
power to use these communications to his own
advantage. For the observation of this custom
meant that we were friends and guests, and that
our talk would be held in the strictest confidence.
“I think you will trust me now,” he continued
gravely. “If I read your face aright, Monsieur Le
Bourse, you are the kind of man we need in these
troublesome times. Now—if you will be kind
enough to continue your narrative.”
I told him all I knew, holding back nothing, for I
had full faith in the man whom I already looked
upon as a sort of patron. He listened with grave
attention, now and then expressing his hearty sympathy
in a way that was at once delicate and reassuring.
“Here is to the safety of Mistress Ruth,” he said
lifting a glass.
.bn 088.png
.pn +1
“Safety!” I cried. “You do not doubt?”
“Not in the least. Drink. To a quick search
and a happy.”
He rang the bell again and bade the servant
call Bromm, the aged bell-ringer who lived by the
church in a corner of the fort. In a few minutes
a slow deliberate tap, tap resounded upon the
paved courtyard without; next the old man entered,
leaning upon his staff, which he grasped high up
at the level of his head. The Earl advanced to
meet him and took the faithful old man by the
hand.
“How is it with you to-day, my Bromm; and
how is the Juvrouw Betchen?”
“Please your Excellency, she is well, considering
her age. But she was a fair wench in her day.”
Then he caught sight of me. It took a moment
of deliberation for him to adjust himself to the
unexpected surprise of a stranger in the room. He
made me a low bow, slipping his hand down the
body of his staff as he did so.
“Pardon me, sir, but I am turned eighty and
I did not see you at first. No offense I hope. My
sister always says—you don’t know the girl, do you?
Of course not, but she was a wench in her day
though she’s not so comely now. There is a sad
look in her face for her man—him that was to be
her man went to sea and she’s waiting for him yet.
That’s forty years ago and the girl’s turned sixty-four
.bn 089.png
.pn +1
last Niewe Jarre. Oh, our family has memory.”
“It is your memory I want to test, Bromm,”
said the governor. “We have good reason to believe
that within a twelvemonth Ruth Le Bourse
was bound into service before the Stadt Huys. If
such be the case you may have cried the proclamation
for her sale. Have you any recollection
of it? Now make an effort to remember. The
name is Ruth Le Bourse.”
The old man planted his staff firmly on the floor
and grasped it with both his hands while he
thought. His memory seemed to give him no clue.
He knit his brows, changed the position of his
hands upon his staff, hemmed and hawed. But at
last, just as he seemed about to give it up, his
face brightened.
“Ay, Sir Richard, I have it. My cousin’s second
wife’s sister’s girl’s name was Ruth. I knew we
had a Ruth in the family. Ah, we have memory,
we Bromms.”
I sighed in disappointment. The Earl suppressed
a smile and led the crier’s vagrant thoughts back
and forth among his confused recollections of the
past year. But to no avail. He had not the
slightest information to give us and we were no
better off than before.
“Well,” the Earl said at last. “I shall request
you to be on hand at two o’clock this afternoon,
Bromm, to make public proclamation in the market
.bn 090.png
.pn +1
place. It is not unlikely that someone will
have heard of her and can give me information
that we are desirous to obtain.”
This broke up our meeting. There was now nothing
left to do till the advantage of the proclamation
had been put to the test. As we moved toward the
door of the reception hall, the minister walked
first with Bromm. The governor laid his hand
upon my arm and quietly motioned me to step back
into the room with him.
“Monsieur Le Bourse, we have gone so far in
our mutual confidence that it may be well to extend
it a little farther. There were words of high contention
in the council meeting to-day between me
and Patroon Van Volkenberg. What I now impart
to you is strictly entre nous, as you Frenchmen
say. I trust the patroon’s word no more than—at
least I do not understand this sudden spleen
of friendliness. You say that Colonel Fletcher was
trying to soothe him in the coffee-house?”
“Yes, continually.”
“Well, you will observe when you come to know
more of our politics that that is unlike Fletcher
too. He is a savage cur. I do not trust either
of them. I should be more at my ease to have the
men of the Red Band baying at my window like
hounds than to have them feed me with words of
honey. Keep your own counsel, my friend. Stay
out of the narrow streets after nightfall. I should
advise you to take lodgings at the Ferry-House.
.bn 091.png
.pn +1
It is a quiet place of entertainment, modest, and
remote from the turmoil of the lower town. It
may be that I shall desire to communicate with
you. If I do, I shall send there to find you. Say
as little of your name as suits your convenience
till this mystery unravels itself somewhat. Farewell;
I may send for you before the day is over.”
.bn 092.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VII | PIERRE’S SECRET
.sp 2
Good humored little Pierre was ducked for his
offense in the coffee-house. He was taken before
the magistrates who sat in the great room in the
Stadt Huys, and they tried him legally for unbecoming
conduct towards a member of the upper
class. Against this charge there was very little
Pierre could offer in defense. In vain he pleaded
that he had seen indirectly and meant to empty
the rum upon Kirstoffel. The charge was immediately
changed by the grave Dutch magistrates
to drunkenness in order that there should be no
mistake. Pierre perforce gave way to the inevitable.
Through the influence of Van Volkenberg
who had not yet recovered from his anger, Pierre
was sentenced to the ducking stool. The indignity
of this punishment was particularly galling to Pierre
because it was commonly reserved for scolding
wives and spinster crones whose tongues were too
long for their mouths.
“I’ll go to the pillory, your honor,” he said piteously,
“or ride the pinch-back horse a week of
market days; but to be ducked like a woman! And
they say there are great fish in the bay who will
nibble my toes. Your honor, I was only a little
drunk.”
.bn 093.png
.pn +1
But the magistrates’ hearts could not be softened
away from duty. They were bringing the culprit
out of the Stadt Huys at the very moment that
the dominie and I were returning from our visit
to the fort. We met them with half the town
flocking at their heels and clamoring for the sport
to come. Pierre, slightly sobered by his experience
at the court-room, had plucked up a small amount
of dignity. He walked erect as if he had made
up his mind to take his punishment like a man.
I looked at him closely and believed that there was
more stuff to the fellow than at first appeared.
His face wore a look of dogged resentment; such
a look as I should not care to see in the face of
an enemy.
The ducking-stool, which was attached to a low,
wheeled platform, was soon pushed to the edge
of the water. Pierre was securely bound into the
chair so that he could move neither hand nor foot,
and then he was swung out in mid air over the
water. The magistrate mounted on a platform
near. He took out of his pocket a string about a
yard long with a small iron ball attached to the
end of it. He held one end of the string in his
hand and set the ball to swinging like a pendulum.
“Let him go down,” he cried.
At this command Pierre was soused into the
water. The crowd gave a cheer and fell to counting
the swings of the pendulum. At first there
.bn 094.png
.pn +1
were not many voices, but the number grew with
the seconds. At twenty they sounded like a dull
roar. At thirty the people were clapping their
hands and stamping their feet and yelling like
mad.
“Thirty-eight,” rumbled the mob. “Thirty-nine,
forty.”
“Fetch up,” shouted the magistrate.
Pierre was lifted out of the water, dripping and
snorting from his forty seconds beneath the surface.
“Have you had enough?” asked the magistrate.
“No,” answered Pierre defiantly.
“Dip him again.”
Once more he was mercilessly ducked into the
cold water. The pendulum was again set in motion.
The crowd fell into its boisterous count. I
looked around in dismay.
“Is there nothing we can do?” I asked the dominie.
“Nothing,” answered a strange voice over my
shoulder.
I whirled about to see who had spoken, and
stood face to face with Patroon Van Volkenberg.
He was no longer the anger-tossed man I had
seen in the coffee-house. He was now cool and
collected. A sinister smile scarcely ruffled his calm
features. But when he spoke to me his voice bit
like a cold wind.
“No, Monsieur Le Bourse—you see I know your
.bn 095.png
.pn +1
name—no, there is nothing you can do. But we
shall meet again.”
He turned away instantly and was swallowed
in the crowd. There was no mistaking the expression
of his fierce eyes. I recalled the warning
Earl Bellamont had given me and I clinched my
fists.
At that moment Pierre was ducked for the third
time. When he came up the magistrate put the
usual question.
“Have you had enough?”
Pierre’s head dropped forward upon his breast.
“Yes, yes,” shouted all. “He nods yes.”
They unbound him and stood him on his feet.
He fell full length upon the ground, unconscious
and half drowned. At that moment the report of
a cannon boomed over the city.
“A ship, a ship!” shouted a hundred voices.
This signal, fired from the Battery, was the way
of announcing the arrival of a vessel in the port.
The crowd forgot all about Pierre and his helpless
condition. In two minutes the square was vacant
save for three men: Pierre, the dominie, and
myself.
Pierre was not long in regaining consciousness.
He was, however, too weak to walk alone. I lifted
him in my arms and was about to carry him away
when we met Lady Marmaduke in her chair. She
bade the negro carriers set her down, and inquired
what was the matter.
.bn 096.png
.pn +1
“Good lack! Little Pierre ducked for being
drunk! You naughty fellow. How often have I
told you not to do that or I should never speak
you well again to sweet Annetje Dorn?” She
paused; her face clouded and grew hard and bitter.
I heard her mutter the name of the patroon.
“Here, put him in my chair,” she said at last. “I
will attend to him.” She got in herself after he
was comfortably stowed away, and then left us
alone upon the Slip.
“Just her way,” said the dominie. “She’ll take
care of him and nurse him and feed him up as if he
were her own child. She is good to every one,
friend or slave, it makes no matter which.”
I accompanied the dominie as far as the door
of his house, where I left him in order to continue
my way to the Ferry-House. It was in this quiet
ordinary that the governor had advised me to seek
temporary lodgings. I reached the place without
difficulty and was surprised to find that it was the
very house before which Lady Marmaduke had
halted her coach when I heard her speak to the
people and bid them to stand fast by the Earl of
Bellamont.
I went in and made the necessary arrangements
to stay there that night, and then sat down to
eat my dinner and to think over the events of
the day. By the time I was ready to rise from the
table the hand of the clock was close upon the
stroke of two. This was the time set for Bromm’s
.bn 097.png
.pn +1
proclamation concerning my sister. I betook myself
to the square before the Stadt Huys, where
I walked up and down in momentary expectation
of the crier. The public excitement of the morning
was somewhat abated; but a fair crowd had gathered
by the time Bromm appeared, marching behind
two drummers, who beat a sober rap-tap
suited to the aged man’s deliberate step. Bromm
mounted the platform near the public scaffold and
began to read his proclamation. It was short,
simply requesting in the name of the governor any
information concerning the whereabouts of Ruth
Le Bourse. At the first reading no one came forward
to volunteer any information. The drums
beat again and Bromm read the proclamation a
second time. Just as he finished, some one touched
my arm from behind. It was Van Volkenberg
at my elbow for the second time that day. He
smiled as before, the same cutting smile of contempt.
He spoke but a word or two before he
vanished in the cover of the crowd; but he had
said enough to rouse my anger.
“Good luck, Monsieur Le Bourse; but, as I said
before, we shall meet again. Beware of the Red
Band.”
That was all he said. His words were nothing
but a mere threat. But he had done something
that set every drop of blood in my body to tingling
with hot anger. I should have followed him had
he not disappeared instantly. From the moment I
.bn 098.png
.pn +1
had first laid eyes on this man in the Jacobite Coffee-House
I had taken an unaccountable dislike
to him. Even when I advanced to meet him in
the tap-room, I had kept the silver button hid in
my closed hand as if I were unwilling to acknowledge
my claim upon him. Now I understood what
had given birth to my unreasonable antipathy. As
he turned away after speaking the above words,
Van Volkenberg made the sign of the cross. The
patroon was a Catholic. How I thanked God I
had received no favor from him! Instantly, as
one sees the landscape at night when the lightning
flashes, there lay before me that scene in Paris of
the black robed priest who years before had caught
my sister by the arm, and whom I had struck down
upon the spot as he deserved. In quick succession
there passed before my mind’s eye our flight to
La Rochelle, my ten years of fruitless search, the
Mariner’s Rest at Bristol, our last separation—finally
the public flogging I had received in Maryland.
All these troubles had been brought upon
me by Catholics. A Catholic was once more
threatening my peace of mind, telling me to beware.
I little knew then how much greater cause
I had to hate the patroon for wrongs already
done to me and mine. I thought only of the
present instant. I felt that we two were fated to—God
knows what! I gripped my hands together
and wished that I could hurry time.
Bromm repeated the proclamation again, but received
.bn 099.png
.pn +1
no response. He marched back to the fort
and soon the crowd drifted into smaller groups.
I returned to the Ferry-House to nurse my disappointment
alone, hoping also that some word
would come from the Earl concerning news received
at the fort. I found Pierre sitting alone in
a corner of the public room when I entered the
Ferry-House.
“Well,” I said. “Have you recovered?”
“Quite,” he answered; then he blew out his lips
with an explosive shiver. “Ow, it was cold! But
I was in great luck.”
“Luck, Pierre, to be ducked?”
“No, not to be nibbled. There are great fish in
the bay.” He leaned forward and continued in a
low confidential voice. “Lady Marmaduke gave
me such a dinner. You cannot imagine it. There
was wine right out of France. Do you think if I
should happen to be ducked again she would happen
to come along?”
I could not forbear to laugh and Pierre smiled
too. His face, however, soon changed, and his
jovial expression was replaced by the hard look that
I had seen in his face when he walked to the place
of his punishment.
“I came here for a purpose, Monsieur Le Bourse,
but—” He stopped and looked about him as if
fearful of being overheard. His lips almost touched
my ear as he said, “I don’t mind the ducking. I
have been ducked before. It was the man who did
.bn 100.png
.pn +1
it. I shall have my revenge. Are we together
on that?”
He put out his hand and I clasped it.
“I thought so,” he continued. “But you do not
know the half.”
Again he manifested some fear of being overheard.
He said that the patroon was too great a
man to be talked about in a public place like this.
Would I walk a short distance into the country,
beyond the Wall? He had news that should be
heard only by me. I was indeed glad to go with
him. We left the city by the Land-Gate, and soon
came to a little bridge over a narrow creek.
“This is the Kissing Bridge,” he said with a
forlorn sigh. “Annetje will never cross the bridge
with me. She always makes me walk in front.”
Annetje Dorn, he told me, was his sweetheart.
She was a bond servant at Van Volkenberg manor-house
and maid to the patroon’s daughter Miriam.
“Ay, that she is; bond servant to the patroon
just like your sister.” He clapped his hand quickly
over his mouth. “Oh, I did not mean to let it out
so soon.”
I gripped him by the arm. “What do you mean?”
“I said that you did not know half of what you
have to hate him for,” replied Pierre fiercely.
“Your sister Ruth was bound out in service to
Kilian Van Volkenberg.”
I was now to learn the stuff that was in Pierre.
His jolly manner was but a garment. He cast
.bn 101.png
.pn +1
it aside, and, as we walked along, he spoke to me
with a fierce zeal that I had not suspected in
him.
“There are but half a dozen persons in New York
who know what happened to your sister. I dared
not speak openly to-day when Bromm was crying
the proclamation, but I knew that my time had
come. He set his dogs on me one night; but he
made a mistake. He called me a giggling monkey.
I’ll monkey him. Do you——”
“For God’s sake, Pierre,” I interrupted. “Tell
me what you know of my sister.”
His vague hint that I did not know half of what I
had to hate the patroon for filled me with dread.
The earnestness of my voice affected him. He
dropped the side threads of his own affairs and fell
into a direct relation of my sister’s fate. She had
arrived safely with Captain Donaldson and had lived
in the city for a short time. Then her money gave
out and she took service with Van Volkenberg,
laying the condition, however, of redeeming herself
at any time if I should return.
“I saw her more than once,” said Pierre. “She
was a sweet girl. Annetje boxed my ears once
for looking at her. She said that it was rude. God
knows I did not mean it, but she had a winsome
face. Every one said that, Annetje like the rest.
Her lot was none too easy at the manor. They
say that Mistress Miriam took great abuse for
standing between her and the patroon.”
.bn 102.png
.pn +1
“Was she abused by him?” I asked.
“Ay, that she was.”
I was past being angry. My thoughts did not
take in the situation at the manor-house all at once;
instead I found myself thinking of the Mariner’s
Rest and of Ruth’s treatment there. Something in
Pierre’s face bade me give up hope, as if a heavy
blow had fallen. Suddenly I turned and caught him
by the shoulders with so quick a motion that he uttered
a startled cry.
“Tell me, Pierre. For God’s sake make short
work of this. What has happened to her?”
Instead of answering me, the kind hearted fellow
burst into tears. “I cannot,” he wailed. “Oh, I
cannot; it will break your heart.”
“It is past that, Pierre. Is she dead?”
“You have guessed it. God forgive me that I
have to say it.”
“Pierre,” said I. “Go over there by the bridge
and wait for me till I come to you. I shall follow
you soon.”
When I was next aware of outside things, Pierre
stood by my side with his hand upon my shoulder.
“You said you would come to me soon and you
didn’t. That is why I came back.” He put out
his hand kindly. “It is hard work to bear ill news.
I would have spared you if I could.”
We walked silently around the small lake by
which we had stopped. I felt in a daze and was
more than once aware of the pressure of Pierre’s
.bn 103.png
.pn +1
hand as he guided me gently by some obstruction
over which I might have fallen. Under the first
weight of this piece of news, I felt only grief at the
death of my beloved sister. It was not until I
had in a measure recovered my self-control that
I began to think of the manner in which she
had met her death and of the vague hints about
the patroon that Pierre had dropped. Then, with
the pain of comprehension when it comes too late,
I recalled the sneering smile upon the patroon’s
face as he accosted me in the crowd before the
Stadt Huys.
“But we shall meet again,” I cried aloud, unconsciously
repeating his words to me. “He knew
it when he spoke to me, and he sneered at me.” I
turned upon Pierre. “Tell me further. What had
he to do with her death?”
To this question Pierre would give no answer.
He could hardly say, he said. My heart sank, for
I saw from his face that he was afraid to tell
the truth.
“Come back with me, Monsieur Le Bourse. Let
me take you to Lady Marmaduke. She knows
the whole story. She will tell you.”
Impatient as I was, I was content to wait. The
blow that had fallen upon me was so great that
I could scarcely think. A child could have led
me. For the time being I had no will of my own.
Pierre took me by the arm and led me forward.
We had nearly reached the bridge on our return
.bn 104.png
.pn +1
when the clatter of horse hoofs fell upon our ears
along the road.
“Hush,” said Pierre. “It is the patroon.”
He drew me back behind some bushes, where
we waited in silence the approach of a numerous
armed cavalcade.
.bn 105.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VIII | LADY MARMADUKE
.sp 2
We had halted behind some willows that overhung
the brook beneath the Kissing Bridge. Over
this bridge ran the road, which led north from
the city through the length of the island to Harlem,
passing on the way the manor-house and park of
Patroon Van Volkenberg. We had scarcely concealed
ourselves behind the bushes when the forward
members of the cavalcade came in sight. Two
horsemen led the way, wearing the red band upon
their arms and carrying blue pennants upon
staves that were thrust into their stirrups. Next
came the patroon. At his side rode a slight, almost
dwarflike man with pale features and snow
white hair.
“That is Louis Van Ramm,” whispered Pierre
as the dwarf drew near the bridge. “It was he
let loose the dogs on me.”
The patroon himself, who sat his horse firm and
erect, looked forty-five or fifty years of age. From
time to time he would turn in the saddle and glance
back with satisfaction upon his score of followers,
who rode two and two behind him. He was their
feudal chief. The clanking of their harness, the
irregular clatter of the horses’ feet upon the hard
road, the look of respect with which every eye met
.bn 106.png
.pn +1
his—all this inspired the patroon with the feeling
of satisfaction that showed so plainly in his finely
modeled face. They rode by, over the hollow
sounding bridge and up the long hill, till the last
sharp sounds fainted in the distance. Only the
rustling tree tops and the rippling brook remained
to disturb the soft stillness of the autumn afternoon.
Pierre rose and I followed him; first up a steep
footpath and then along the highroad till we came
within sight of the town. When we arrived at Lady
Marmaduke’s, Pierre led the way to the back entrance,
telling me to wait in the servant’s hall while
he sought admittance to my lady’s presence. He
soon returned to me with the command to follow
him.
“She will talk to you,” he said, as we threaded
a long, dimly lighted corridor. “Do not fear. She
is a good friend though a hard woman. I have
let her know what I have already told you. She
will tell you what else there is to be known.”
In answer to Pierre’s knock a soft voice bade
me enter. It was not such a voice as would suggest
the “hard woman” of Pierre’s description. It
was the tender, feeling voice I had heard when
Lady Marmaduke spoke to the people about her
husband—when she spoke to them tremblingly,
straight from the bottom of her heart. Pierre
thrust aside the drapery of the door and I stepped
into the room alone.
.bn 107.png
.pn +1
Lady Marmaduke was in the farther end of it,
half leaning, half sitting upon the arm of a chair.
One hand rested against her hip, the other shaded
her eyes while she watched my entrance. I had
not taken three steps before she rose and came
forward to greet me with kindness. Even in the
half light of the room I could catch the sweet expression
of her face. Despite the sorrow in my
heart, I noticed how tall and straight she was, and
how well formed. Though her face looked sweet
and soft, when she took my hand she gripped it
with the strength of a man, looking me withal
squarely in the face as if she would read me through
and through.
“Sit down,” she said with a firm air of command.
The very tone of her voice was soothing and made
me want to do her will. When I had obeyed her,
she seated herself by my side and took my hand
again. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-five,” I answered mechanically, for I was
still half dazed.
“Then I shall call you Michael, for we are to be
good friends and I am old enough to be your
mother. Pierre has told me about you and what it
is you want. It is sad news I have to tell you,
sadder news than his; yes, much sadder. But I
should not hold back. You are a brave man, are
you not?”
She paused and cast her eyes upon the floor. In
spite of her assertion that she should not hold back,
.bn 108.png
.pn +1
she found her task a hard one, and she was loth
to begin it. “I think I have seen you before. Were
you not with the dominie when I found Pierre?”
I nodded and for a while we were both silent.
“Madam,” I said at length. “Anything is better
than suspense.”
“Poor child,” she murmured tenderly.
Even yet she must cross the room to adjust the
curtains before she found voice to continue. She
resumed her seat by my side and cleared her throat
two or three times.
“It is seven or eight months since your sister entered
service at the manor-house. For a while all
went well enough. I heard often about her through
Annetje Dorn. But things never go well there for
long at a time. I saw Ruth now and then and her
cheeks grew pale and her eyes hollow. I think
she must have done much weeping. She found her
lot a hard one, much harder perhaps because the
patroon cast longing glances at her pretty, winsome
face. Yet he held her only as his chattel. One
morning she was found in her bed—dead, Michael
Le Bourse—dead on the twelfth day of last July—I
say the twelfth of July.”
Short as her narrative had been, Lady Marmaduke
had worked herself into a state of excitement
that I could not comprehend. It was certainly not
due to me nor to her interest in my affairs, for she
rose and strode up and down the room as if talking
to herself and utterly oblivious of my presence, all
.bn 109.png
.pn +1
the time snapping her long fingers in anger. A
hound asleep in one corner of the room awoke
and came leaping towards her. She exclaimed a
sharp word of rebuke and the dog slunk back with
his tail between his legs. After five minutes more
of this behavior she stopped in front of me, her
tall, spare figure swaying slowly like a tree trunk.
I rose instinctively.
“Yes, Monsieur Le Bourse, I remember the day
well. On the twelfth of July Sir Evelin Marmaduke
was lost on the river. His boat drifted with the
tide and was crushed to kindling wood in Hell-Gate.
So runs the tale of my husband’s death. It
was Kilian Van Volkenberg brought that news.
Why should he be the first to know it? Before
God, he shall have his reward! And the next day
your sister was found dead in her bed.”
Again she fell to walking back and forth through
the room, now like a moving statue between me
and the window, now rustling darkly against the
hangings on the wall. Soon she was master of her
passion and returned to my side.
“There is no truth known of how she met her
death. Without doubt she tried once to escape.
She was followed and captured by the patroon,
brought back and branded on the shoulder with a
red hot iron.”
A cry of horror burst from my lips. She caught
me by the arm.
“Hush! It was unskilfully done, says the patroon.
.bn 110.png
.pn +1
Her weak body could not stand the torture
and she died. That is his story, but it is a lie. It
is a lie—for I—I stood in the dead of night and
saw the grave dug up. I looked at her body with
my own eyes. She had not been branded.”
We had resumed our seats. I felt like moaning
but I had no voice for words. This strong woman
charmed me as by a spell. Her manner showed
that there was still worse to come.
“Yet she had died, and in some way that the
patroon found it necessary to lie about in order
to conceal the truth. Annetje has told Pierre that
on the night your sister died she is sure she heard
the patroon visit your sister’s room.
“Don’t,” I cried. “Anything but that. I cannot
stand that. My Ruth, my little Ruth!” I fell
to weeping and found great relief in tears. Lady
Marmaduke became all tenderness. She stroked
my hands, and then put her arm about me and
walked up and down the room as if I were a girl.
It was long since I had felt the need of an arm
to rest on, but I turned to the strength of hers
like a child to its mother.
At length she stopped short and took her supporting
arm away from me. “You will have time
enough to grieve,” she said. “You must be a man
now.” I looked into her face and understood why
Pierre had called her a hard woman. But perhaps
he had never seen her other side as I had! “Yes,
Michael,” she continued. “It is time you trod
.bn 111.png
.pn +1
upon your weakness and became a man. Do you
not see your duty? Are you not ready to take
your right?” She held me off at arm’s length and
looked sternly into my eyes as she pronounced the
word “Revenge.”
“I shall kill him to-night,” I answered.
Her only response was a sharp snap of her fingers.
The hound she had rebuked before bounded
joyfully to her side. She stooped and parted his
shaggy hair with her fingers.
“See,” she said, showing me a deep scar upon
his side. “This was the work of the patroon. The
dog would have torn him to pieces but I called him
back. Would you have me kill him with a dog?
No—I have a score of servants in my house who
would do as you say you would do, servants who
would kill him to-night if I lifted my hand. But
you are not my servant nor shall you do it either.”
“But——” I remonstrated, and got no further
before she interrupted me.
“Don’t but me! You and Pierre and I—each
of us has his word to say to the patroon. But we
shall say it like men. Though Van Volkenberg is
a merchant he knows what war is and understands
the game of life. What is death to such a man as
he is if he does not know why he dies. I shall
ruin him first. With the help of Earl Richard, I
shall make him taste of the bitterness of life before
I give him death to sweeten his woe. Before God,
he shall find death sweet unless I fail. You shall
.bn 112.png
.pn +1
not kill him till I give the word. Do you promise?”
She laid her hand upon the cross-shaped hilt of
my sword.
“Will you swear upon your sword? Will you
stay here, not as my servant but as my friend?
Will you work with me to bring God’s judgment
on this Roman Catholic?”
Her last reference wakened all my bitter
thoughts. I fell on my knees before her and took
one of her hands between mine as the old custom is.
“I swear to be your man,” I cried. “I will be
loyal to you and to the Earl, who is your friend. My
sister’s blood shall not dry unavenged, but I surrender
myself to you. Henceforth I swear to be
your man.”
She lifted me and kissed me on the forehead.
“We have free manners here, Michael. If you have
a sister whose blood cries out, I have a husband’s.
The patroon brought the news of his death. I
know he murdered Sir Evelin. I have seen it in
my dreams. This great hate of mine could not
come without some cause in nature. We shall
play well together, Michael, you and I.”
She took me by the arm and led me through the
passages of the house, through many turnings and
up narrow stairs to a little gable room.
“This shall be your room. I will instruct the
servants that you are to come and go as you please.
I am setting out now to keep an appointment with
.bn 113.png
.pn +1
the Earl. He too is engaged in a death struggle
with the patroon. Methinks the three of us shall
win a victory.”
With that she left me alone. I glanced about
the room which contained everything for a person’s
comfort. From the window I could look out
beyond the Wall to the rolling hills covered with
woodland. Then I threw myself upon the bed
and put my face in my hands.
.bn 114.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IX | THE RED BAND AT DRILL
.sp 2
When I think back upon the mysterious occurrences
of the night which followed my introduction
into the household of Lady Marmaduke, I hardly
know how to tell them. It was not till long afterward
that I knew exactly what I had done that
night. I was like a man gone half asleep. Surely
I ought to bear no blame for my lack of reason.
For the last ten years, with the exception of those
short weeks in Captain Donaldson’s ship, I had
been searching endlessly for my sister. During
that long period there had been moments of despondency;
at times my search was quite neglected;
yet never for an instant had I given up all hope.
Now everything was at an end. My life seemed
snapped in two. Had such a blow come ten years
before I might have cursed God in my folly. I
might have plunged recklessly into the first danger
that awaited me. But years of restrained impulse
had greatly changed my character. I had
passed the rash age of youth, and now I almost
sank beneath the burden that seemed greater than
I could bear.
.il fn=i_102f.jpg w=350px ew=60%
.ca
“SOON I CAME UPON A WOMAN KNEELING
IN THE GRASS.”—p. 103
.ca-
In this state of mind my little room in the gable
of Marmaduke Hall was too confining. It seemed
.bn 115.png
.bn 116.png
.bn 117.png
.pn +1
as if I could not get my breath, and it made my
head reel to look down from the high window. I
could see the swaying trees upon the hills beyond
the city, and they seemed to beckon me to come to
their solitary shade for comfort, and I went. I can
recollect very little of what followed. I remember
that I paused once by the city gate to look back
at the house which I had left. A picture came into
my eye of the relentless woman who had told me
news that was bitter as wormwood; yet she was
kind and considerate withal. I turned away and
set my face towards the sighing woodland.
I threw myself down on my back beneath an oak
tree. There was a small patch of blue sky visible,
and now and then a bird swam lazily across it. Did
I fall asleep and dream, or did I rise and walk about
unconsciously? I do not know much of what I
did; but soon I was walking. I was not aware
of the exact moment when I began to move, nor
how long I had been winding my way in and out
among the trees when the sound of sobbing grew
upon my ears. It startled me and I began to look
around and to follow the sound without knowing
just where I went, in that vague way one is so used
to in dreams. Soon I came upon a woman kneeling
in the grass. She was very beautiful and my heart
went out to her for she was weeping bitterly and
seemed in great distress. My appearance must
have scared her for she hastily covered something
upon the ground and then sprang up in great alarm.
.bn 118.png
.pn +1
She was dressed in a white robe that floated about
her like an angel. For just a moment she let me
see her sweet tear-stained face; then she was gone.
Her dark hair and sorrowful expression made such
a lifelike impression upon me that I almost thought
it could not be a dream. Yet in a moment she had
vanished like a breeze. Near the spot where she
had stood the grass curved upward over a small
mound. I drew near to examine what from its
appearance I thought should be a grave.
When I first came upon the woman she made a
hasty move to cover something upon the ground.
At the head of the grave I spied a loose sod which
I lifted. Beneath it was a flat stone inscribed with
the one word “Ruth.” I fell on my knees and
wept. Surely God had sent me a vision! I lay
full length on the grave, kissing the cold stone
and plucking blades of grass to strew upon it in
place of flowers. How I thanked God for this
dream! He had led me into green pastures. Thy
rod and Thy staff, O God, they comfort me!
Suddenly the visitant reappeared.
“Sir,” she said. “You are in sore trouble.”
I pointed to the grave. “She was my sister.”
She was startled by this and eyed me with a
doubtful anxious look. I cannot recall what she
said to me, but after a while she opened the bosom
of her robe, whence she drew forth a small ivory
enclosed in a gold rim.
“See; your sister wore it before she died.”
.bn 119.png
.pn +1
I looked. It contained the counterfeit of my own
face, like one I had given Ruth upon the ocean.
God is merciful, but His mercies are quick to come
and go. The vision disappeared; yet its blessed
presence had made me feel that I had stood close
in Ruth’s heart to the very end of her life even as
she had stood in mine.
There follows a blank space in my memory during
which I can remember nothing. The trees
at last seemed to force themselves into my consciousness
again. They tramped by me in an endless
procession. I grew cold and began to shiver.
A sharp pricking attacked my legs. I looked down
to discover the cause of this sensation and saw that
I was standing in water up to my knees. Like a
flash it all came over me; I had been walking in
my sleep.
I waded back to the shore and sat down to think.
The place was all new to me, I had not the least
idea where I was. A narrow rim of gravely beach
encircled the little lake into which I had stumbled;
but this told me nothing, nor could I see the least
sign of a path. So, after a few moments, I got
up to walk around in the hope of discovering some
beaten path that would lead me out of the woods.
As I walked I kept dwelling upon what I had
seen in my dream. It never occurred to me that
perhaps I had seen a real person. To be sure, my
memory was so vivid that I was tempted to say:
“How could it be a dream?” For all that, I never
.bn 120.png
.pn +1
doubted that it was a supernatural appearance. My
only thought was that our Heavenly Father had
sent me this in my distress to comfort me, and
to assure me that Ruth’s last thoughts were of
me, and that she still watched over me in heaven
as on earth.
As I said, when I came to myself in the water
I was in full possession of my wits though I did
not recognize where I was. I had wandered into
a narrow lake whose cold water had chilled me into
consciousness. I waded back to the shore and set
out along the ribbon of pebbly beach, hoping to
find a path. The trees were close together, overhanging
the steep bank. By this time I must have
been abroad in the woods for some hours for it
had now become dark and the moon was up. It
was not long before I discovered an ascending
footpath, very narrow, and cut in steps up the bank.
From the top of the cliff to which this path led,
the ground sloped gently through the woods
towards the north. The trees became more and
more thinly scattered as I went forward. Soon
I was aware of a reddish glow in the branches
ahead of me. As I drew near the light became
brighter and flickered like a fire. Sharp sounds
of clanking metal fell upon my ears and, from time
to time, a quick word or two of command in a
ringing voice.
Twenty steps farther brought me to where I
could see the source of the light and sound. The
.bn 121.png
.pn +1
woodland ended at a level, grassy plain that extended
a quarter of a mile towards a towered building,
a huge pile of shadows and dim walls. At
regular intervals before it were planted burning
cressets. They were arranged in a large square
on the lawn so as to send their vagrant lights and
shadows dancing over its gloomy walls. A company
of men stood motionless within the square of
torches, like troops in regular order. Suddenly
another sharp word of command broke the stillness.
A sparkling flash from every man showed, what
I had not noticed before, that each man was armed
with a sword. I looked close for the commander;
but not till he spoke a second time could I make
out his position on a terrace in front of the house.
I started violently when my eyes fell upon him.
The leader of this band of troopers was Kilian Van
Volkenberg. I had come upon the Red Band at
drill in the dark woods at night. “The patroon
and his Red Band will ruin this city yet,” the
dominie had said to me. A hundred or more of
his armed men were now before me. Surely this
was a dangerous gathering! They were well-armed
and perfectly drilled like the regular soldiers of
the king.
The host at Gravesoon had spoken of Van Volkenberg
as the Armed Patroon. Now I understood
the meaning of the term, though I did not know
till later that he was the only patroon in New York
who had organized his retainers into a regular military
.bn 122.png
.pn +1
band. No wonder the authorities looked
askance upon this new departure in the province,
and feared a serious clash between him and the
governor. How just these fears were will soon become
apparent; but at that time I was so ignorant
of affairs that I thought this company—so suggestive
of European customs—quite an ordinary sight.
While I stood in the shadow of the trees, gazing
upon this group of soldiers, a woman came out of
the house upon the platform. Though I could not
see her face at first because of the shadow where
she stood, most of her body was in the compass of
the light. She was dressed in white and, like me,
watching the drilling of the Red Band. After ten
minutes had elapsed, she stepped forward and
touched the patroon upon the arm. When the
light fell upon her face I was startled into a cry of
recognition that would have betrayed my presence
had the troopers been alert for signs of intrusion.
She was the woman who had appeared to me in
my dream.
The patroon turned to her and made an angry
gesture to depart. She withdrew into the house
immediately and I saw no more of her. When
the company of soldiers broke up for the night,
they disappeared right and left, passing around
and behind the house. Van Volkenberg entered
the manor-house by the same door through which
the woman had retreated. From what I had been
told about the position of the manor I was able
.bn 123.png
.pn +1
to find without difficulty the road that led to New
York. As I walked along it my mind was full of
the mystery of the strange woman I had seen upon
the terrace, and of her I had seen in my dream.
Had I really met some one, and had I been but
partly conscious of the fact? I could not tell. Of
one thing, however, I was aware. My spirit had
returned to me. As Lady Marmaduke would have
said, I was a man again. I was now firm with
determination. I had been through the valley of
the shadow. I had come out with new strength
ready to fight the good fight. I felt myself to
be God’s avenging minister, destined to bring punishment
upon my sister’s murderer. I knelt down
in the dusty road, where I prayed to God for power
and guidance. I rose from my prayer buoyant
and eager in spirit.
Still I could not get my mind away from the
woman. Were they one and the same person or
had I made a mistake? The woman upon the terrace
must have been the person Captain Tew had
spoken of as Miriam Van Volkenberg. But if she
was the patroon’s daughter, how came she to figure
in my dream? What trick of fate had coupled her
and Ruth and me together in this fashion? Then
I recalled what Pierre had said: That the patroon’s
daughter had loved Ruth and had been
treated badly on account of her affection. That
seemed to explain the fitness of it all, but it did not
reconcile the reality with the dream.
.bn 124.png
.pn +1
In this frame of mind I approached New York.
I continued to ponder that sweet, wistful face.
Gradually, as I walked along in the dust and dark,
I became aware of a narrow pressure about my
neck. I put up my hand and touched a strange
piece of ribbon. I caught at it in surprise. My
fingers closed on a small locket. I held it before
me in the moonlight. It was the ivory miniature
in a gold rim; the very picture of myself that the
woman had shown me in my dream. Then I understood.
I had met Miriam Van Volkenberg in
the woods. She had recognized me from the picture
in the locket and had given me this keepsake
from my sister.
.bn 125.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER X | MY FIRST COMMISSION
.sp 2
When I returned to Marmaduke Hall I found
every one in bed asleep except a lad who had been
left to attend me to my room. He informed me that
his mistress had been impatient at my absence, had
inquired again and again where I could be, and at
last had given up waiting for me, very much vexed
at my failure to return.
“She was in a great state to see you,” said the
lad, “and she left word for you to be at her breakfast
table early, by nine o’clock.”
In spite of the fatigue of my wanderings, I was
awake betimes. While the clock was still striking
nine I entered the dining hall. Lady Marmaduke
sat alone at a table in an alcove that opened
out of the main room. When she rose to greet
me, which she did cordially, I noticed that she held
a sheet of paper in her hand.
“If this letter from his Excellency,” she said,
pointing to the paper in her hand, “had not arrived
before you did, you would have tasted of my
tongue. I had a round scolding ready for you,
but this letter shall give you a chance to explain
yourself.”
She was playful in her manner, yet I could see
that she had been considerably put out by my
.bn 126.png
.pn +1
absence the night before. I made haste to acquaint
her with my story, though I said nothing
of the mysterious woman I had seen.
“Ah, Michael,” she said when I was done. “I
forgive you and you must forgive me for being
angry with you. Yet I had better cause than you
think. Listen to this passage from the governor’s
note which came to me less than an hour ago.
“‘Fortune seems to smile graciously upon us.
The ship came no nearer shore, nor did any of its
crew condescend to visit the town. Perhaps they
have concluded to wait till to-night.’
“Do you understand that, my Michael? A
strange ship has anchored in the lower bay. It is
probably a pirate ship and Earl Richard and I had
planned to have you watch it; but when I came
home you were not to be found. However, it has
turned out all right after all.”
She glanced out of the window, but soon resumed
her speech.
“You know of course that the buccaneers are
forbidden the use of the port. Van Volkenberg has
much dealing with them. This fact I know but we
cannot prove it. Oh, if we could only trap him
once in a secret meeting! We want a handle
against him.” She brought her fist down on the
table with a blow that made the dishes rattle. “I
tell you we must have a handle against the scoundrel
or we can do nothing. You need not look
so amazed; but I forget how ignorant you are. We
.bn 127.png
.pn +1
are to meet the Earl at eleven o’clock. I must
give you a lesson in affairs so that you will know
what we are talking about. You remember
Fletcher? He was the man you saw with the patroon
at the coffee-house. He was the former governor
and a worse wretch never walked the streets
of Yorke. The pirates bribed him, and the merchants
bribed him, and he bribed them back for
he was sore in need of friends. Then, to curry himself
into further favor, he began to deal out the
land of the province. He gave a hundred square
miles to William Pinhorne to make him a patroon
in the Mohawk valley. He sold both sides of the
Hudson River as far north as Albany. There is
hardly a square mile in the whole province that can
be bought honestly for love or money.”
I interrupted her to ask information concerning
the geography of the province, for I was as ignorant
of that as of affairs. When she had satisfied my
curiosity she continued.
“That is why the king appointed another governor.
As soon as Fletcher heard of this check
upon his practices, he showed his knavery in a new
light. He leased the King’s farm, which should
by right go to the support of Earl Richard’s household.
He gave the center of the island to Van
Volkenberg so as to have a friend near at hand.
The dog had the impudence to title the patroon
with this very house. This estate was deeded to
my husband during his lifetime, and Fletcher gave
.bn 128.png
.pn +1
it to the patroon from the day of his death, notwithstanding
the fact that Sir Evelin was alive at
the time of the grant. Earl Bellamont has reversed
the grant and only yesterday, the first day of the
new Assembly, this estate was given to me and
my heirs forever. Van Volkenberg swears he will
have it yet if he has to fight for it. We shall see
about that.”
A servant came to the door to take orders for
my lady’s coach. She told him to have it ready before
eleven, as she intended to wait upon the Earl at
that hour.
“Bellamont prides himself on his gentle blood,”
she continued as soon as the servant had left us
alone. “But it is a great clog to him at times. It
was all I could do to get him to permit you to watch
secretly upon the strange ship that has come into
the bay. He is greatly addicted to open means and
he said that it would be taking an unfair advantage
to spy on people of whom we knew no absolute
harm. But I urged necessity and told him flatly
that if he did not I should commission you to do
it myself. That fetched him. In spite of his fine
blood he is jealous withal. The very idea of someone
plotting without his help sets him on end with
curiosity. Mark my word, before we are done with
this affair we shall have to jog our own gait if we
are to jog at all. You must fight a rogue with a
rogue’s tricks. Never forget that. However, we
.bn 129.png
.pn +1
must be careful not to ruffle the Earl and not to set
his jealousy agog.”
A little later I was booted and spurred and ready
to ride at the side of my mistress’s coach. We set
out, accompanied by her numerous retinue of state.
At every street corner we were greeted with cheers,
for the common people loved her well. I noticed
that more than one of the persons we passed on the
way showed surprise in his face at seeing a well-mounted
stranger in the place of honor by the
coach. We passed the Jacobite Coffee-House and
among those who stood upon the upper balcony to
see us pass was the patroon. He frowned sullenly
in answer to Lady Marmaduke’s dignified bow of
recognition, which sign of displeasure caused her to
break into merry laughter.
“I shall drive the old fox into his hole yet,” she
said in an undertone, when we had passed the
tavern. “But he is a crafty old fox. No one can
deny that.”
At the outer entrance of the fort I dismounted
and led Lady Marmaduke through the stone arch
and across the paved court to the governor’s mansion.
“The Earl was struck with your hatred of the
patroon yesterday, even before I told him the story
about Ruth,” whispered Lady Marmaduke. “Do
not be too nice about accepting his commissions.
He will be glad of whatever you do, though he may
not altogether approve in advance. His great fault
.bn 130.png
.pn +1
is in delay. Sometimes he gets stirred up and acts
like a whirlwind, but generally he wastes time by
waiting for a better chance. I have persuaded him
this time; that is, if he has not cooled over night.”
Lady Marmaduke explained to the Earl in a few
words whatever was necessary to account for my
non-appearance the night before. He then proceeded
to interrogate me closely about all that had
passed between me and Captain Tew.
“You see, Monsieur Le Bourse, these enormous
tracts of land that have been granted by my predecessor
in office must be annulled or the proper
revenues cannot be forwarded to my royal master,
his majesty, the King.”
“Your own table cannot be furnished either,”
added Lady Marmaduke, “unless you get back the
King’s farm.”
“Quite true, but that is a small matter compared
with what is due to my beloved King and master.
I well remember the day on which he informed me
of the high honor he had conferred upon my unworthy
self, which fact he graciously made known
to me with his own royal lips. ‘Richard,’ he said,
'you have used your sword well for me. Now, I
want you to use your head. These enormous grants
by Fletcher must be annulled. But it must be done
legally; I will not have a bad example set in the
use of the law. I have implicit trust in you.'”
“Indeed, your Excellency,” broke in Lady Marmaduke.
“I wish he had shown that trust to a little
.bn 131.png
.pn +1
more practical advantage. He might have given
you more power to act for yourself.”
“I am somewhat restricted,” replied the Earl.
“Beshrew me! That is an ungracious reflection.
The King has planned all for the best. Though I
must report to his council for approval, the delay
gives me all the more opportunity to make certain,
to collect more weighty evidence. I wish I could
utilize this matter with Tew. I shall not, however,
lest I compromise Monsieur Le Bourse.”
“The transaction is so old I don’t believe it would
do us much good,” said Lady Marmaduke.
“I have no doubt but that we shall soon stand
on firmer ground,” continued the governor. “Has
Lady Marmaduke informed you of what I intend
you to do?”
“In part,” I answered.
“The matter as it stands at present is as follows.
At noon yesterday a ship was sighted coming into
the bay. As is our custom always upon the arrival
of a ship, a welcome gun was fired from the Battery.
Instead of coming up to the city like an honest
trader, the ship cast anchor and has remained in
one place ever since. She is a suspicious looking
craft, probably a buccaneer who is afraid to enter
the port now that the laws are so stringent against
them. It may be one chance in a hundred—”
“I should say one in ten or two,” interrupted
Lady Marmaduke.
“By your gracious leave,” answered the Earl with
.bn 132.png
.pn +1
a courtly bow. “The chances are even that the
ship is here to communicate with Patroon Van
Volkenberg. If you are willing to help me, what I
want you to do is this: To be ready at a moment’s
notice to keep an eye on any sailors who may put
off from the ship, for the purpose of coming into
the town. I shall cause a sharp lookout to be kept
and send you instant notice of their arrival.”
We soon made all the necessary arrangements in
order to carry out this plan. The Earl did not expect
any one to come ashore from the stranger ship
before night. He knew, however, that I should be
prepared to act quickly when the moment for action
came. He gave me a key that would enable me to
come and go in the fort at will, but told me not to
make use of it unless in absolute necessity. He
also gave me another key to the private postern
that opened through the wall of palisades on the
west side of the city next the Hudson River. I had
a few additional preparations to make on my own
account and engaged, when they were done, to
remain at Marmaduke Hall till sent for by the Earl.
I attended Lady Marmaduke back to her coach and
bade her farewell for the time being at the gate of
the fort.
“I have business on the Slip,” I said when she
was seated.
Her eyebrows lifted in curiosity. “What is it?”
she asked.
.bn 133.png
.pn +1
I wondered to myself who was jealous now of
plotting without her knowledge.
“I must learn my way about the city.”
“Nothing else?”
“And obtain some sort of disguise.”
“Anything else?”
“That is all I think of.”
“Ah, very well. Be back in time to dine with
me. I do not like to sit alone when there is news
in the air.”
We set out on our several ways. I had not felt
in such good spirits for many a day. The likelihood
of danger, the opportunity to do something,
above all, a good horse between my legs, put me
in countenance again and joyed me in spite of fate.
.sp 2
Pierre, my acquaintance of the day before, was a
barber. I set out for his shop immediately upon
leaving Lady Marmaduke. I found him alone and
explained to him that I was employed on important
business, and that he must make haste to procure
me a suit of clothes in which I could disguise myself
as a sailor. Instead of setting about the task
which I thus imposed upon him, he made a comical
gesture of dismay and stood fast where he was.
“It’s of no use,” he said. “The Red Band will
see me. They watch everywhere. If they see me
buying clothes and get a look at what they are like,
where will be the use of the disguise?”
I reflected a moment, for what he said had some
.bn 134.png
.pn +1
show of truth in it. After a moment’s thought,
however, I concluded that his fears were idle.
“Pish, Pierre! You are too cautious. Do as I
tell you.”
“I tell you it cannot be done. They have their
eye on you; and now that you have come here they
will have their eye on me. What did I tell you?”
At that moment, a sailor of the Red Band entered
the shop and asked to be shaved. Pierre tried not
to look surprised as he set about the task. Once,
when he stood with his razor in the air, I saw the
fellow’s cheek go white as the lather itself. Perhaps
he was thinking of what might happen if
Pierre suspected what had really brought him into
the shop. A person while being shaved is in an ill
position to defend himself if the barber is murderously
inclined. For all that, I set the fellow down
as a bully and a coward. The change in his face
convinced me beyond a doubt that he had come
there to spy. It confirmed what Pierre had said a
moment before concerning the watchfulness of the
Red Band; and it was not to be long before I should
have another example of their alert interest in my
affairs.
When Pierre had finished shaving his customer,
the man arose and adjusted his neckband slowly.
Then he tossed a coin into the corner. I soon saw
that this was but a ruse to get Pierre out of the way
for the visitor had a word to say to me. Pierre went
after the coin, which rolled into the farthest corner.
.bn 135.png
.pn +1
The sailor, as he passed me on the way to the door,
said in a low voice,
“The Red Band is not asleep. Beware.”
“Ay, beware!” I flung back into his teeth as he
went out of the shop.
“I told you it would not do,” said Pierre, when I
informed him of this little episode. He put the
coin into his mouth and bit it. “This is good
money. That is more than I expected. Now what
do you intend to do?”
I confessed that I was wholly at a loss and should
depend upon his judgment this time.
“Then I shall help you out. I have the very
thing you want up stairs.”
“Why did you not say so at first?”
Pierre laughed. “You said that I must go out
and buy it and I wanted to convince you that you
were wrong first.”
It was now my turn to laugh at Pierre’s manner
of doing things. I bade him take his own way of
procuring what I wanted. He wrapped up some
clothes and a couple of pistols in a bundle, telling
me that, as a rule, sailors did not wear cutlasses
when they came ashore. The custom was falling
out of use now that the laws against the buccaneers
had become so strict.
“The Red Band always wear swords,” added
Pierre. “That is another reason why I wouldn’t
if I were you.”
Pierre promised to take the clothes to Marmaduke
.bn 136.png
.pn +1
Hall within the hour. I left him engaged
busily in his shop, and rode forth into the town in
order to acquaint myself as perfectly as possible
with the crooked streets. I had occupied enough
time in this examination of the city when I turned
my steps homeward. I was walking my horse
slowly up the steep hill of Petticoat Lane when I
heard a cry of distress ahead of me. Three men
were having a sharp scuffle over the possession of
a bundle. One of the men was Pierre, and I knew
the bundle must be my disguise. I must protect it
at all hazards, for each of the other two wore the
red band upon his sleeve. I dashed spurs into my
horse’s side. In two minutes I had ridden down
one of the men, and with a blow of my fist sent the
other sprawling in the mud. Pierre caught up the
bundle and scuttled away so quickly that I hardly
knew which way he had gone. I drew my sword
and dismounted.
“Get up,” I said sharply to the fellow I had
knocked down—the other had already stumbled to
his feet, but he was not good for much. “Get up,”
I repeated, “or someone will think he has found
the Red Band asleep.” He got upon his legs,
grumbling and looking sourly at me. “Beware,” I
said, as they turned away. “Eat your own word,
beware.” This fellow was the very one who had
defied me in Pierre’s shop. “Beware,” I called after
him again, for they made such good use of their
.bn 137.png
.pn +1
legs that by this time they were the width of the
street away from me.
When they were gone I continued my journey,
much impressed by this example of their watchfulness.
I was not cast down by it, however, though
I mused so deeply on the event that I lost my way.
Before I knew it, I found myself again in the center
of the town. I took my bearings afresh and started
back, this time meeting with no further confusions
on the way. While passing the Ferry-House, I remembered
that I had not returned there the night
before to occupy the room I had engaged. I dismounted
and entered the ordinary to find the landlord
and settle my score. I was surprised to see
Pierre at one of the tables drinking. As soon as I
had settled the reckoning I went across the room
to speak to him.
“They didn’t see it,” he said significantly. “It is
in your room and you can wear it . He told
me how he had been surprised and set upon suddenly
in the street. “You were just like Lady Marmaduke
coming along when I was ducked. That
wine! Don’t tell me there is no such thing as
luck!”
I told Pierre that for the rest of the day he must
hold himself in readiness to do my bidding. “Yes,”
I answered to a question he asked. “Yes, it is
against him, and you must keep yourself sober.”
Pierre tilted up his tankard and began to pour
the beer in a small stream upon the sanded floor.
.bn 138.png
.pn +1
“I hate to let it go,” he said, disconsolately. “But
if it is against him, I had rather keep sober.”
He looked wistfully at the floor where the beer
had drained off into a thick layer of sand, leaving
on the surface only a shrunken mass of breaking
bubbles.
“Ah me!” sighed Pierre, rising. “I’ll wait in the
Marmaduke kitchen. I hope they won’t offer me
wine. It would bring tears to my eyes. But I’ll
keep sober, never fear.”
I was sitting in my little gable room late that
afternoon when I received a summons from Lady
Marmaduke to attend her. She wanted to know
whether I should like to go with her on her daily
round of inspection of the offices. I was indeed
glad of the opportunity. We visited the kitchens
first, which were large and well appointed. Marmaduke
Hall, from top to bottom, contained fully
two score of people, and all the cooking for this
numerous household was done here. Beyond the
kitchen, in a bare, clay-floored outbuilding was a
row of great iron pots, each one of which was large
enough to boil an ox whole. Into one of them,
beneath which roared a huge fire of logs, the servants
were lowering some bags of food that were
to be boiled for the live stock. I watched the process
with interest. When the ponderous iron lid,
which rose and fell by means of a pulley and chain,
was put in place, the steam jetted out on all sides
of it, rocking the lid with a loud clatter, and spurting
.bn 139.png
.pn +1
from under the edge like the spokes of a wheel.
We passed thence to the dairy. Then we examined
the stables and various other offices in succession
till we reached the kennels. The thirty or
more hounds barked and yelped at the appearance
of their mistress. She patted them in turn and
then we passed on.
“You may wonder at my attending to such
things myself,” she said to me when we had returned
to the Hall. Then she sighed. “I try to do
everything myself just as Sir Evelin used to do.”
She fell into a reverie and did not seem to notice
when I left her. With one thing and another I
whiled away the time till dinner was over, and it
had fallen quite dark outside. Then, just as I was
beginning to grow impatient, came the summons
from the Earl. It was but a line and was dated
from the fort at half past seven.
“Four suspicious looking sailors have just proceeded
to the Ferry-House. I think they are the
men we spoke of. You will watch them and report
as soon as possible.—Bellamont.”
I slipped on my disguise, thrust the two pistols
Captain Tew had given me into my belt, and, taking
Pierre with me, set out through the dark streets
to the tavern.
.bn 140.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XI | THE ESCAPE FROM THE RATTLE-WATCH
.sp 2
Within a few minutes after leaving Marmaduke
Hall I arrived at the Ferry-House alone, having
stationed Pierre in a dark court-yard across the
street. I looked in through the door and saw the
four sailors huddled close together around one of
the tables. They talked in careful whispers with
their heads close together as men are wont to do
when they are engaged in underhand business.
From time to time they glanced uneasily about the
room, as if they thought that someone should be
watching. When I came near them, they seemed to
suspect my presence in the first breath. I tried to
draw them into conversation, but succeeded no
better than if I had spoken in a foreign tongue.
One after another of them, as he could find an opportunity,
managed to slip away to some other part
of the room; soon I was sitting quite lonely and
deserted at the table where I had joined them.
They, however, had their heads close together again
and were in conversation in another part of the
room. I made a feint at yawning, put my feet on
the table, folded my hands, and in five minutes, for
all they knew, I was fast asleep. In reality, I was
listening with both my ears and squinting through
my half shut eyes to see what they were doing.
.bn 141.png
.pn +1
They took care at first that I should not hear a
word of what they said; but by degrees, thinking, I
suppose, that I was asleep, they grew more careless
in their speech. For all that, I could learn only that
they were to keep an appointment somewhere at
nine o’clock that night. They glanced often and
so anxiously at the clock that I knew the meeting
must be of considerable importance. Before long
they ceased talking altogether; then they fell to
dozing in their chairs.
When I saw that they were not likely to notice
my absence, I left the room. I walked along Garden
Street towards the new Dutch church for the
distance of fifty yards; then I crossed to the shadow
side of the thoroughfare and retraced my steps.
Opposite the Ferry-House is a narrow alley that
leads into a court-yard. It was in this passage, dark
as pitch, that I had stationed Pierre. I turned in
when I reached the entrance along which I groped
my way with one hand on the wall and the other
raised to shield my face.
“St,” I said cautiously. Pierre answered with
the same signal. I took two more steps in the dark,
and then my outstretched hand touched him.
“Pierre,” I said. “They are in there, but I cannot
make them say a word. Go quickly and rouse
the rattle-watch. These fellows must be taken up.
I’ll make some sort of disturbance against your
coming back to color the arrest with. As soon as
the watchmen have started, run as fast as your legs
.bn 142.png
.pn +1
will carry you and let me know that they are on
the way.”
When Pierre set out along Broad Street, I returned
to my seat in the ordinary where I intended
to resume my watch till his return. My absence, I
thought, had not been noticed by the sailors. I
settled myself quietly, well satisfied with the way
things were going. Nothing, however, was further
from my intention than my proposal to arrest these
men. In fact, I intended to outwit the rattle-watch,
notwithstanding the fact that I had summoned it.
By the time Pierre returned all out of breath to
announce the approach of the watch, the clock had
crept round to half past eight. The officers of the
watch, Pierre informed me, were not more than the
space of two streets away. I rose instantly and approached
the sailors.
“May I speak to you a moment?” I said in
feigned excitement to him who seemed to be their
leader. He arose, rather fearful, as if he shared my
assumed alarm, and stepped with me towards the
corner of the room. I said to him: “You come
from the ship that anchored in the lower bay yesterday?”
“Who told you?” he blurted out. Then, seeing
that he had made a mistake, he blundered still further
in his attempt to contradict himself. “No, by
God, we don’t!”
“I thought so,” I answered, for his manner said
.bn 143.png
.pn +1
“Yes,” though his words said “No.” I continued:
“Is it a free-trader?”
The fellow turned white, his lips quivered, and
his hand sought the butt of his pistol.
“Softly, friend, you have no enemy to deal with,”
I said. “I have been in the jolly trade myself.
Look at this.”
I threw open my blouse part way and gave him
a glimpse of one of the richly mounted pistols that
Captain Tew had presented to me.
“Have you ever seen that name before?”
His eyes gleamed recognition as he read the buccaneer’s
name engraved in big letters on the hilt.
“Ay, we sighted him two days ago.”
“Quite true. Bound for Martinique. I thought
you would know the name. Now will you trust
me? You have been suspected and even now the
city officers are almost here to arrest you and your
companions.”
At that moment the shrill rattle of the watchman’s
whistle sounded from the street outside. The
person who blew it may have meant to give them
some chance to escape, for the free-booters were
prime favorites with all who were not strictly addicted
to honorable practices. However good the
guard’s intention might be, I was not willing to
allow my new acquaintances to profit by it. I was
bound to have for myself the credit of saving the
buccaneers. Their gratitude might be of service
to me.
.bn 144.png
.pn +1
“Hurry,” I said. “We must barricade this corner
of the room.”
Quick as thought I overturned two of the tables.
All five of us began to pile up the other furniture.
The landlord gaped in open-mouthed amazement
at our proceeding. Whatever leniency may have
been in the watchman’s mind at the moment he
blew his warning whistle in the street, it all vanished
as soon as he entered the room. For he and
his men had no sooner crowded through the door
than I hurled a heavy pewter tankard at the leader’s
portly belly. It struck well and sent him sprawling
on the floor.
“Quick,” I said to the pirates. “Follow me.”
The corner of the room that was enclosed by our
barricade contained a door that opened on Garden
Street near the church. We made our way out in
this way and then set out across the town towards
the North River. We had hardly cleared the front
of the tavern when we heard the rapid steps of the
watchmen coming after us pell-mell. We ran on
till the high wall of palisades along the river bank
rose in front of us. They seemed to cut off all
escape in that direction, and I do not wonder that
the sailors thought I had betrayed them.
“You have trapped us,” hissed one of them between
his teeth. At the same moment he drew his
pistol.
“Go on,” I shouted. “Turn to the left. There is
a gate.”
.bn 145.png
.pn +1
We continued our way along the ditch behind
the wall, running at the top of our speed. The
steps of the watchmen sounded closer and closer behind
us. My companions, being sailors, and consequently
poor runners, were continually losing
ground. I feared we should be caught up with and
I had no mind for a fight. That was more than I
had bargained for. But luck favored us. We soon
reached the postern that opens through the palisades
to the rocky bank of the river. Our pursuers
were scarce fifty feet behind us. If the key would
not fit we were lost. But all happened to our advantage.
In a moment I had thrust in the key
that Governor Bellamont had given me. The lock
clicked. We sprang through the open gateway and
managed to relock the gate just as the officers
dashed against it. But the door was of solid oak
and held fast.
“That was a good turn,” said the leader, mopping
his face. “I’m sweating in every inch of me.”
“This chill wind will soon stop that,” I answered.
“Where did you leave your boat?”
Fortunately they had left it afloat in the care of
one of their comrades. They whistled to him and
in a few minutes I heard the squeaking of oars as
the boat approached. The leader of the band put
out his hand, saying all sorts of things in gratitude
for what I had done. It made me feel ashamed to
hear his profuse thanks, for, after all, I had played
.bn 146.png
.pn +1
him a trick in my own interest; but I steeled my
heart by thinking of the patroon.
“I don’t know who you are,” continued the
sailor. “But now that you have done me one good
turn perhaps you will do me another. We must be
at Wolfert Webber’s tavern by nine o’clock to-night.
Can we get there?”
It was well for the success of my plans that I had
spent a large part of the afternoon studying a map
of Manhattan Island.
I knew, therefore, that a stream of water of depth
sufficient to float a long-boat connected the small
lake known as the Collect with the North River. I
told the pirate of this stream and that, after having
crossed the lake, a short walk would bring him to
Webber’s tavern.
Meanwhile the long-boat was approaching the
shore. Soon we were all seated—I going along to
point out the way—and four of the sailors were
pulling sturdily at the oars. We shot quickly over
the water. The half moon gleamed in a flickering
path behind us. Between the narrow banks of the
stream by which we made our way into the Collect
scarcely a ray of light could penetrate. We had
much ado to evade the overhanging branches,
which, in spite of all our care, struck us in the face
time and again. Then everything changed like
scenery on the stage as we shot into the shadow-rimmed
lake, smooth as glass, reflecting the moon
.bn 147.png
.pn +1
like the half of a broken plate, lying upon the
bottom.
“Dip easy, men,” whispered the leader, who had
seated himself next to me in the stern of the boat.
“No need to let anyone know that we are coming.”
He and I had fallen into conversation while the
others rowed. I tried cautiously to win from him
some information as to what his errand was about.
I succeeded, however, no better than when I had
made the like attempt earlier in the evening. He
was as mum as a stone concerning his own business.
When we landed on a narrow beach of pebbles, he
commanded his followers to remain with the boat
while he went forward under my guidance. On the
way I was of two minds. At one moment I wanted
to strike him down, rob him of his letters, and take
to my heels. At the next, I was much ashamed of
such a dishonorable impulse. My hesitation, however,
was soon overcome in an unexpected way.
When I saw the light of Webber’s tavern twinkling
a hundred yards ahead of us, I informed my companion
that his destination was in sight. He put
out a great clumsy hand and took mine cordially.
“Thanks, mate, whatever your name is. Here
you and I must part company. You’ve done us a
good turn, and I’d do the same by you if I had the
chance. But I must go on alone, for what I’ve got
to say is very secret and must be said alone. It
ain’t as if I had some writing that I could just hand
over before your eyes and you none the wiser for
.bn 148.png
.pn +1
looking at the outside. It doesn’t look handsome,
does it? But I’m on other people’s business, and
honor is honor, as you know yourself.”
Since there was nothing to be gained by staying
with him against his will, I shook hands in a friendly
way, saying that I should go back to New York by
land, it being nearer for me than the way we had
come. The moment he was gone, however, I took
after him and set myself to watch the tavern door.
The person he had come to meet had evidently arrived
before him. In two minutes the sailor came
out again, accompanied by a boy. As they passed
through a patch of moonlight I caught a glimpse
of this second person. He was not a boy at all, but
Van Volkenberg’s , Louis Van Ramm.
They passed close to me and I followed them a
short way into the woods, where they held a long
whispered consultation; but I could not catch a
word of what they said. At the end of their talk
they parted company without returning to the
tavern. The pirate went back to the boat the way
he had come; the dwarf set out towards Van Volkenberg
manor. I had no further interest in the
sailor, and, though I expected little gain from following
Van Ramm, I resolved to dog his footsteps.
.bn 149.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XII | VAN VOLKENBERG’S WINDOW
.sp 2
Louis Van Ramm continued his way towards the
manor-house, walking rapidly, I following on
the turf at the roadside. Suddenly I came upon the
place where I had joined the high road in my retreat
from the park the night before. Knowing that
the path that led to this point was a short cut
through the woods, I ran along it in the hope of
finding some place of vantage, whence I could
observe what went on outside the manor-house.
When I reached the edge of the wood I saw the
shadowy building, its front all shot with lighted
windows. One of these windows was on the lower
floor near the ground. I wondered whether it
would offer me any advantage as a means of discovering
what was going on inside the building.
Some high bushes grew near it and in these I managed
to conceal myself so near the window that I
could see inside quite well. I presume that the fire
of logs within made the room too hot, for the window
was open, in spite of the chill wind that bit me
to the bone. The patroon was sitting at a table in
plain sight of the window. Between him and the
door and facing him was the woman I had seen the
night before on the terrace, evidently his daughter.
.bn 150.png
.pn +1
“Go to your room, Miriam,” I heard him say to
her. “I have no use for you here. As for this man
Le Bourse, if you have any dealings with him I
shall lock you up. Go. Do you hear me?”
The girl did not move. She folded her arms
across her breast, at the same time drawing herself
up proudly. She was tall and slender, and of a fine,
dignified figure.
“Father,” she replied, “there is no use threatening
me. You know that I am not a coward. If
you do not intend to make some reparation to this
man who has come to seek his sister, I shall. You
can at least be kind to him. You know only too
well that unkindness here hastened, perhaps caused,
the poor girl’s unhappy death.”
She brushed her hand across her eyes. I blessed
her in my heart for that little act. The patroon,
however, grew angry. He lifted a wine glass from
the table and held it in his hand, as if he intended
to throw it at her.
“Do not talk to me of her,” he burst out. “Not
a word of her or you shall repent it. Now go. You
have already seen too much of this man. I shall not
tolerate it.”
The girl bowed with proper dignity, but she did
not move. She had still a word of protest that
must be said.
“I shall obey you, sir, but I must say what I feel.
I shall not act behind your back. You shall know
exactly what I intend to do. I shall see him again
.bn 151.png
.pn +1
and tell him all I can of the miserable fate of his
sister and I shall do all in my power to sooth his
sorrow. I loved Ruth even if she was but—”
Her words were cut short by the crash of breaking
glass. She had sprung to one side just in time
to evade the flying goblet which her father hurled
at her.
“Will you not obey me? Are you not my daughter?”
“I am you daughter, but for all that, father—”
She stopped speaking and left the room abruptly,
for at that moment another door was opened, which
I could not see, though I heard the latch click distinctly.
Then Louis Van Ramm entered the room
and came to his master’s side. I heard the patroon
say something to him about the “Wench, my
daughter.” Then he and the dwarf fell to talking
in tones so low that I could only hear now and then
an excited exclamation of surprise.
I can hardly express the feelings that I experienced
at that moment. From where I crouched in
the shrubbery, shivering with cold, I could look
upon the wide space where I had seen the Red
Band drilling the night before, surrounded by the
jumping shadows of the torches. The picture of
the girl dressed in white, standing upon the platform
while the troopers obeyed the commands of
their chief, and the impatient gesture with which
she had been dismissed by her father, were all clear
in my mind’s eye. I had not thought then that
.bn 152.png
.pn +1
within a day I should have found a friend within
the walls of the manor. Yet such was the case.
The girl was disposed to treat me kindly. I did
not care so much for that. My heart was drawn
towards her because she had loved Ruth, and because
she was now suffering for that affection. I
could not but admire her spirit, and the quiet dignity
with which she stood to her convictions before
the hot anger of her parent; nor could I observe
without still greater admiration the noble pride
that prompted her to be silent the moment another
person entered the room. Of course I did not know
then as I knew later how unlike her usual manner
this severity towards her father was. But I soon
learned that there were moments when his peculiar
infirmity demanded such firmness and that this was
one of them.
While I mused upon the scene before me and all
it stood for, the patroon and his retainer sat at the
table in busy conversation. At last Van Volkenberg
leaned back in his chair and fitted the palms
of his hands together, tapping the finger tips
slightly.
“Good news, Louis,” he said, for the first time
raising his voice so that I could hear him distinctly.
“This time we trip the Earl, God’s curse upon him.”
For a moment they sat silent, the master lost in
thought. Evidently the news communicated to
Louis in the meeting by Webber’s tavern was vitally
connected with the welfare of the Earl of Bellamont.
.bn 153.png
.pn +1
At last Van Volkenberg was roused by
some question from his companion that I could
not hear.
“You are right,” the patroon answered. “On my
life we must not let this chance slip. Before day-light—”
I lost what followed, for he bent over the
table with a pen in his hand and began to write.
For some time I watched the end of the quill
nodding back and forth as he wrote, evidently in
great haste and excitement. Twice he tore the
paper across several times and began to write upon
a new sheet. When he had finished, he rose, folding
what he had written carefully as he did so. He
took a step or two away from the table towards the
window. This movement brought him so close to
me that I overheard what followed without difficulty.
“This must be printed and posted before day-light,
Louis. Take it to Bradford. Rout him out
of bed. Give him good reasons. It must be done
at once. Do not take no from him. Hurry, Louis,
my gay hawk. We shall peck the fine Earl to the
bone by noon to-morrow.”
At that both men left the apartment. I set out
immediately along the footpath that joined with
the road to the city. I had not far to go in order to
reach the main road, but the distance was far
enough to bring me for a moment in peril of my
life. I was still within hail of the house when I
heard dull, heavy thuds falling in quick succession
.bn 154.png
.pn +1
behind me, and growing louder with every step. I
turned to look back. A hound was making towards
me in great leaps across the moonlight. The next
moment he sprang upon me. Though I braced
myself for the shock, I fell heavily to the ground.
In this moment of danger, I had enough presence
of mind to thrust my hand into the brute’s mouth
and to grip tight hold of his lower jaw. We writhed
and twisted about the ground for several minutes.
Once I was knocked so violently against the trunk
of a tree that it was a miracle that I did not lose
my hold. We rolled back together and in some
way, I know not how, I fell uppermost with the
point of my knee on the dog’s side. Quick as a
flash, I gripped my free hand on his throat. He
gasped for breath till his whole body shook and I
with it. But I had won the fall and did not rise till
he lay motionless at my feet.
Such an escape as that makes a man sober. I
continued along the road, thinking of many things;
above all, of how it might have ended. By what a
slender thread and how tenaciously we cling to life!
Yesterday, when my sorrow first fell upon me with
its full weight, there was nothing terrible about the
face of death; but to-night, with his grim features
close before me, I felt that heedless courage which
even the most miserable always feel, though they
would thank God for cowardice. With this thought
came another: How Ruth must have felt! She
had crossed the gulf that I had fought to draw
.bn 155.png
.pn +1
back from. Not till then did my thoughts return
to the work in hand—the paper and the dwarf’s
errand. Almost immediately I heard the clatter of
horse hoofs breaking the silence behind me.
In a moment Louis Van Ramm dashed by me at
full gallop, raising a cloud of dust as he rode, and
sending a flaw of wind into the roadside bushes
where I had concealed myself at the first sound of
his approach.
“So you will trap the Earl, will you?” thought I.
“Do not reckon without me, Louis Van Ramm.”
Then I set out running, and was soon at the fort.
It had been scarce six years since William Bradford
had come from Philadelphia to set up his printing
press in New York. As I passed the mouth of
the street where Bradford lived I could hear Louis
kicking and pounding at the printer’s door, for
what reason beyond his master’s hest I was soon to
learn.
At the fort I found some difficulty in gaining access
to the Earl; but, by means of the password
which he had communicated to me, and a little
threat and bluster on my own account, I was soon
inside the walls. The Earl heard my fragmentary
tale with interest.
“I can easily imagine what has been communicated
to him,” said Bellamont. “But what Bradford
has to do with it is beyond my penetration.”
He rang a bell upon the table. A man-at-arms
.bn 156.png
.pn +1
appeared, whom he bade summon the captain of
the guard.
“Take a squad of men,” commanded the Earl as
soon as the man had appeared for duty. “Take a
squad of men and arrest William Bradford and anyone
else whom you may find at his shop. At once.
To your duty.”
The Earl at a pinch, as Lady Marmaduke had
said, was no man to bandy words, though, to be
sure, he said to me as soon as the soldiers had set
out that he wished I had got my information in any
other way than spying. I did not remind him that
he had set me to watch, or that there was no other
way on earth by which I could have followed his
instructions, for I knew that if I said anything his
conscience would suggest some kind of harmless
watchfulness from a distance.
“Your Excellency’s welfare is always above my
own,” I said humbly, though I shared none of his
scruples.
“Ay, doubtless,” he answered musingly. “Well,
let us see how it turns out.”
Thirty minutes later the prisoner was under arrest
in the fort. The Earl’s eyes gleamed with
satisfaction over the intelligence he had received
through the arrest. For the second time he summoned
the man-at-arms.
“As soon as it is late enough I want you to dispatch
a messenger to Patroon Van Volkenberg,
and to the other members of my council, notifying
.bn 157.png
.pn +1
them individually that there will be a meeting of
my privy-council at ten o’clock to-morrow.” Then
he turned to me. “The clouds are breaking, Le
Bourse. I doubt not there will be a flash of light
and a clap of thunder hard upon ten o’clock.”
.bn 158.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIII | VAN VOLKENBERG IN DISGRACE
.sp 2
At ten o’clock the next morning the governor’s
privy-council was assembled. The members of the
board were seated along both sides of a huge mahogany
table, carved around the edges in the old
Dutch style. Governor Bellamont sat at one end
of the table; on his right hand was Colonel De
Peyster, then accorded by everyone the handsomest
man in the province. At the end opposite to
Nicholas Bayard sat the patroon. He was quiet in
his manner and evidently much dejected over the
miscarriage of his plan, though, as yet, he could
have had no idea as to how it had gone wrong.
When the soldiers arrested Bradford, they found
him alone, busily engaged in setting up type with
which to print the patroon’s paper. By the time
the arrest was made, Louis Van Ramm had evidently
returned to the manor-house to inform his
chief that all the arrangements necessary to the
plan had been successfully made. The patroon
therefore, on his arrival in the town, must have
expected to see his posters placed conspicuously
in many public places. He found instead, only the
locked door of the printing office and no posters.
Immediately after this disappointment he presented
himself at the council table in the fort.
.bn 159.png
.pn +1
The Earl of Bellamont informed the members of
his privy-council that he had summoned them thus
hurriedly in order to communicate to them some
important information. Then, drawing towards
him a bundle of papers which lay close at hand, he
addressed his advisors in these words:
“Gentlemen and Friends: Shortly after his most
gracious majesty was pleased to appoint me to the
governorship of this province, he called me to a
private interview, in which he spoke of certain affairs
in New York. He spoke in these words, as
nearly as I could remember them when I wrote
down the substance of our conversation shortly
after our interview.
“‘The buccaneers,’ said his majesty, ‘have so increased
in the East and West Indies, and all along
the American coast, that they defiantly sail under
their own flag. They penetrate the rivers; land in
numbers sufficient to capture cities, robbing palaces
and cathedrals, and extorting enormous ransom.
Their suppression is vital to commerce. They have
possessed themselves of magnificent retreats, in
Madagascar and other islands of the Pacific ocean.
They have established their seraglios, and are living
in fabulous splendor and luxury. Piratic expeditions
are fitted out from the colonies of New England
and Virginia; and even the Quakers of
Pennsylvania afford a market for their robberies.
These successful free-booters are making their
homes in the Carolinas, in Rhode Island, and along
.bn 160.png
.pn +1
the south shore of Long Island, where they and
their children take positions among the most respectable
in the community.
“‘The buccaneers are so audacious that they seek
no concealment. Their ships are laden with the
spoils of all nations. The richest prizes that can
now be taken upon the high seas are the heavily
laden ships of the buccaneers. I have resolved,
with the aid of others, to fit out a private expedition
against them. We have formed a company for the
purpose. By attacking the pirates we shall accomplish
a double object. We shall, in the first place,
check their devastating operations, and we shall
also fill our purses with the proceeds of the abundant
spoil with which their ships are laden.’”
The Earl laid down the paper from which he had
been reading, and, looking directly at Mr. Livingston,
who was on his left, bowed. “My trusted
friend and councillor, who was in London at the
time of my interview with our gracious majesty, was
able to recommend to our notice a mariner upon
whom we could confidently confer the responsible
task of commanding this expedition. You all know
him, gentlemen. I refer to the estimable William
Kidd, of this city, whose house on Liberty Street
we all remember because of the noble tree growing
beside the stoop. It was planted to commemorate
the arrival of Governor Petrus Stuyvesant, rest his
soul, for he was a gallant gentleman and a valiant
warrior. In Captain Kidd’s hands, with the consent
.bn 161.png
.pn +1
of the Lord Chancellor and the Duke of
Shrewsbury, together with the approval of the
King, we have placed our frigate, the Adventure.
“Now, gentlemen,” continued the Earl, at the
same time taking up another paper from the table.
“You are aware of the steps I have already taken to
diminish the practice of buccaneering in New York.
It behooves me to make you acquainted forthwith
with the commission the King has granted to Captain
Kidd.”
Bellamont unfolded the paper in his hand and
began to read in a loud, steady voice the King’s
commission.
“‘William the Third, by the grace of God, King
of England, Scotland, France and Ireland, to our
true and well-beloved Captain William Kidd, commander
of the Adventure. Whereas, divers wicked
persons commit many and great piracies, robberies
and depredations on the seas, upon the coasts of
America, and other parts, to the hindrance of trade
and the danger of our subjects, we have thought fit
to give to the said William Kidd full authority to
seize all such pirates upon the seas, whether our
subjects or the subjects of other nations, with their
ships and all merchandise or money which shall be
found on board, if they willingly yield themselves.
But if they will not yield themselves without fighting,
then you are, by force, to compel them to yield.
We do also require you to bring, or cause to be
brought, such pirates, free-booters, or sea rovers,
.bn 162.png
.pn +1
as you shall seize, to a legal trial, to the end they
may be proceeded against according to the law in
such cases.
“‘We enjoin you to keep an exact journal of your
proceedings, giving the names of the ships you may
capture, the names of their officers and crew, and
the value of their cargoes, and stores. And we command
you at your peril, that you do not molest our
friends or allies under any pretense of authority
hereby granted. Given the 26th of January,
169—.’”[A]
.fm rend=ht
.fn A
For the text of Governor Bellamont’s conversation with the
King, and of the commission granted to Captain Kidd, the author is
indebted to Mr. Abbot’s life of William Kidd.
.fn-
.fm rend=ht
In the discussion of the King’s plan which followed
the reading of it, every gentleman present,
with the one exception of Van Volkenberg, expressed
his unqualified approval of what had been
done. The patroon, however, sat silent and moody.
He was unable to imagine why the Earl had chosen
this time to explain in detail a plan that he had
heretofore guarded with the utmost secrecy.
“I am glad of your approbation,” said the Earl.
“I could expect no other reception of this frank
expression (touching the King’s commission with
his forefinger) of the honor and candor of our
gracious sovereign and of his confidential advisers.
Yet it appears that our colleague, Patroon Van
Volkenberg, has not yet expressed his satisfaction
in words.”
[Footnote A: For the text of Governor Bellamont’s conversation with
the King, and of the commission granted to Captain Kidd,
the author is indebted to Mr. Abbot’s life of William Kidd.]
.bn 163.png
.pn +1
There was a slight smile upon the Earl’s face as
he made this remark, for the patroon’s manner
spoke discontent plain enough. As all eyes turned
upon him, Van Volkenberg felt the need of saying
something.
“Your Excellency, I hope, has always found me
quick in the support of all our sovereign’s mandates.”
More than one of the persons present exchanged
intelligent glances with his neighbor when he heard
this qualified approval. Each member of the council
interpreted it for himself, according as he believed
or disbelieved certain vague rumors that had
got abroad concerning the patroon’s interest in the
illicit trade.
“I am glad that we are unanimous,” the Earl
went on, a bitter smile breaking across his face in
spite of his effort to control his features. “I say
that I am glad we are unanimous, because I have a
question to bring before you for your consideration,
which closely concerns the matter in hand.”
He glanced at the patroon. Van Volkenberg
for the first time seemed to suspect that a trap had
been laid for him. His fingers opened and closed
with short nervous movements. His face began to
grow white; but it was the whiteness of anger, not
of fear. At that moment I saw—for I had been stationed
where I could both see and hear what was
passing in the council chamber—I saw that the
Earl had won only a skirmish, not a battle. The
.bn 164.png
.pn +1
patroon might be defeated for the present, but the
spirit that showed in his face was not to be crushed
by this blow. Strangely enough, the Earl’s next
words pointed the anger of the patroon in a new
direction, a direction that in the end almost brought
the Earl and his followers to their ruin.
“Captain Kidd,” the Earl resumed, “is now on
his way to New York. His crew, which, at present,
is but half made up, is to be completed in this city.”
This was the fact that was news to the patroon.
He started and turned his face with renewed interest
towards the governor, who continued in an unruffled
voice.
“A conspiracy has been nipped in the bud, gentlemen—a
conspiracy tending to prevent honest
men from entering our service and therefore tending
to diminish the integrity of Captain Kidd’s
crew.”
He paused, looked slowly over his audience, who
were breathless with interest, and let his eyes rest
upon Van Volkenberg.
“At midnight last, William Bradford, the printer,
was arrested by my order. At the time of his arrest
he was engaged in putting into type this paper,
which I shall now read aloud and then give into
your hands for further examination:
“‘CITIZENS OF NEW YORK, BEWARE!
Captain William Kidd, famous for his knowledge
of the haunts and practices of the buccaneers, will
soon arrive in New York to lay in stores and take
.bn 165.png
.pn +1
commissions for the South Seas. He sails under
cover of a patent, granted by the Earl of Bellamont,
Governor of His Majesty’s province of New York,
granting him power to cruise against the buccaneers.
This alleged purpose is a trick to deceive
the people. Captain Kidd’s real purpose is to cooperate
with the pirates, to evade the laws of the
province, and to enrich the pocket of the governor.
Beware how you countenance this betrayal of your
laws.’” Then the Earl added: “How inimical the
sentiment expressed herein is to the interests and
procedure of our royal master is forthwith apparent.
Gentlemen, examine the document for yourselves.”
He handed it to Mr. Livingstone, who in turn
passed it on to Mr. Pinhorne. The paper traveled
slowly down the table. Suddenly one of the councillors
exclaimed, “By my soul! This is Van Volkenberg’s
hand.”
“And what if it is?” the patroon cried out, at the
same time bringing his fist down on the table with
an angry blow.
There was the silence of amazement at this sudden
explosion.
“Do not deliberate hastily,” said the Earl, with
a smile. “Let me make clear the manner in which
this paper came into my hands.” He rang a bell for
a servant. “Fetch Monsieur Le Bourse.”
I shall never forget the blank expression on the
patroon’s face at the moment I stepped into the
room in obedience to the Earl’s command; nor
.bn 166.png
.pn +1
shall I forget the thrill of joy I experienced when I
saw that the patroon knew who had driven him to
bay. I related in as few words as possible what
had happened during the night, dwelling on the
damning evidence which my story furnished of the
truth of the rumors that Van Volkenberg had secret
dealings with the buccaneers. When I had finished
my tale, Mr. Livingstone rose and claimed the
floor.
“Your Excellency,” he said, “this is worse than
I could have imagined. It is enough to justify expulsion
from the council.”
“I shall not remain to embarrass your consideration,”
said the patroon.
He got upon his feet, ashy pale, and trembling
with suppressed rage, but with a noble dignity in
his disgrace withal.
“I acknowledge your accusation,” continued the
patroon. “If your clemency (bowing to the governor),
which is well known to all of us, will permit
a fallen man to resign the honor of a seat at your
council board before he is deprived of it by force,
I shall be everlastingly in your debt.”
With that he bowed again, first to the Earl, then
to the company, and left the room.
For a moment, I, who was the cause of this disgrace,
felt almost as if the victory were the
patroon’s. Every person present, even the Earl,
sat abashed as if he had done something wrong.
For a moment I almost agreed with the Earl, and
.bn 167.png
.pn +1
wished I had not spied through the window. How
nobly the patroon had sustained his defeat! There
was no storming, no begging; he simply accepted
the inevitable and bowed with dignity in his ruin.
He was such a man as one would gladly serve if
he were only upon the side of right and honor.
Sympathy with the manliness of the patroon, however,
soon gave way as the consciousness of his
treachery and double dealing again grew uppermost
in my mind. The only lasting effect of this scene
upon me was a deep-seated joy such as a man feels
when he meets a worthy foe. My determination
was strengthened, not weakened, by this short-lived
attack of sympathy for my enemy.
Meantime the patroon mounted his horse at the
entrance of the fort. Scarcely was he through the
massive stone gateway before a great change came
over him. He broke out into loud peals of laughter.
He clapped spurs to his horse and rode furiously
to the house of Colonel Fletcher. All the
way from the fort to the house of his friend he was
laughing and calling out at the top of his voice and
waving his arms about his head like a man taken
in a fit. An hour later he was carried out of the
house like a sick man, deposited in a sedan chair,
and in this conveyance taken to his home.
.bn 168.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIV | PLOTTING WITHOUT THE EARL
.sp 2
Later in the day of Van Volkenberg’s disgrace,
Lady Marmaduke and I were talking together in
no very pleasant frame of mind. We both knew the
far-reaching power of the Red Band, and the extremes
to which the patroon would go in order to
carry out his designs. He now knew that it was I
who had brought his disgrace upon him. People
are always likely to suspect and hate those whom
they have injured beyond repair. The death of
Ruth was enough to account for any blow that the
patroon might aim at me. Add to this motive the
fact that I had brought humiliation upon him, that
I had been the cause of his expulsion from the
council, and one can easily imagine how little reason
there was to believe that I should be overlooked
in his subsequent meditations. The injury I had
done to the patroon not only held him up to ridicule
and scorn, but also, by removing him from the governor’s
council, deprived him of his most potent
means of plotting against the Earl. Take it all in
all, I was treading in dangerous water, and both
Lady Marmaduke and I knew it.
“How do you expect to escape his vengeance?”
she said in a significantly despondent tone. “How
.bn 169.png
.pn +1
will you keep your head on your shoulders till tomorrow
morning or next day?”
I smiled grimly, but made no reply to her question.
In fact, I was all at sea as to what to do, and
I knew that she was in the same state of mind. For
several minutes there was silence between us;
neither of us had a word further to say. Of a sudden
my mistress snapped her fingers and a light
as of a new idea began to sparkle in her eyes.
“He is a Catholic,” she said. “I wish the laws
that apply to priests would apply to him.” She
muttered these words half aloud as if she was talking
to herself. But her next sentence was addressed
to me. “You know that when a Jesuit priest steps
across the boundary of our province we hang him.
That is our law.” She dropped her eyes again and
seemed, as before, to muse aloud. “Poor little
Ruth. Such sweet, sweet eyes; so sad. They were
not sad at first—they grew sad. Had it been only
trouble that won her young life away! But to be
robbed of it by a Roman Catholic. If you could
have seen her face, so cold and pale when I went
to see the mark of the hot iron!” She turned her
eyes towards me suddenly. “Have you ever smelt
burning flesh?” she demanded.
“For God’s sake!” I cried. “You pierce me to
the heart.”
Words cannot express the agony I felt at this
mention of the manner of my sister’s death; but,
.bn 170.png
.pn +1
in spite of my misery, Lady Marmaduke went on
without pity.
“He did not brand her, but he did worse. He
went to her room at night and murdered her in bed.
Why? Because—”
I put out my hand in a gesture of appeal. She
left the sentence unfinished and began anew.
“Can you not see, friend Michael, why I twist
this knife of recollection till it galls you to the
quick? Le Bourse, did you love your sister?”
“What of that?” I answered hoarsely, wondering
why she asked me such a question.
“Do you think that you will be able to keep your
life in your body for a week now that you have
given such offense to the leader of the Red Band?
You hesitate. Nay, answer me honestly. Unless
you skulk like a coward and hide yourself inside
my house, how long will you escape their vengeance?”
I shook my head. Indeed there was no limit of
time too brief to suit the truth.
“Did you love your sister?”
“Why do you ask that question as if you doubted
it?” I answered petulantly. “Do you not know
that—”
“Tut, tut, I do not doubt you, but I wonder
whether you will stand the test. This is no common
enemy you have to deal with. He is a wily man
and wields much power. By your own reckoning
your life is not worth that.” She snapped her fingers.
.bn 171.png
.pn +1
“You must take the game into your own
hands. If you should die, who would avenge
Ruth?”
“Or Sir Evelin?” I responded.
Her brows darkened. A flush spread slowly
over her swarthy features like a storm cloud. I
knew that I was standing before the Black Lady
Marmaduke, and from that moment I understood
why they had given her that name. She was the
very image of deep passion, yet of passion that was
under control withal. She was such a leader as a
man could trust himself to in full confidence of
finding bravery, loyalty and—for I had no doubt
of the result—victory.
“Yes,” she answered. “Or Sir Evelin! Ruth
and Sir Evelin! You and I must keep alive. Will
you make a desperate cast for the prize? Will you
stake all upon one bold throw?”
The swift nervous clutch of her hand on my
shoulder which accompanied her last words, and the
sound of her breath, hard and rasping like a person
in a trance, told me better than words why she had
been probing me to the depths of my misery. I
knew that the plan she was about to propose would
be full to the brim of peril.
“I’ll play it,” I answered, responding in every
nerve to the spell of her fierce passions. “What is
the cast?”
“Your life.”
“Explain.”
.bn 172.png
.pn +1
“You cannot live as it is. Assume a disguise.
Be someone else.”
“That is easy, but to what does it lead?”
“To the house of the Red Band. You have still
the silver buttons that the buccaneer gave you.
Take them boldly, according to your first intention,
and present them to the patroon. Tell him
you want to enlist in the Red Band. With you in
the very center of the board, we can soon sweep it
clean.”
She had suggested a desperate enterprise indeed,
one that took my breath away. Yet, upon consideration,
I found it no more desperate than the
situation as it stood at that moment. Of course I
should not consent to hide myself away from danger,
in which course, according to Lady Marmaduke,
lay my only hope of safety. Nor could I
expect to escape the patroon’s wrath in any other
way. The members of the Red Band were not
above the secret blow under cover of the night, and
I might fall at any moment. Perhaps, after all, it
was really safer for me to go boldly into the midst
of my enemies than to let them come at me from a
distance. Yet I hesitated.
“Are you afraid?” flashed Lady Marmaduke in
scornful anger.
“Had I been afraid, madam, I had never hesitated,”
I replied.
.il fn=i_158f.jpg w=350px ew=60%
.ca
“SHE THRUST HER HAND
INTO THE CANDLE FLAME.”—p. 160
.ca-
What really troubled me and made it hard for
me to decide was not the danger, nor even a doubt
.bn 173.png
.bn 174.png
.bn 175.png
.pn +1
of my success. On the contrary, I hesitated over a
point of honor. I knew very well that the Earl
would not approve of this. Could I? I had never,
save on the night before, played the part of a spy,
and my own name was the last thing in the world
I should be ashamed to own. I could fight; but
no—I could never be capable of this kind of work.
Then I glanced at Lady Marmaduke. There were
tears in her eyes, and I knew she must be thinking
of her husband. Could I desert her now? I had
sworn to be her man. Was it honest and just to
turn away from her in the critical moment—the
first time she had desired my help? My mind was
swaying in the opposite direction when the thought
of what Ruth would have said clutched my wavering
mind back to the side of truth and honor.
Lady Marmaduke must have seen all this passing
in my mind or shadowed in my face. It was time
for her to put her firm hand upon me and force me
the way she would have me go, whether I would
or not. It was to my brute passions she appealed,
not to my reason.
When I had entered the room ten minutes before,
she was writing letters, and the candle she used to
soften her wax with was still burning upon the
table. She took a step towards me and as she did
so I noticed the candle flame wave delicately to one
side.
“Michael,” she said, putting her hand upon my
shoulder. “You hesitate and I am ashamed of
.bn 176.png
.pn +1
you.” Her hand moved along my shoulder till her
fingers played upon my neck. “I said that I saw no
mark upon her body. What if there were prints
upon her neck?” At that instant her iron fingers
closed on my throat with a grip that made me cry
out.
“Hush, fool,” she said fiercely, relaxing her grip.
“I am not going to choke you; but her throat was
delicate and you know how it feels.” Then her
manner changed. She spoke quickly and looked
towards the candle. “He said he branded her.
Perhaps he did. It was night when I looked at her
body. One cannot see plain by night. Perhaps
he did after all. Did you ever see a person branded?
Smell, Michael, smell.”
She thrust her left hand into the candle flame.
“For God’s sake!” I cried, trying to snatch her
hand away.
“Stop,” she replied, in her terrible deep voice.
At the same moment she caught my rescuing hand
and held it in a vise.
“Smell. This is what it is like to be branded.”
A spell seemed to take hold of me. I had no
power to move, but stood still watching her finger
scorch in the tall flame. Once I saw it tremble, but
she bit her lip and grew steady again. The flesh
began to shrivel and then—my God! I caught
that horrible stench of burning flesh.
“Stop,” I shrieked.
“Oh Ruth, Ruth, how I pity you in your pain,”
.bn 177.png
.pn +1
cried my mistress, who held on, enduring that bitter
agony to make me succumb to her will.
Then the sickening smell came again stronger
than ever.
“Ruth, Ruth, Ruth! The bloodhound! Stop.
I’ll go, I’ll go. Oh my God, my God, my God!”
I threw up my hands with a cry of horror and
shut my eyes upon the terrible suggestion of that
cruel sight. Lady Marmaduke bent close to me
and spoke in my ear.
“Methinks I can hear her scream in agony. God,
how she must have suffered!”
My mistress told me afterwards that I groaned
and reeled backward. I should have fallen had
she not caught me by the arm. In a moment
the passion spent itself and I was sane once more.
But the temptation of that smell had prevailed
against the prompting of my conscience. I determined
to run the risk. My life if it must be! Yes,
my life, but his too.
.sp 2
So I resolved to join the Red Band. The elaborate
precautions I took before I assumed my disguise
were not excessive. There were many accidents
to be provided against. In the first place,
though Lady Marmaduke would be able to account
plausibly for my disappearance from New York,
I might be tolerably sure that the patroon would
scent danger in the circumstance. I must be doubly
careful not to leave any tracks that would
.bn 178.png
.pn +1
point either forward or backward from the moment
I changed my identity.
Paradoxical as it sounds, I must accomplish my
disguise without the help of any disguise at all. If
my bold plan succeeded and resulted in my becoming
a member of the Red Band, I must be able
to strip and wash myself before my fellow members,
or to stand a merry bout of leapfrog or
wrestling in the servants’ quarters. In such a situation
I could not guard myself against discovery
by means of a painted face that would wash off
at the first touch of water, nor rely upon a wig
or any other outward changes of my face. I could
put on different clothes; I could cut off my beard
and moustache; for the rest, I must trust to the
very boldness of the deception to bring me through
with safety.
When night came I had prepared a plan by
which I hoped to annihilate every trace of my presence
as completely as if I had flown away on the
wings of the wind. In the course of the day it
got abroad that I should set out early the next
morning for Albany on business of Lady Marmaduke’s.
In this simple way was my disappearance
on the morrow to be accounted for.
About midnight Pierre and I left the city stealthily
and paddled in a canoe to the shore of Long
Island. Little Pierre, as I have said, was a barber.
He had brought his shaving utensils with him,
and by the light of the moon he shaved me, lip and
.bn 179.png
.pn +1
chin. I then put on the one suit of clothes that
I had brought with me and which, fortunately, I
had not yet worn in public. Pierre made a bundle
of my discarded garments and prepared to set out
with them to Marmaduke Hall. We shook hands
at the edge of the water. Pierre tried once or
twice to say something, but he could not find the
voice. He seemed to feel the danger of the situation
even more than I did. At last he blurted
out:
“Well, if we don’t see you again, here’s luck.”
He gave the canoe a prodigious shove. A moment
later he was paddling steadily towards the
North River. I watched him until he was lost
in the darkness; then I set out across the island
to Gravesoon, for I intended to repeat the journey
that I had formerly made when I first came to
New York. If, when I appeared at the manor-house,
Van Volkenberg should doubt the truth
of the story I was going to tell him, he would be
likely to inquire into the circumstances of my arrival.
I resolved to let him trace me to the very
edge of the broad Atlantic. There he might stare
to his heart’s content. He would see nothing but
the wide blue circle of the sea.
Fortune was on my side that morning. By day-light
I was standing on the shore of the cove where
I had been set down a few days before by Captain
Tew. There was, by accident, at that very moment
a great ship hull down in the offing. The
.bn 180.png
.pn +1
presence of this vessel did me good service. When
I approached the ordinary at Gravesoon, in spite
of the early hour of the morning, I found a number
of people about the door. One of them held
a spy-glass in his hand and was trying to make
out the identity of the distant ship.
I was much relieved to find, when I came to
speak with the landlord, that he had but the vaguest
recollection of my former appearance. To be sure,
he had seen me only once; yet he had a slight
remembrance of the fact. When I hinted pretty
plainly that I had come ashore from the ship, which
by that time was almost out of sight, he said:
“You are the second man this week. The other
fellow came at night and, bless you! not a word
would he say of where he came from or where he
was going to.” This reassured me, for I had inquired
after Van Volkenberg, and I was glad that
the landlord had forgotten the fact. Then he said
abruptly, “Can you blow a shell?”
I assured him that I could.
“Well, he couldn’t; he was a poor piece.”
That ended our consultation. By noon I had
left the ordinary at Gravesoon far behind me and
had crossed the East River once more into New
York. On different occasions during the day I
met both my mistress and the Earl of Bellamont.
I smiled to myself to think how I could have astonished
them had I wished to speak out. I spent
so much of the afternoon bartering for a horse
.bn 181.png
.pn +1
and attending to other small matters that it was
nearly sunset before I was ready to set out for the
manor-house. To tell the truth, I had another
reason for delay. I was minded to put my disguise
to a more thorough test before I threw myself
into the power of the patroon. With this
end in I presented myself at Marmaduke
Hall and inquired for the mistress.
I had not forgotten what she had told me about
the title to her estate, nor that Van Volkenberg
had vowed that he would get possession of it in
spite of all law to the contrary. So, when I sent
my new name, Henrie St. Vincent, to Lady Marmaduke,
I sent word also that I was a messenger
from Patroon Van Volkenberg and wished to see
her on business concerning her estate. She received
me in a high state of dignity, standing erect
at one end of the long room with her hand gripped
on the collar of a dog.
“Madam,” said I, and got no further before she
interrupted me.
“Sir,” she replied. “I understand that you come
from Kilian Van Volkenberg. I can guess your
errand. Will you be pleased to follow me.”
She was very angry, for which I could see no
reason since she had not heard a word of what
I had to say. Perhaps it was the mere impudence
of a messenger from the patroon. She strode out
of the apartment with me trooping behind her,
wondering what she was going to do next. She
.bn 182.png
.pn +1
led the way through the kitchen to the little outbuilding
where I had seen the huge iron pots a few
days before. Fire raged under three of them. The
massive covers tilted and rocked above the steam.
Lady Marmaduke signed to the servants to remove
one of the lids. They caught hold of the
chains and began to pull. As the lid rose a cloud
of steam filled the room. I could feel my newly
shaved cheeks go damp and moist with the vapor.
Lady Marmaduke looked at me, but I could only
see her face at times, for the steam came and
went in clouds between us.
“Do you see that?” she asked in a high voice,
hard with anger. “If you or any other of your
accursed Red Band dare to set foot in Marmaduke
Hall again, I shall put you in that pot. Ay, if it is
old Kilian himself, I shall drop him in. Do you
hear me?”
She looked as if she meant what she said; for
all that, I could not forbear a smile. She peered
into my face for a moment and then her expression
seemed to relax a little.
“Why do you laugh?” she asked. “You are impudent
like your master. I have a mind to let my
dogs loose on you. I understand that that is a
favorite trick at the manor-house. But I shall not
do it. Come with me. I have a last message to
send the honorable patroon.”
When we were back in the great room again
she closed the door behind her. Then she fell into
.bn 183.png
.pn +1
a spell of laughter which was so loud and hearty
that I thought she was in hysterics. After a moment
she stopped as violently as she had begun,
though her body still shook with suppressed merriment.
“What would they think,” she said as soon as she
could get her voice. “What would they think if
they could hear me laugh like this with a man
of my sworn enemy’s at my elbow? But be sure
you do not let him send you here. I should put
you in the pot if he did and that would be a great
pity. Yes, I should put you in the pot, even you,
as sure as your name is Michael Le Bourse.”
It was now my turn to be amazed. The fact
that she had penetrated my disguise was disconcerting
in the extreme. She soon set me at
ease, however, by telling me that her suspicions
were not aroused until I smiled at her fierce threats.
“No one in Yorke laughs in my presence when
I am angry,” was her explanation. “But then,
Michael, I knew you were somewhere about in
disguise and I have seen more of you than any one
else in the city. I do not think that you need to
fear that he will recognize you.”
“I hope not,” was my answer. Another meeting
that I had already had helped to dispel my fears.
On my way to Marmaduke Hall I had encountered
Pierre. I accosted him boldly and inquired my
way. Yet Pierre, who had actually seen me since
my change—though, to be sure, he had seen me
.bn 184.png
.pn +1
only by dim moonlight—even he failed to show
the least sign of recognition.
Now that my mistress knew who I was, I
broached a subject that had already been matter
of conversation between us. It was whether we
should let the Earl know of our present undertaking.
Lady Marmaduke had already told me that
the time would come when we should have to jog
our own way if we jogged at all. She seemed to
think that that time had come, though I had serious
doubts about it.
“No, Michael, we must not tell him now. In
fact, I sounded him this afternoon in a roundabout
way without mentioning names. What do you
think he said? He took up a book from the table.
You know he is a great reader and this was one
of those ancient history books where he says the
old play writers got their stage stories from. He
said that it told about once upon a time when Pompey—he
was a Roman general, you know—had
Caesar and Antony and Lepidus to dinner with
him on one of his ships. One of Pompey’s officers
came to him and said that if he would cut
the cables that held his ship he could put out to
sea and he would have all his enemies in his power.
You see Pompey was at war with the other three
and they had met to arrange a peace.”
“What did Pompey do?” I inquired of my lady.
“Just what I asked the Earl. Would you believe
it? Pompey was too nice for that kind of thing,
.bn 185.png
.pn +1
and because he felt he could not do it honorably
himself, he got mad at his officer and cursed him
roundly for not having done it himself, instead of
telling him about it. Such a service should have
been performed before he was consulted. Then it
had been a service indeed. It was very amusing
to see the Earl’s eyes twinkle as he told this story.
I could not resist the temptation to tease him.
“‘What if I have acted on Pompey’s advice,’
said I, ‘and have come to tell you that it is already
done?’
“That greatly agitated him. ‘You cannot. For
the world, I would not have you take me seriously.
I could not descend to such dishonest practices as
that.’
“This made me wince, and I was minded to
give him a sharp answer. But I did not. I put
him off with excuses and he is none the wiser. You
do not still think we had better tell him, do
you?”
I certainly did not, but, for all that, I was uneasy
in my mind. I was not at all sure but that the
Earl was right and my lady wrong. However, it
was now too late to mend. That was a great comfort.
I put a brave face on the matter and resolved
to carry my part through to the end.
But I was to have one more disagreeable reminder
of my danger before I set out for Van
Volkenberg’s. The details of this event do not
matter, but the main fact may as well be told.
.bn 186.png
.pn +1
Pierre, unintelligent as his face had appeared when
I met him, had recognized me. He was so proud
because he had not betrayed his knowledge that he
managed a safe way to let me know about it, bragging
at length of his discretion. The only effect
of this piece of news upon me was to make
me feel still more insecure and doubtful of the reception
I should meet with at the manor-house.
One thought, however, comforted me. Van Volkenberg
had seen me only a few times and then
for only a few minutes at a time. I really believed
that he would not be able to recognize me
after the change wrought by the removal of my
heavy beard. Yet I set out not wholly sure. I
must confess that my heart was beating a little
quicker than usual in anticipation of the result.
.bn 187.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XV | THE SILVER BUTTONS
.sp 2
I set out for the manor-house shortly before twilight,
taking the Boston post road, which led northward
by the patroon’s estate. I passed the Kissing
Bridge, over which I had seen the patroon and
his dwarf ride with a retinue of soldiers behind
them; thence along the doubling road for five miles
till I came at last to a noble park of elms and
beeches. Here the road began to lift, not steeply,
but swinging in broad curves among the tree
trunks, till at last I came to a pause on the crest of
a hill. After breathing my horse for a moment,
I continued my way and soon reached a terraced
lawn dotted with shrubs, and all of an exquisite
softness of color. A fringe of cedars hid the offices
and out-buildings, though the side of the manor-house
was in plain view. When I reached the front
of the rambling stone building, a servant in livery
took my horse, and another showed me into a reception
room, where I was to wait till he took my
name to his master. Soon he returned and desired
me to follow him.
I found Van Volkenberg in his study, surrounded
by papers and maps; he was evidently deep
in the business of his estate.
A dog—it looked like the one I had fought with,
.bn 188.png
.pn +1
though I thought I had killed him—this dog rose
at my entrance and stood by his master’s chair,
growling sullenly. The patroon looked up with
an expression in his face that showed neither irritation
at being interrupted nor pleasure at seeing
me. He was dressed from head to foot in black
except for a dark crimson skull cap that confined
his silver gray hair. He was seated by the table
when I entered, but rose politely to bid me welcome.
“Monsieur St. Vincent,” he said with a dignified
inclination of his head. “C’est bien.”
I made a low bow, pleased to hear my native
tongue. Then I stood erect with one hand on the
hilt of my sword, the other resting upon my hip.
I threw as much bravado into my appearance as
I could, for I was playing a bold game and the
patroon did not look like a man who would be
taken by a cringing manner.
“Patroon Van Volkenberg,” I began, in order to
introduce my errand, “I have come to ask a favor
of you.”
“Ah,” he returned pleasantly. “Favors are what
I like. Pray be seated. Louis, a chair for Monsieur
St. Vincent.”
It was the dwarf, Louis Van Ramm, who had
escorted me into the presence of the patroon. He
now set a chair for me and, at another signal, withdrew.
He seemed to obey his orders a little sullenly.
I am not sure but that the signal for his
.bn 189.png
.pn +1
withdrawal was repeated before he noticed it. This
behavior surprised me, for I had heard much of the
discipline of the Red Band and of the despotic rule
of Van Volkenberg.
“Now, sir,” continued the patroon as soon as
we were alone. “Now, sir, I am at your service.”
“It is to be admitted to yours that I have come
to you to-day.”
“To mine; to my service do you mean?”
“Yes, sir.”
“For what reason?” he asked, gazing at me with
his keen, penetrating eyes.
“From what I hear of the condition of the city,
I am led to believe that you have plenty of work
for a soldier who has honorable scars to show.”
“You mean, I suppose, that some one has told
you that there is fighting to do in the Red Band.”
“I was informed, indeed, that there was fighting
recently on the Slip.”
“No ‘indeed’ about it! A mere brawl. A street
fight among drunkards. Is that the kind of fighting
you are anxious for?”
“I shall not choose the quarrels if your honor will
let me help to settle them.”
“You have a clever way with your tongue, monsieur.
But why did you come to me? The Earl
of Bellamont is the man of all Yorke whom it is
good to fight for at present.”
“True, sir. But I came to you for the simplest
of reasons. He will have none of me.”
.bn 190.png
.pn +1
“Hush, you brute,” he cried to the dog, who had
begun to growl again. “So you applied to his Excellency,
did you?”
“Assuredly.”
“Assuredly! I like your assuredly and your assurance
too! Why him before me?”
“You have just spoken it; because he is the man
now.”
“Zounds! This to my face! And asking a favor
of me to boot! Back, you brute. Must you fly at
everything I point my finger at?”
The patroon had started up angrily, followed by
his dog, which leaped upon me, or had nearly done
so, when his master caught him by the collar and
dragged him back. The suddenness of the attack
gave me no time to reflect, much less to get out of
the way. Therefore I made a virtue of necessity
and stood my ground with firmness. This apparent
fortitude on my part seemed to raise me considerably
in the opinion of the patroon.
“You are no coward,” he said, at the same time
making an effort to pacify the hound. “How am
I to know that you are not sent here by my enemies
to spy upon me? It is not three days since I
found Caesar nearly dead, and the next morning
there were footprints under my study window.”
Whether it was by mere chance or by intention
that he made this allusion to my former escapade,
I do not know. However, I met his look
bravely and without flinching. For the moment,
.bn 191.png
.pn +1
he seemed satisfied of my integrity, whatever his
inward thoughts may have been.
“Tell your story, St. Vincent. But mark my
word, if you play me a trick I shall have you
lashed.” He hesitated a moment, then added, with
his eyes upon me as before: “Ay, or worse than
lashed.”
“When you find me false, it will be time to talk
of punishment,” I answered stiffly. “I am no knave,
but an honest man.”
“Proceed; it is the only way I can get rid of
you.”
“Pardon me,” I retorted, at the same time rising
from my chair as if much offended at his rude rejoinder.
“I have no desire to serve you. There
are some things that become neither a gentleman
nor a gentleman’s master. I shall rid you of my
presence as soon as I have delivered a message that
should not have waited on my own concerns.”
“You have a message for me?”
“Yes. Captain Tew desired me to inform you
that his voyage is prospering well, and that ample
return will be made.”
“Tew, Tew, who is Captain Tew?”
“Your honor best knows. He bade me tell you
that. With your permission I shall seek my horse.”
“Be not so quick to take offense. Sit down again
and explain your errand.”
“My only other purpose was to enter your service,
and on that point I have changed my mind.”
.bn 192.png
.pn +1
“Sit down, fool. I take back what I said. Can
you not pardon an old man’s temper?”
Plainly my allusion to the buccaneer had touched
him home. I knew by the look in his face that
by that clew I could wind him round my finger;
but I saw too that I must be careful not to run
my own head into a noose while I made the attempt
to snare him. As yet I had succeeded in arousing
only his interest and, perhaps, his suspicion. For
a moment I stood with my eyes on the ground
as if debating with myself. Then I answered:
“You have spoken like a gentleman. I likewise
retract my hasty speech.”
He gave me his hand.
“We begin to understand each other, Monsieur
St. Vincent. I was wrong in my first impression.
Frankly, I took you for a spy who would not leave
till you had wormed some information out of me.
But I am satisfied. You have not the manner of a
spy. Now tell your tale.”
He fitted the palms of his hands together, idly
paddling the tips of his fingers against each other.
This was a habit, I afterwards learned, that he often
resorted to, especially when he was at a loss to
comprehend the situation. I went on to tell the
patroon a made-up tale of my adventures with the
buccaneer.
“Captain Tew,” I said in the course of my narrative,
“was for helping me, and, as I was bound
for New York, he put me ashore near Gravesoon,
.bn 193.png
.pn +1
telling me to come to you. He assured me that
you and the previous governor, Colonel Fletcher,
were well acquainted with him, and that you were
always on the lookout for a good blade and a
faithful servant.”
I paused as if I had said all that I was going
to say. The patroon, I thought, did not relish my
story. He sat silent, still drumming his finger tips.
From time to time he looked sullenly at me, then
he would drop his eyes to his pattering fingers
again. For several minutes he continued in this
state of agitation.
“I admit that I have seen this fellow Tew,” he
said at last. “I had forgotten the name, but now
he comes back to me. His dealings with Fletcher
and me were before he took to the seas for a livelihood.”
He fell silent. Evidently I had touched him
deeply. I could make a fair guess of what was
in his mind. Would it be safer for him to let
me go free, or to keep me at his side where he
could watch me? If I were really a spy, I must
possess some dangerous information concerning his
dealings with the buccaneers. On the other hand,
if I were what I said I was, he could make good
use of me in the Red Band. As we sat silent I
heard a distant bell toll.
“Our evening service,” said the patroon. “Will
you attend?”
Patroon Van Volkenberg was a Catholic. At
.bn 194.png
.pn +1
that moment, when he asked me to attend a Roman
service, I had more ado to preserve my self-control
than I had had for many a day. So violent
was my anger, and so difficult to suppress, that I
resolved on the instant to make a desperate move
in order to protect myself against similar temptations
in the future.
“Mynheer,” I said, “I see by your face that
you trust me. I must be plain spoken with you
if I expect the same from you. I cannot attend
your service because I am a Protestant. I am
not only that, but a refugee, and I despise—”
“Softly, softly,” he returned, lifting his hand as
if to calm me. “I understand your feelings, but
you will not find them shared. I’ll trust a Protestant
as well as a Catholic. Curse their religion,
but they are honest men. King Louis broke the
best bone in his body when he sent you away. But
I am not a fool. The devil himself may serve me
if he serves me well. I respect you for that.”
I rose from my chair and he rose likewise. For
a moment we stood fronting each other. I saw
by the look of his eye that he was still in doubt.
The moment had come for me to play my last
card.
“This button,” said I, handing it to him. “This
button was given me by Captain Tew as an introduction.”
While he was examining the button with great
.bn 195.png
.pn +1
interest, I continued to dwell on what I thought
were significant details.
“The jolly captain cut it off his coat,” I said.
“I remember how he drew his cutlass and cursed
it roundly as a clumsy tool for such a service. ‘Take
the button,’ he said. 'It’s a high price I pay you,
for I value the name that’s scratched on the back.
By my soul! If Tommy Tew is ever taken, there’ll
be some damning tales in Yorke about the governor
when they come to examine the buttons on
his coat.'”
“Fletcher was a fool to send him those buttons,”
exclaimed Van Volkenberg. “But give me your
hand, St. Vincent. You shall be my man. In the
morning, if you still desire it, you shall put the
red band upon your sleeve.”
With that we shook hands.
“What ails the brute?” cried the patroon, for
the dog was growling again and walking about me
in sidelong circles.
Small wonder that he showed a strong aversion
to me! I supposed that I had left him dead from
our struggle in the woods. Doubtless his sides
and neck still ached from that encounter.
“Perhaps I can quiet him,” I said, smiling to
myself.
But when I put out my hand towards him he
bounded back with a yelp of terror. Then he
dashed through the door and was gone.
.bn 196.png
.pn +1
“Humph!” exclaimed the patroon. “Like his
mistress half the time.”
“His mistress?” I cried in surprise, for I had
thought that the dog belonged to the patroon.
“Yes,” he answered, a frown gathering on his
face. “Caesar belongs to a crazy old hag who
lives in the hills. Meg of the Hills we call her.
Poor Meg!”
I thought little of the dog’s behavior then, but it
was to come home to me before the night was
over. Meantime, I felt more or less despondent,
though, for the life of me, I could not say why.
I had played my hand boldly and I had won. I
was now, or should be in the morning, a member
of the Red Band. I should be able to ferret out
the patroon’s secrets. I hoped to be able to trip
him up and thus put an end to his evil practices
forever. Yet when we clasped hands in final agreement,
I felt instinctively that I had met my match.
Could it be that there were two play-actors in Van
Volkenberg manor that night when I thought that
there was but one? Did he see deeper than he
pretended to see? Was he, as well as I, playing
a part? Time alone could tell. But nothing is
ever mended by worry; the thought of this old
maxim soon drove away my fears, and my spirits
rose in consequence.
.bn 197.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVI | “FIRE AND SLEETE AND CANDLE-LIGHT”
.sp 2
Of all the crises of my life I am accustomed to
think of the presentation of my silver button to the
patroon as the most important. Nor did I underrate
it at the time. On that night, when the manor
was settling itself to sleep, I walked restlessly on
the wide terrace, taking account of the game as
it stood, of the cards in my hand, and reckoning
forward on the play of the morrow.
The manor-house was a rambling stone structure
of two stories. It abounded in irregular corners,
and in long, gloomy corridors which crossed and
forked as intricately as the streets of a city. On
the north side, the side visible from the window
of my room, there was a wide terrace. When I
stepped upon it, it was mostly in the deep shadow.
Here and there, however, the moonlight broke
across it in narrow silver bands.
I was thinking about my new master and about
the danger of my situation. Lady Marmaduke
and Pierre had both penetrated my disguise. Was
the patroon as keen-eyed as they? Had he recognized
me also and had he guessed the secret of
my presence? I recalled every word he had said,
and every expression of his face, even the idle tapping
of his finger tips. The more I pondered the
.bn 198.png
.pn +1
more I was at a loss. I could make nothing of
the patroon’s action beyond what appeared on the
surface. So I gave over thinking of him and thought
of pleasanter things.
There are few joys in this world greater than
the approach of danger when it courts success.
But when the certainty of success is absent one
has not far to go to find happier stuff for musing.
My mind was soon full of the girl Miriam. Here,
in the very bosom of my enemy’s house, where I
was a spy in constant peril of my life, I had found
one who, if not exactly my friend, had, at least, a
strong claim upon my gratitude. I had no doubt
now that I had met the patroon’s daughter when
I wandered in my trance, and that she had given
me the miniature which I wore about my neck.
In my dreams I had thought her an angel. To my
waking eyes she appeared no less beautiful. Her
tall, graceful figure, her calm eyes and dark hair,
above all, her pride and her affection for my sister—all
these qualities together won my heart.
Though she was a Catholic, I could not cease to
think of her as I had seen her when I crouched
beneath her father’s window, when she stood
bravely facing his headlong anger on behalf of the
girl whom she must have considered as a common
servant. I made up my mind to protect her. I
recalled the goblet that I had seen shatter against
the wall. The idea of her needing a protector was
not an idle dream.
.bn 199.png
.pn +1
While I was thinking about her she came towards
me, walking slowly along the shadowy terrace. I
first spied her white dress shimmering in the dark;
then she stepped into a band of moonlight and her
whole figure became radiant. I took off my hat,
but she passed me without a word or even a bow
of recognition. She seemed to have come out upon
the terrace for no other purpose than to take the
air. She continued to traverse it back and forth
without paying any attention to me. Only once
she seemed to notice me. Then she stopped in
front of me, was about to speak, lifted her head
proudly, and passed on.
While we were thus, a distant sound broke savagely
upon our ears. The night had fallen very
still, so still you could count the chirping crickets.
A fringe of birches in the moonlight looked
like a row of peering ghosts. The sudden sound
that broke the stillness seemed at first to be some
one calling out. It was coming nearer, though
it came and went drearily. At times it was almost
like a song. Occasionally it rose to a long mournful
wail; after that there would be silence.
Mistress Van Volkenberg stopped to listen. She
stood so near me that I could have touched her
with my hand. I could hear her breathe in long
gasping breaths. “She must not come to-night,”
I heard her mutter. “If I could only warn her
back!”
“I am at your service, madam.”
.bn 200.png
.pn +1
“Hush,” she said. She stepped a little closer to
me and continued: “It is Meg of the Hills, a poor
crazy woman. But I love her. She used to be
my mother’s servant.”
“Is it not safe for her?” I asked.
“Her wild ways anger my father,” was her simple
answer.
I needed no further explanation to know why
she dreaded a meeting between the two. After
five minutes, during which we listened in silence,
Meg appeared at the edge of the wide stretch of
turf that surrounded the house. She was still chanting
her wild song, which was unlike any music I
had ever fancied. Behind her, nosing her skirts,
came the hound, Caesar, who had fled when I offered
to touch him. I inquired again whether I
should convey a warning message to her.
“No,” answered my companion. “That would
distress my father also. Let us wait.”
The woman and the dog came nearer. They
were about to pass us when the latter suddenly
stopped and began to growl.
“What is it, Meg?” said my companion in a
soothing tone. Then she gripped my arm tight.
Her fingers trembled with excitement. I looked
around for the cause and saw that her father had
stepped upon the terrace. Meantime Meg of the
Hills had caught sight of us. She stopped singing.
The light fell upon her angular face, full of lines
and ridges. Her long white hair streamed like silver
.bn 201.png
.pn +1
down her back. Suddenly she stretched a long,
skinny finger at me. She threw back her head like
a baying dog. And she wailed in a grewsome
drone:
.pm start_poem
“Fire and sleete and candle-light,
And Christ receive your soul.”
.pm end_poem
“Meg,” cried the patroon sharply, and in a moment
was by her side.
Mistress Van Volkenberg put her lips close to
my ear. “That is a bad omen and they are superstitious
here. Be wary of yourself to-night.”
I gave full heed to what she said, for the scene
was already telling upon my nerves. But what
did it mean? My companion would not stop to
explain her warning. The patroon disappeared
round the corner of the house with his witless
charge. I remained alone upon the terrace like a
man awakened from a dream. Yet this time I
knew that it was no dream.
I did not forget her warning. When I shut the
door of my room I looked to the priming of my
pistols, drew my sword from its scabbard, and then
lay down upon the bed without undressing. Some
time later I awakened suddenly with the consciousness
that I had been struck in the face; not a heavy
blow, but a light one as if by some small object.
I sat still, listening. Soon there came a sharp click
upon the floor, then another as of something striking
against the window frame. Someone was surely
.bn 202.png
.pn +1
throwing pebbles into my room from the outside.
I rose and went to look out of my window, which
was on the second floor. Below me in the moonlight
stood Meg of the Hills. Her skinny finger
was raised to her lips for silence. For a moment
her features showed intense—what was it? Hatred,
anger, fear—I know not. Then she threw up her
hands, her head fell back, and she sang:
.pm start_poem
“Fire and sleete and candle-light,
And Christ receive your soul.”
.pm end_poem
She pointed her hand at me, pronounced the
words, “Be wary,” and was gone swiftly like a
shadow on the water. What struck me most was
her changed manner. Early in the evening, I had
heard her singing in a wild, harsh screech. Now
she spoke under her breath, cunningly, as if in
secret. Was she warning me and was there cause?
A narrow balcony ran along one side of the
house at the level of the second floor, passing just
in front of my window. At that moment I heard
a casement open and some one step on this balcony.
I drew back into my room, catching up my sword
and pistols. I smelt danger in the air, though as
yet none was visible. Suddenly I concealed myself
behind the hangings on the wall. I did this
because I saw some one come cautiously to my
window and peer through it into my room. I
looked again; I could not be mistaken; the figure,
.bn 203.png
.bn 204.png
.bn 205.png
.pn +1
the white hair; yes, it was Louis Van Ramm, the
patroon’s dwarf.
.il fn=i_186f.jpg w=350px ew=60%
.ca
“I THOUGHT HE WOULD SURELY
HEAR MY BREATHING”—p. 187
.ca-
The room was too dark for him to see my bed.
He listened for a short space of time, during which
I thought he would surely hear my breathing. Then
he crawled cautiously through the casement into
my room. He was followed by a strapping fellow,
almost a giant, armed with a huge two-handed
sword. They had scarcely entered my room when
I saw the patroon behind them upon the balcony
just outside the window.
“Be quick,” he said in an undertone. “He may
wake at any moment.”
The giant who had followed Louis stepped forward
at this command from his chief. He stopped
three feet from the side of the bed. I could see
him outlined against the window though it must
have been all dark to him. He poised the great
clumsy weapon for a minute, and then swung it
about his head. The blade sang through the air
and fell across my bed with a deep thud. But
for Meg I should have been lying there!
“My God!” shrieked the giant; and I never heard
such agony in a human voice.
“What is it?” cried the patroon in alarm, at the
same time springing into the room.
“There is no one here,” answered the man who
had made this attack upon my bed.
“So much the worse for you,” returned his master.
“Quick; we must get out of here. He is
.bn 206.png
.pn +1
probably down stairs upon the terrace. He may
come back.”
Then I beheld a scene the meaning of which I
could but guess. The fellow who, from his size,
could have overmatched both the patroon and the
dwarf, cast away his sword, which fell with a loud
clash upon the wooden floor. He forgot all caution
in his abject terror. He threw himself before the
patroon and clung to his knees.
“Mercy, mercy,” he pleaded. “Have mercy.”
“Hush,” answered his master. “I offered you life
for life. The man is not here. It cannot be. You
are doomed.”
“I cannot die, I cannot die, I cannot die,” he
wailed.
Louis sprang to the fellow’s side and clapped
his hand over his mouth to smother his cries. Then
the three men prepared to leave the room as they
had come, by the window. The patroon went first.
He walked backward, holding his drawn sword
before him. Louis was in the rear, dragging the
great weapon that the murderer had cast away. I
was soon to behold with horror the sequel to this
scene, from which I had so narrowly escaped with
my life. As yet, however, I could but guess the
meaning of it.
For the benefit of those who are not familiar
with the history of those times, I must repeat what
I have already hinted in regard to the powers of
the patroons. They were much like the barons of
.bn 207.png
.pn +1
the middle ages. They possessed, among other
rights, the right to hold court, to try and condemn
the persons who lived on their estate. It was not
till later that I learned that Patroon Van Volkenberg
had burst all bounds in this respect, and had
carried this right so far that only his influence upon
the island prevented a direct accusation from Bellamont.
The patroons throughout the province saw
with chagrin the growing power of the governor.
It was their hope to end this for all time by some
means, as yet not decided upon. Van Volkenberg
alone, among them all, had had the courage
to come out boldly and arm his household. This
was, to his mind, the only way to advance the
power of his class. The Red Band was the result.
How it failed we shall learn in the following pages.
When the time came for it to fall, it fell completely.
Not a blot of it was left to cumber the
earth. Even in my own day people have forgotten
it. Only now and then do I find anyone who remembers
the Red Band, and the rising of the people,
and the fate of the patroon. But there are
things in that old story of a past time that should
be told, and therefore it is that I have set down
this narrative to preserve a chronicle that has disappeared
from the pages of history so completely
that there are some who doubt its very existence.
The patroon, then, carried his fancied powers to
the limits of life and death. On the afternoon of
my arrival at Van Volkenberg manor, the man
.bn 208.png
.pn +1
who had visited my room in company with the patroon
and his henchman in the dead of night, had
been convicted of a misdemeanor worthy of death.
He was not tried by a regular court such as the
patroon was by law entitled to hold. His offense
was a violation of one of the laws of the Red
Band; and by the Red Band he was condemned
to die. When I understood these facts at a later
date, I had little trouble in understanding what
had taken place in my room. The patroon had
bribed him to kill me. The fellow’s reward was
freedom, escape from the sentence of the Red Band.
How the patroon would have made it right with
his followers I do not know; but so much must
have been true. However, I am getting ahead
of my story. When they left me I knew nothing
of this. Nor, for a while, could I even guess at
the meaning of what began to take place outside
my window in front of the great terrace before the
house.
Two men came out bearing upon their shoulders
bundles of articles which I did not recognize till
they were stuck upright in the ground at regular
intervals. They were the cressets which I had seen
burning on the first night when I came accidentally
upon the Red Band at drill. Soon they were all
ablaze. Then members of the Red Band began
to gather by twos and threes, walking back and
forth within the hollow square of light. Some were
.bn 209.png
.pn +1
talking; others were singing; all of them seemed
to be under some strain that needed shaking off.
At last, when there were so many of them that
I lost all count, they began to range themselves
in an orderly fashion, facing the house. The lights
flared fitfully, showing me how serious every face
was. Still I was ignorant of what was going to
happen.
I had in the meantime strolled out upon the
terrace. It was not long before the patroon came
out also. He saw me, nodded pleasantly, and faced
the band. What he said to them partially explained
the situation.
“Men of the Red Band: By your own decree,
Ronald Guy has been adjudged guilty of violation
of our laws, and is therefore worthy of death. The
hour of execution has come. Let the chosen ten
step forward.”
Ten men stepped forward from the front rank
of the company. Then, as they drew near the terrace,
I noticed for the first time that ten muskets
were lying there side by side. Each man took up
one of the muskets.
“Only one of these weapons is loaded to kill,”
said the patroon. “The executioner will not know
himself. Let each of you aim as if he did.”
There was a short silence after that, broken only
by the crackling of the fire in the cressets; next
the sound of feet coming. A slow, steady tramp
sounded along the hall. It came nearer, funereal
.bn 210.png
.pn +1
in its slowness. It sent the cold streaking down my
back and I shuddered at the thought. They were
bringing him to his death. He was blindfolded,
but I knew him by his size. He had tried to take
my life. I do not know what else he had done.
Perhaps he merited death. In that dreadful moment
I bore him no ill-will for what he had tried
to do to me. Death is death, and the cold-blooded
savagery of this scene was appalling.
While the condemned man was being brought
forward the patroon was stern and silent. There
was no token of remorse in his face. He betrayed
no embarrassment when our eyes met. His cursed
band of troopers was silent and still like so many
statues. Now and then I would see an eye blink
that was turned just right to reflect the light. I
saw no other sign of life, though once I thought
the whole band took breath together.
This execution in the dead of night was a cruel
scene. The air was still. The wild flames of the
sputtering torches was like hell. They sent long
shadows leaping into the dark to lose themselves
in the forest beyond. Nothing is so mysterious and
so ghastly as many human beings crowded close
together, and always still, still, still as death. The
strain of what I looked upon became almost unendurable.
I wanted to cry out. I wanted to say
they should not do it. In a moment I should have
shrieked. But relief came from an unexpected
source.
.bn 211.png
.pn +1
The prisoner was told to stand still. The patroon
made a sign to the chosen ten. They lifted
their muskets to fire. I gripped tight hold of the
railing in front of me. I shrank back and closed my
eyes. The next moment I should hear the quick
report of the guns and smell the deadly powder.
Instead, a shrill owl-hoot broke upon the air. It
was a common sound in those parts, but it came
so unexpectedly, when everyone was so keyed up,
that one cry broke from the strained band of
troopers. But it was no owl-hoot after all, only
an imitation. It was followed immediately by the
uncanny voice of crazy Meg:
.pm start_poem
“Fire and sleete and candle-light,
And Christ receive your soul.”
.pm end_poem
“Fire,” shouted the patroon.
The rifles crashed on the frosty air. A dull thud
followed. When I looked up, Ronald lay huddled
in a heap. I put my hand over my eyes to shut
out the sight. When I looked again, Meg was at
his side singing.
.pm start_poem
“Is there ony room at your head, Ronald?
Is there ony room at your feet?
Is there ony room at your side, Ronald?
Where fain, fain I wad sleep?”
.pm end_poem
I was not the only person who had been strained
beyond endurance by the excitement of that moment.
.bn 212.png
.pn +1
The patroon had lost his wits. He sprang
to the old woman’s side.
“Stop your nonsense, hag.”
Again she threw back her head in that peculiar,
dog-like way.
.pm start_poem
“Haud your tongue, ye auld-faced knight,
Some ill death may ye die!
Father my bairn on whom I will,
I’ll father nane on thee.”
.pm end_poem
He doubled up his fist and struck her square in
the mouth. Like a pack of wolves the troopers
fell in with their master’s lead. They began to
howl about her. One gripped her by the hair and
pulled her down. Two others caught her by the
legs to drag her across the terrace. God forgive
them, they hardly knew what they did! I was struck
with horror, then with surprise. For Louis Van
Ramm sprang like a snake upon his master and
caught him by the throat.
“Call off your dogs,” he yelled. “Call off your
dogs or I’ll strangle you.”
The patroon obeyed him like a child. It was
all he could do to control his followers. It was
a grand sight to see the old man plow fearlessly
among them, and try to undo what he had done.
He battled his way inch by inch to Meg’s side.
Soon his influence began to tell. The tumult
stilled apace. One by one the troopers slunk away.
Before long we were all alone.
.bn 213.png
.pn +1
“Meg,” said the patroon with almost a touch
of tenderness in his voice. “Meg, are you hurt?”
The prostrate woman raised herself upon her elbow.
“And if ye dare to kiss my lips,” she sang,
“sure of your bodie I will be.”
“For God’s sake,” cried the patroon. “Will she
never have done with that?”
He threw up his arms and staggered backward
towards the house. His daughter was there to
meet him in the doorway. She put her arm about
him and supported him away. He seemed to have
gone suddenly senseless.
My first care was the old woman. She was unhurt,
though overcome by the nervous shock. I
carried her to a place of safety, the little dwarf
following us like a faithful dog. When we had
revived the old woman, he and I returned to bury
Ronald Guy. All the other members of the band
had disappeared as if they were afraid to remain
on the scene of their lawless deed. We had closed
the grave and were about to part, when Louis put
out his hand.
“I shall not tell you what we have been doing
to-night,” he said. “But I swear, before God, hereafter
to be your good friend.”
With that he went back to old Meg, and I returned
to my room.
.bn 214.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVII | THE EVENTS OF NEXT DAY
.sp 2
Considering the events of that night, one may
be tempted to suppose that I lay awake for a long
time in restless anxiety. But I did no such thing.
I had had a hard day of it, and, in addition to that,
my personal sorrow and the reaction from what
I had passed through, so overcame me that I fell
into a kind of stupor, and slept without undressing.
When I awoke in the morning it was broad day.
The room, however, was not bright, for the shutters,
which had been open when I went to bed, had
blown together during the night. A sheet of dusty
sunlight slanted through the room. I lay half
awake, half asleep, watching the shadows fold like
tapestry in the sunbeams. I tried to see pictures
in them as one does in the clouds of a summer’s
night; and soon I found myself dwelling upon the
grotesque features of the dwarf, and on the words
he had spoken to me when we parted the night
before.
“I shall not tell you what we have been doing,”
he had said. “But I swear, before God, hereafter
to be your true friend.”
I knew that he had spoken the truth. A few
moments before he had been engaged in an attempt
.bn 215.png
.pn +1
to take my life; yet, when he said these
words, his voice rang with unmistakable sincerity.
He looked me in the face, which is not the way of
a liar, and the expression in his face was the expression
of truth itself. Of this fact I was mortally
certain. What had I done to make his feeling
change towards me? We had had but a small matter
of words. I had helped him to carry poor old
Meg to a place of safety. What else had I done?
“Ha!” thought I. “It was she who first warned
me of my danger.” Could it be that there was
some connection between these two, some unexplained
relation that would put a new light upon
the small kindness I had shown her? I sprang
to my feet. Then I discovered—for I had come
fully awake at last—that the door of my room was
shut tight and barred on the outside.
I fell into a rage. Had they not done enough
the night before? Was this some new trap they
had laid for me? I beat and banged upon the floor.
I kicked viciously against the door. It did not
take much of this to bring a response. There was
a clattering of feet in the corridor without, the bolt
was quickly drawn back and then the door flew
open. In the hallway opposite my door stood the
patroon. The white-haired dwarf, peering beneath
his arm, was making strange faces at me from his
half-sheltered position behind his master’s back.
Did he mean them for signs of warning? Beyond
.bn 216.png
.pn +1
these two clustered half a dozen surprised domestics.
Van Volkenberg gazed at me for a moment and
then burst into a fit of hearty laughter.
“So they locked you in, did they? Ha, ha, ha!
I forgot to tell them that there was a new lodger
in the house. We forgot it, eh, Louis?”
He spoke with his usual precision, as if reciting a
lesson. There was no light in his eyes and the
moment he was done talking his face became stolid
and set like one who has said his part and was
glad to be done with it. The patroon was a good
actor, and yet there were times when a child could
see through his artifice. As he turned to the dwarf,
Louis’ face, which a moment before had been
strangely contorted, instantly grew impassive. I
conceived the idea that he had been making signs,
wishing to convey some secret intelligence to me.
Whereupon I resolved to give him a chance to
speak to me in private if he chose to do so.
“By my soul, St. Vincent!” exclaimed the patroon.
“You have slept late.”
“Have I? Indeed, I do not know what time
it is,” I answered, scarce knowing what to say.
The patroon was so ill at ease, so manifestly acting
a part, that I knew it behooved me to be careful
and not to lose my temper.
“It is hard upon the hour of noon,” he continued.
“Come, come; you shall break your fast royally
despite the hour.”
.bn 217.png
.pn +1
We set out along the corridor, which was dimly
lighted and echoed the sound of our footsteps in
a gloomy manner. This was the time to test the
dwarf, and to find out what he had to communicate
to me.
“I have forgotten my sword,” I cried to him.
“Will you fetch it?”
Without a moment’s hesitation the dwarf started
back towards my room. I can see him yet, almost
running in his quick, mincing steps, his half-bent
arms dipping to the same time, and his ill-shaped
head and flowing locks of white hair all bobbing
together in unison. Yet for all this apparent haste
he progressed no faster than an ordinary walk.
I let him proceed but a short distance when I
made some excuse to the patroon and followed his
henchman to my room. When I got there, Louis
was already bending over my bed, where my sword
lay. One arm was up and one heel slightly off
the ground, as if he had suddenly been arrested in
the midst of his capricious way of walking. I
touched him on the shoulder and he collapsed with
startled fear. Evidently he had not heard me approach.
“Louis,” I said, “that was a strange promise
you made to me last night. What did you mean
by it?”
Suddenly his whole figure was transformed. I
saw this change often in the next few weeks, but
then it was new to me and almost took my breath
.bn 218.png
.pn +1
away. When Louis walked he seemed all joints
and quivering elastic bands. Now, like a flash, he
turned to stone—nay, to steel and iron. Every
tremor of his body vanished. Every line in his
face, the very droop of his hair made one feel as
if the Gorgon’s head had been thrust before him.
Then he gripped my hand, and I winced inwardly
from the pain of it.
“Hush,” he whispered. “You can trust me. She
is my mother. Hark! The patroon is coming
back. Let me warn you hastily. There is distrust
here. Do not start whatever you may hear down
stairs. Beware, you are treading on a powder mine.
Believe me. I am your friend. She is my mother.
Let that suffice for reason.”
That moment the patroon returned. Louis began
helping me to buckle on my sword. In a
moment all his rigidity had disappeared and his
old manner returned to him. I had no time then
to think of the suspicion he had referred to, for
the patroon led me down stairs to the dining room
at once. As we traversed the corridor for the second
time, I could hear Louis’ pattering steps behind
us like a faithful dog; and in my mind’s eye I saw
his wagging head and bent arms keeping time to
his nimble step.
As I say, we went below, but had hardly entered
the dining room when Mistress Miriam darted
into it. She was bonneted, dressed in riding clothes,
and her cheeks were flushed with exercise.
.bn 219.png
.pn +1
“Oh, father,” she cried passionately, “Monsieur
Le Bourse is dead.”
“Dead!” echoed the patroon.
At that moment I felt Louis Van Ramm’s fingers
close on my wrist like a vise. In an instant he
relaxed his grip, for the patroon turned to look
at me.
“You are pale,” he said abruptly. “You should
be hungry.”
But of the two, he must have been the paler.
However, he would have nothing more to say to
me till I had eaten. I was not sorry, for, in very
truth, I was as hungry as a bear, and the silence
that followed gave me time to think over what had
happened.
Evidently Louis’s warning and the locking of my
door were pieces of the same cloth. No doubt of
Louis’s honesty came into my mind. I knew by
an experience I had had in France that a deformed
person like this dwarf was likely, however vicious
he might be at heart, to feel a dog-like attachment
to any one who had befriended him. The fact
that Meg was his mother was enough to justify
my belief in his honesty. I felt now that, beyond
peradventure, I might trust in him. But the suspicion
he had warned me against—what was that?
What could it be but that I was discovered? I recalled
the fact that both Lady Marmaduke and
Pierre had recognized me. Had the patroon? I
.bn 220.png
.pn +1
confess to trembling at the moment, and I looked
up to see if I were noticed.
“Your hand trembles,” said the patroon. Trust
him for seeing everything that was in sight!
“Trembles,” I answered. “Which?”
“Your right,” he replied, with a vicious smile
on his dark features.
I stretched my right hand out before him as
steady as his own.
“Mere accident,” I said, careful not to show
either too much disregard or too much interest in
what he had just said. “What made you think so, or
did it really tremble for an instant?”
“I thought it did, Le Bourse, but I may have
been mistaken.”
I fell to eating savagely. He had called me by
my right name! Ah, yes; Louis was right. That
was his master’s suspicion, was it? But now I was
fully warned. He should not catch me napping.
I paid no attention to his remark and went on eating.
This behavior seemed to reassure the patroon.
When I next looked up he wore a more satisfied
expression. His elbows were on the edge of the
table and his eyes fixed on the tips of his fingers,
which were tapping each other softly.
“Now you are done eating,” he said at last, “let
us hear her story. Miriam, tell us of your visit.”
I then learned that, for some reason unknown to
herself, Mistress Van Volkenberg had been sent
by her father to Lady Marmaduke’s, in New York.
.bn 221.png
.pn +1
Her errand was to inquire my whereabouts. She
was told at the hall that I was dead and that my
body lay in the small room upstairs, which had
been mine.
“Ay, but was he dead?” interrupted her father.
“Did you see him, Miriam?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I saw him. Oh!” She
shuddered and turned to leave the room.
Mistress Van Volkenberg, then almost unknown
to me, was a woman who could not pass unnoticed
in any place. She was tall and slender, with a high
forehead and piercing brown eyes like her father’s.
What most characterized her, however, was the
color in her cheeks. I have seen her since in sickness
and in health, and always there was the same
color of blooming red, which was the more welcome
for the beauty it gave her face. She was
flushed, perhaps overflushed, when she left the
room, and both the patroon and I noticed it.
“Poor child,” he said softly with a yearning look
in his eyes. “She has had too much excitement. I
should not have sent her.”
Van Volkenberg had little to say for a while.
He was wholly taken up with the news his daughter
had brought. Often he would be in a brown study
for minutes at a time. I said nothing to rouse him,
for I was bound that he should lead our conversation
till I should be less in the dark as to what he
knew about me. At last he seemed to notice how
evident his moody conduct was.
.bn 222.png
.pn +1
“This man Le Bourse,” he said, at the same time
bending his bright eyes upon my face as if he would
read me through and through, “this man, Le
Bourse, was a man I wished to see. Alas the while!
I wish he were yet alive.”
“A friend of yours?” I asked, mustering my voice
as well as I could. I knew instinctively that I was
under examination.
“No, hardly a friend; and yet I owed him some
reparation for an injury. I wish he were here.”
“There is no fetching dead men back to life,” I
said. And then I added: “At least in the flesh.”
“He will not haunt me, if that is what you
mean.”
The patroon walked thoughtfully across the
room, and stood for some time with his back
towards me, looking out of the window across the
broad terrace where I had seen Ronald Guy and
the execution the night before. I could see his
figure relax and droop a little.
“Alas, poor Guy,” I heard him mutter. He could
afford to pity, now that it was all over.
Then his figure against the lighted window stiffened
and he seemed to gather strength again. Two
minutes later, when he turned to face us once more,
he was quite himself. The night before I had asked
myself a question; now I was ready to answer it.
Yes, there were two actors in Van Volkenberg
manor. I was one. The other was the patroon.
And from that moment I conceived a fair notion
.bn 223.png
.pn +1
of how the ground lay between us. Perhaps he
knew me, perhaps not; but, at any rate, he suspected
me, and this was like to prove my ruin. I
recalled just then one of the war cries of the English
revolution that my father used to talk so much
about. The King and the parliament were pitted
one against the other till the bitter end. It was the
great church hero, Cromwell, so my father used to
say, who first foresaw what the end was going to be.
Then grew up that motto, “Thy head or my head,”
which neither Roundhead nor Cavalier forgot for
many years.
Thus it was between Van Volkenberg and me.
Disclaim superstition as I would, I could not resist
the idea that fate had had a hand in our first meeting
and had molded subsequent events. Van Volkenberg,
as I learned later, regarded me with even
greater superstition than I felt towards him.
Though I managed to allay his suspicions for a
while, he never seemed quite free in my presence,
even when he took me into his confidence and made
me his right hand man.
As I said, he turned towards us from the window
overlooking the terrace, and his manner was quite
composed.
“Come to my room,” he said cheerily. “I have
something of importance to say to you. You may
come, too,” he added to the dwarf.
We went to the room where he had first received
me when I came to the manor-house to present my
.bn 224.png
.pn +1
silver buttons. I glanced warily around the room.
There were the books and the maps on the walls,
the table littered with papers, and the windows on
one side flooding the center of the room with light.
I was with my face to the window and the patroon
stood opposite me.
“Sit.”
As he jerked out the short monosyllable, he
waved his hand to Louis and me. The dwarf
climbed into a huge chair and collapsed loosely into
a heap till you would hardly have recognized in him
a human being.
The patroon, however, made a more striking
figure. He was dressed all in black, save for the
crimson cap he always wore in the house, and the
pale lace about his neck and wrists. His long black
coat was trimmed in silver buttons artificially darkened
till they were of a deep grey. His knee
breeches and hose were also black. His shoes, instead
of being fastened with huge silver buttons, as
was the custom, were tied with narrow black ribbons.
His black robes set off his silvery hair—prematurely
white through trouble and disease—with
superb effect. The only other bit of color about
him was the gold head of his ebony cane, which
he held between his thumb and forefinger, as if he
were about to lift it lightly from the floor.
But all this description of how the patroon looked
is the result of a moment’s glance and after recollection.
For almost in an instant I forgot everything,
.bn 225.png
.pn +1
and saw only those eagle eyes like jewels
gazing at me. Was it the dove and the serpent over
again? No, no, Patroon Van Volkenberg. You
have a man to deal with this time. “Thy head or
my head,” saith the King.
At last he spoke to me.
“If you are to cut a figure in the Red Band, you
must know somewhat of my affairs. I spoke a while
ago of a man Le Bourse.” He kept his eyes fiercely
on me. “I have cause to hate this dog, for I hold
him little better than a dog. If I ever have him in
arm’s reach—you saw how I dealt with Ronald
Guy?”
“Yes, I saw it. What is your grievance against
Le Bourse?”
“I have done him wrong.”
“Therefore you would do him more?”
“Is not that logic? I would break him upon the
rack. Bah, he is no fool. I must watch him close.”
“I thought he was dead.”
“Ay, dead if not alive. Lately he had the impudence
to hang about that very window and spy
upon my affairs.”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, but he
kept his eyes on me. I saw through his plot clearly.
He did not know that I was Le Bourse, but he
thought so, and wanted me to betray myself. I was
more than a match for him, however, as events soon
proved. He told me briefly what he knew of my
escapade of a few nights before and how it led up
.bn 226.png
.pn +1
to his expulsion from the privy-council. All the
while he watched me narrowly, though now and
then glancing for a moment at Louis, who seemed
more asleep than awake in the great chair. At last
the patroon let his cane slip. It came down with a
startling rattle upon the floor, and when he picked
it up again he leaned back in his chair with a silent,
sullen manner. He was evidently at the end of his
string for that moment. My first ordeal was over.
He had tried me in the balance and found—nothing.
Evidently the patroon was not convinced one way
or the other.
He did not wait long before he was at me again.
This time he took a new tack that was harder to
resist ten times over. He began to talk about Ruth.
So long as his thrusts were aimed at me alone the
game was in my own hands. But he played strong
cards when he alluded to my sister. I had much
ado to control my feelings. He must have seen me
wince more than once. But, besides an angry flush
or two, or a sign of sullen humor, I did nothing to
increase his suspicions, though, on the other hand,
I did nothing to allay them. For my part, I was
drawn tight as a harp string. I felt that one more
twist of the key would snap me, come what would.
Then it all ended suddenly and in a marvelous
way. Just as I was at my wit’s end for self-control,
I heard the patroon gasp and cry out:
“My God, St. Vincent, do you know whom I
took you for? I thought you were Le Bourse.”
.bn 227.png
.pn +1
They say it is nearly a hundred years since the
English play writer wrote his Hamlet; yet it is so
good a play that it can still be seen upon the London
stage. I well remember a scene in it where
Hamlet is laying what he calls a mouse-trap to catch
his uncle Claudius. Hamlet has the players play
something like the murder of his father before the
King. Hamlet thought that if the King were guilty
he would betray himself by some sign. Once in
dumb show and once in real acting the murder was
performed before the King, who remained calm
and silent, betraying no sign of guilt. This failure
of his plan so exasperated Hamlet that he broke
down himself and flew into hysterics singing little
nonsense songs. In the confusion, the King called
for a light and took his leave. But I could see from
the expression of his face that another moment
would have broken him.
This was the situation of the patroon. While he
had been piercing me with one prong of the fork
the other turned and twisted among his own nerves.
It was when my calm behavior became too much
for him that he broke down pitifully, crying that
he took me for Le Bourse. Hardly had he said it
than he repented; but it was too late. For very
shame he had to disguise his suspicion now. So
he carried on his play-acting; but I was well aware
that the confidence he now pretended to show in
me was acting like the rest.
“Well, well, well. I’ll just tell you all. Henrie—I’ll
.bn 228.png
.pn +1
first name you now because you are in the Red
Band—Henrie, do you know how near you were to
following Ronald Guy? Ronald was a good man
in his way, but there was no obedience in his bones.
Louis, whom did we take St. Vincent for?”
The dwarf looked at me for a full minute before
he said a word. Then he replied:
“We took you for Michael Le Bourse.”
“Ay, that we did,” continued Van Volkenberg.
“Do you remember Caesar? We set him on your
track last night. Where do you think he went?
Straight for my study window on the outside. Perhaps
you don’t know that this Michael Le Bourse
stood out there the other night—well, if he were
not dead he should feel my hand.” The patroon’s
face clouded for an instant; then he continued:
“When the dog went there I thought that you were
Le Bourse in disguise, for there is a familiar look
about your eyes, and I only half believed your story.
But Ronald’s business pressed, and after that Louis
held out that it was all a mistake.”
“It was,” mumbled the dwarf.
“Yes, yes, stick to it. Louis is a bulldog to his
belief. Nothing would suit him but to try the
hound again. This time he led us a long chase to
a place where Louis had met some friends of his
by Webber’s tavern—never mind who they were.
Do what we could, the hound would not take another
scent. So Louis stuck out that there was no
meaning in it at all, and I had to give in to him.
.bn 229.png
.pn +1
But fast on that came a report that you—I mean,
Le Bourse—had gone post for Albany. I’m quick
at putting two and two together, and I said to
Louis: ‘Not at all. He’s gone post to the Hanging
Rock.’ It came close to going hard with you
then.”
“How did it come to pass otherwise?” I managed
to say in a tolerably firm voice.
“Let Louis tell. It was his doing. Speak up
my little hawk.”
He lifted his impassive face slowly. “It is my
habit to make sure. The master could not go. The
young mistress was the only other one who had
seen you. I said, 'Send her.'”
“And she found you dead.” The patroon laughed
loudly at his joke. “Yes, she found you dead. So
that settled my doubts. Here is my hand. Welcome
to the Red Band.”
After a few more words he dismissed the dwarf
in order to talk to me alone.
“St. Vincent,” he began, “I have a delicate task
for you to undertake. Doubtless you know that I
and my household are in bad repute in Yorke. You
see, this putting arms into the hands of my retainers
is a new custom in the province. We patroons are
bound to get the power, but I am the only one
who has had the courage to begin in the proper
way. The gossips tell strange stories about me and
mine. I keep them away from the ears of Miriam;
but—God bless her!—she loves to see the gay
.bn 230.png
.pn +1
sights of the town. I shall let her ride to Yorke
this afternoon and you shall ride with her. Mind
you keep her ears stuffed with wax against the
common murmur. That is your task.”
Towards three o’clock I stood before the terrace
beside our horses awaiting Mistress Miriam’s coming
out. Soon she came. The blood mantled in
her cheek and she drew back when her eyes fell
upon me.
“I thought I should go alone or with Annetje,”
she said to her father.
“I think that Monsieur St. Vincent will be better
company. Pretty maids like you should not ride
alone nowadays.”
Whether she objected to riding with me, or
whether she suspected that I was set as a spy upon
her, one could not have told from anything she said
or did. She thanked me kindly, so kindly for my
trouble, that I did not feel the pain of her refusal.
She bade me lead her horse back to the stable and
then re-entered the house.
I had hardly taken the saddle off when Louis
came in all apant with running.
“Put it on again,” he cried. “She has changed
her mind.”
I resaddled the horse. Five minutes later Mistress
Van Volkenberg stepped upon the terrace.
She wore the same riding habit as before, but this
time she wore a mask that concealed her features.
When I helped her to mount, she bowed her thanks,
.bn 231.png
.pn +1
but did not speak to me. Soon we were riding at
a rapid pace through the park towards New York.
I rode behind as fitted a man in my position.
When we neared the Kissing Bridge she reined in
her horse slowly till we rode side by side. I wondered
at her action. Something little Pierre had
said about Annetje and the way she always made
him go before when they crossed the Kissing
Bridge caused a shadow to fill my heart. Was my
young mistress—? I did not have time to follow
the thought further before she laid her hand upon
my bridle. Both horses stopped with their front
feet upon the bridge. I could see her eyes twinkling
through the holes in her mask.
“Why do we stop?” I asked.
“Why do we stop? Why don’t you—” She laid
her hand lightly upon my shoulder. “Why don’t
you kiss me?”
I started back suddenly. My companion burst
into the happiest, merriest peal of laughter I ever
heard.
“What a coward. I shall tell Pierre.”
With that she snatched off her mask. To my
astonishment, I saw the dancing black eyes of my
mistress’ maid, Annetje Dorn.
.bn 232.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVIII | ANOTHER SECRET BURIAL
.sp 2
My astonishment was so complete that several
minutes passed before I could find voice enough to
ask what this deception meant. Annetje soon
quieted her laughter and was ready to explain.
“My dear mistress,” she began, “is an angel out
of heaven. She is always making chances for me
to see Pierre. To-day, when she would not go to
Yorke with you, I begged her to let me go in her
place. She is so sweet. She can never bear to
say ‘no’ to anything unless someone does wrong.”
Annetje indicated what would happen then by a
disconsolate shrug of her shoulders.
“I don’t know why she should have taken such
a liking to you. I dare say now, if you had been
here longer—oh, I don’t mean that at all. I think
you are very—very—Shall we ride towards
Yorke?”
I could not help laughing a little at Annetje’s
embarrassment.
“Mistress Annetje,” I said.
“I’m a bond-servant, sir. Plain Annetje, if you
please.”
“Plain Annetje, then, what is your purpose
now?”
“To put on my mask again. Now, I have it
.bn 233.png
.pn +1
placed; will you tie it in the back? Look, here in
my face; is it right? Do my ears show under the
bottom?”
All this occurred on the Kissing Bridge. I made
sure as I tied Annetje’s ribbons that she was still
chuckling behind her mask, though she spoke like
a Puritan.
“If you had kissed me I should have told my
mistress. No I should not, neither. We never do
anything she does not like. Do you know how you
touched her heart by crying over that dear little
Ruth we all loved so much? There you go again.
You must be soft indeed. Mistress was telling me
all about it. But here comes Pierre; I knew we
should meet him.”
Sure enough, my friend Pierre was riding on the
road ahead of us, and would meet us in a moment.
“I am going to play the mistress,” continued
Annetje. “You two must ride behind me just the
same.”
I did not know what to make of this meeting
with Pierre. It was not his custom, as I knew very
well, to ride a good horse. He could not be here
by appointment or Annetje would not try to fool
him as to who she really was. Perhaps he had ridden
out in the mere hope of stumbling across me.
He was on a horse I had seen in the Marmaduke
stables, which fact confirmed me in this opinion.
Perhaps he had matters of importance for my ear.
“Ha, Pierre,” I heard his sweetheart say in a high
.bn 234.png
.pn +1
unnatural voice as they passed. “You see I ride in
disguise now. Will you turn and accompany us?
I have a new groom. Monsieur St. Vincent, this is
Pierre, the barber.”
Pierre looked surprised. Evidently Annetje was
not copying with success her gentle mistress’ manner.
She seemed to know this fact, for her next
words contained a half apology for her behavior.
“Don’t look amazed, my little friend. You see
I have a disguise to keep up now, and I practice
by the way. I should have brought Annetje to
accompany me—ah, you wish I had? My father
could not spare us both. You waste too much time
on the little flirt, Pierre.”
“She is severe at times,” he answered mournfully.
“I sometimes grow so weary waiting for her to
come round.”
“Bah! You are a milky lover to say so. I’d wait
a life-time if I were you. Alas, all men are alike!
She is right when she says that you are a white-livered,
chicken-hearted snip of a coward not worth
the cheese in a mousetrap. Pooh, you are a fine
lover. Good Lord deliver me!”
“Oh, Mistress Miriam, does she say all that? If
you only knew how I do everything she tells me,
and stand on my toes from morning till night when
she is around, and I have corns to boot, and fetch
her ribbons, and she won’t even cross the Kissing
Bridge, where everybody does if they are no nearer
than half a mile.”
.bn 235.png
.pn +1
“To the kennels with your love if that is all it’s
worth.”
In her last exclamation Annetje had dropped into
her natural voice. Pierre was so down-hearted that
he did not notice the change; but Annetje, fearing
to expose herself further, galloped ahead and Pierre
took his place by my side. As for me, I had little
enough of sympathy for him, and felt more in a
mood for laughing. If there is anything on this
earth I cannot abide it is a whiny lover. I remember
once a fellow whose opinion of himself was
better than most folks’ and he used to go about
from morning to night with his face as long as a
cucumber thinking all the while of what he might
have been doing while another fellow came in and
ran off with the prize before his eyes. I was minded
to tell Pierre the story of this fellow and how he
went into a decline and died without as much sympathy
as would go to make an ordinary case of the
blues, but he got so quick to work upon his other
concerns that I forgot all about it till the time was
past.
“This is an odd manner for the young mistress,”
he said. “But I suppose she is glad to get out
again. Annetje says that the patroon keeps her
close. I told her that I should ride along the road
here every day. I did not know when I should meet
you, but I knew that you would come along some
day. I wish Annetje had come.”
.bn 236.png
.pn +1
“There were strange happenings at the manor-house
to-day, Pierre.”
“So there were at Marmaduke Hall. I was walking
in the crowd on the Slip when someone put his
hand into my pocket. There were so many people
that I could not make out who it was, but I found
that he had left your letter in my pocket.”
“My letter! In your pocket!”
“Yes, the letter you wrote last night.”
“I wrote no letter.”
“Yes you did. I received it.”
“Not from me. What was it like?”
“It was very short and said that the excuse of
going to Albany would not do; that a messenger
was coming from the manor-house to inquire after
you and must find you dead. We thought it a
piece of foolery at first, though who but you knew
enough to write the letter. But first thing we knew,
Mistress Miriam rode up to ask where you were.
Lady Marmaduke saw her coming and suspected
that the letter was true. So she rubbed my face
with flour, found me a false beard that they used
to act with when they gave plays there, and made
me into your corpse in the twinkling of an eye. If
the tender-hearted mistress had not been full of
tears, she would never have taken me for you, nor
for a corpse either, for I jumped when one of her
tears fell plump into my eye. She just turned away,
saying something about your sister had she been
alive.”
.bn 237.png
.pn +1
I stifled a sob at this. Everyone but me was free
to mourn aloud for Ruth.
“I sent no such letter, Pierre. What do you
suppose it means?”
He had no explanation to give and I offered none
of my own. But I knew beyond a doubt that Louis
was true to his word. Who but Louis could have
warned the Marmadukes in this way? If he had
done so, then he must know who I was. Verily I
was on slippery ground, but there I was, and there
was neither drawing back nor going forward beyond
a certain pace, and that pace was not in my
own ruling. I began to think that the patroon had
an enemy besides myself in the bosom of his household.
Perhaps, after all, it would be through Louis
that I should win out in the end; but I little foresaw
the truth, or the trouble that was to come
before the end, when the clouds should clear above
the band of fallen troopers.
“Yonder is the city wall,” said Pierre. “I had
best not go into town by your side. We should not
be seen together, so I will just take my leave.”
He left me abruptly and turned down a side lane
almost before I knew that he was gone; then I galloped
ahead to overtake Annetje Dorn. We entered
the city, riding one abreast the other. We
had no sooner reached the open space before the
Stadt Huys than a new adventure presented itself,
an adventure which tested my companion’s nerve
to the utmost.
.bn 238.png
.pn +1
“There is the Earl of Bellamont,” she said. “He
will take me for my mistress and speak to me.
What shall I do?”
“You must stick it out,” I answered. “Look
sharp now. This must be gone through with.”
When we first spied the Earl we were in the
midst of a large open place near the fort. Even at
that distance I could mark the easy, erect bearing
that made him the envy of all the horseback riders
in the province. He was bowing right and left to
the many persons he met on every hand, and so did
not see us until we were quite upon him. When
he did see us, however, he bowed low as if he had
met a queen. He was much different in this respect
from his wife. The Earl, in fact, was free with the
ladies and cordial to everyone, but it was a well-known
piece of gossip that he would not let his
wife stir from the fort without a watch. She had
been wild in her youth, and had married him when
she was but a child. Now he was jealous as a
woman about her, but with himself it was a different
matter altogether.
“A welcome greeting, Mistress Van Volkenberg.”
He knew her well enough by the trappings
of her horse, and by the red band on my arm. “I
must tell my Lady Bellamont that you ride now
with a mask. It has always been her wish, you
know, that the maidens of the province should not
be so free with their pretty faces.”
“Your Excellency speaks sweet flattery,” answered
.bn 239.png
.pn +1
Annetje. The bridle trembled in her hand,
but her voice rang like metal.
“And your father—is the patroon well?”
His face clouded a bit, I thought, as he said this;
but there were gentlemen in Yorke in those days
that have passed away, and the Earl of Bellamont
never failed in courtesy to a woman.
“My father is well, your Excellency. This is a
new retainer of his—Monsieur St. Vincent.”
“Ah, Monsieur St. Vincent, you are welcome to
the province. It is always our wish to obtain such
men as you. Broad shoulders and a true heart,
they are the strength of Yorke.” He turned to
Annetje. “We must see your pretty face unmasked
at the Assembly Ball—and Monsieur St. Vincent
also,” bowing to me.
He would have invited the devil himself if he had
come in company with a lady; but had he known
what a revelation I should bring to that public ball
the color would have left his cheeks. But that is
to come. A few more commonplace remarks passed
between us and then we parted.
“I can understand it now,” said Annetje as we
rode towards home. “I often wonder how he keeps
it all away from our sweet mistress; but if all the
men are like that—no wonder. Who would have
thought that he was talking to the daughter of his
worst enemy? Yet she—God bless her innocent
heart—she does not even know that her father is in
disgrace with the privy-council.”
.bn 240.png
.pn +1
“But you seem to.”
“Ay, Pierre,” she answered, indicating the source
of her information.
She turned towards me, taking off her mask as
she did so. We were out in the country again, following
a by-path north of the city where there
was no longer any danger of meeting folk to recognize
us. I had been used to see in her a merry face
sparkling with humor. Now, when she unmasked,
her brows were puckered up, and her childish face
wore a sober, puzzled look.
“Ay, Pierre. I love him if I do tease him. What
is more, I trust him, too. He knows me well.
Your secret is safe with me, Monsieur Le Bourse.
You see that I know all about you. I brought you
out this afternoon because I knew that we should
meet Pierre. I dare say you had something for his
ear if he had none for yours. I do not know why
you are here. I do not even ask. Pierre is your
safety and I am satisfied. But beware; I am a
watchdog to my mistress. If you do anything
against her I’ll cut your throat.”
“Annetje,” I cried. “You can trust me there. I
shall protect her with my life for the love she bore
my sister. Tell me one thing. How is it that she
can stand what is going on at Hanging Rock?”
“She does not know it.”
“How can she help knowing it?”
“Because we all love her. Even the patroon
would lay down his life for her. Do you suppose
.bn 241.png
.pn +1
he is afraid to have her know the truth? It is because
he loves her and would save her pain.”
“I have seen him try to strike her with a glass.”
“It was in anger. He has a strange infirmity
that comes upon him suddenly. He does not know
what he is doing when it has got hold of him. She
forgives all that, her heart is so big.”
“But last night—the death of Ronald Guy?”
“Hush, not a word of that before her. She knows
nothing of all that.”
“But she does know it. She was on the terrace.
I saw her with my own eyes.”
“Yet she does not know it. We are used to the
Red Band drilling at night. I knew what was coming
yesterday, and at night I drew her curtains close
so she could not see what was going on. When
the guns went off she sprang out of bed. She heard
her father’s cry. I could not stop her before she
threw on a cloak and ran down stairs in her bare
feet. She met her father in the doorway taken with
one of his strange fits. She had no eyes for anything
but him. She did not see poor Ronald lying
in a heap, nor Meg.”
“She cannot be kept in ignorance forever. How
long has this thing been going on?”
“Not long. The Red Band is a new thing. It
will bring ruin upon the house. My poor mistress,
when she learns the truth! The truth will break
her heart, she is so strong for right.” The tears
.bn 242.png
.pn +1
were streaming out of the poor girl’s eyes. “Promise
me you will do nothing to harm my mistress.”
“I swear before God I shall protect her.”
Then we fell to musing and rode for half an hour
before Annetje asked me to tie her mask again.
“It is time we were going home,” she said.
“There is some distance yet, for I have led you
round about and we are scarcely a quarter of a mile
from the city wall.”
A hundred yards brought us to the Post Road,
along which we turned to the left, galloping rapidly
northward towards the Hanging Rock. On our
right, not more than a mile from the town was, and
is for aught I know to the contrary, an old tumble-down
tannery. We were approaching this ramshackle
building when five men suddenly dashed
out on us. They were all rough looking fellows,
and each one of them wore a black mask over his
face. In spite of this disguise, I recognized the
hindmost man. The jumbled figure like a mass of
jelly in the saddle—so unlike the stiffness with
which he sometimes rode—proclaimed him to be
Louis Van Ramm. Because of his presence I could
hardly believe this sortie to be an attack upon me
till I heard the cry of the foremost rider caught up
and repeated by the others.
“Down with him. Down with the Red Band.
Fire.”
Four of their muskets rang out at once. I heard
Annetje scream, and expected to fall dead, but I
.bn 243.png
.pn +1
was not even hurt. The fifth man had got so close
to me that he shot off his gun at my very breast.
Then Louis raised the butt end of his musket and
struck me on the head. All this happened so suddenly
that I had not had time even to draw my
sword. When Louis’s gun fell, I reeled. I just
remember Annetje’s shriek, and the hoofbeats of
her horse like a great echoing drum. Next I felt
myself sliding from the saddle, and then all is a
blank to this day.
.sp 2
My grandfather used to say, “Telling dreams is
but another name for lying;” so I shall not speak
of the glorious visions of war and battle that
thronged through my brain before I came to myself
again. But regain consciousness I did, and in the
following manner.
I remembered the drumbeats of Annetje’s horse
as I reeled from the saddle, and when I came to
myself again the first sound that fell on my ear was
the sound of a hammer. I was lying on my back
on the floor of a dimly lit outhouse. Ten feet away
from me two men were making a box.
Luckily I had come to my senses quietly and had
made no noise to attract their attention. For all
the two workmen knew I might be still asleep—or
dead, as they doubtless supposed. I made haste
to stretch myself in that half sort of way which is
as good as none, for I did not really move a muscle;
.bn 244.png
.pn +1
I only strained a little here and there to make sure
I was still alive.
The effect of the blow that had rendered me unconscious
had passed away. Save for the ringing
in my ears and the dull heavy pain in the crown
of my head, I was all right and my wit was as clear
as ever. So soon as I ascertained this fact, and had
recollected the fight on the road, I set myself to
unravel the present situation.
It must have been about sundown, and I soon
discovered that the place where I lay was the old
disused tannery. One of the two workmen I did
not know; the other was Louis Van Ramm. Now
for the first time I had a chance to think what his
presence here meant. Evidently this attack had
been instigated by the patroon—how otherwise
could the dwarf be mixed up in it? But what part
was he really playing? Were all his protestations
of the morning false, or had he joined them only
to hinder the execution of their plans? Then I
remembered that it was his blow that had struck me
down. I cursed him in my heart for it; but I was
soon to learn that I was unjust in this suspicion.
However, despite my efforts to be still, I soon
made a slight noise.
“My God!” cried the workman. “Was that
him?”
“Couldn’t be,” replied Louis. “But I’ll look
again and make sure.”
He dropped his hammer and came mincing to
.bn 245.png
.pn +1
my side. As he bent over me I opened my eyes
and looked square into his face. He hissed between
his teeth for silence and laid his clumsy hand over
my mouth for an instant. Then he got up and
rejoined his companion.
“He’s as dead as a rock, and getting stiff. No
fear of him, Barker.”
“If he’s dead,” returned Barker, “devil a fear
have I. I’ll risk his ghost.” Then he added
after a pause: “I hope we shall get out of here
before night.”
“Little chance of that,” said Louis. “This is not
a job the patroon will have finished in daylight.”
“Is he coming himself to see us bury him?”
“Yes. Get to work. This isn’t much of a coffin;
but, such as it is, it must be finished against his
coming back.”
So they were making my coffin and were going
to bury me. “If they could,” I thought. But perhaps
they had reckoned without me. If I made a
sudden spring I could easily master Barker, or both
of them if Louis proved my enemy. But Louis
knew not only that I was alive, but also that I was
conscious. Had he been playing me false he would
not have deceived his partner. So I observed his
warning to be silent, and lay perfectly still for some
time.
Soon they finished their job, and Barker suggested
that they box me up. Louis assented, and
they came over to my side. I squinted between my
.bn 246.png
.pn +1
lids and awaited some sign from the dwarf. I felt
sure that he had planned something and that it
was my cue to wait. Barker took hold of my hand.
“Why, he’s warm, Van Ramm.”
“Warm,” said Louis. “Nonsense; feel his heart.”
The fellow bent over me. At the very instant,
Louis gave him a prodigious shove from behind
that tumbled him down across my chest.
“Grip him, Vincent,” cried the dwarf. “Grip
him tight.”
I threw up my arms and locked them round the
fellow’s back. Then I felt a sharp twinge of pain,
for Louis had driven his dagger clean through my
enemy’s back and half an inch into my own flesh.
Barker gave a convulsive sob and was dead almost
before I knew that he had been struck.
“Get up, get up,” cried the dwarf, who was tugging
at the body. “Give him a push; I cannot lift
the wretch. There—now get up.”
With that I got up. Louis grasped my hand and
spoke of my narrow escape.
“But we must be quick,” he went on. “Take off
that boot while I do the other. Good. Now for his
coat and waistcoat.”
In five minutes we had the dead man stripped of
his outer clothes. I hardly understood what we
were doing till Louis told me to take off my own
clothes and dress myself in the others. This I did
in a moment, but it was slower work putting my
garments on the body of the dead man. We succeeded,
.bn 247.png
.pn +1
however, and soon Barker lay in the coffin
and the lid was nailed down. I sat safe and sound.
“Now put on his mask,” said Louis, “and we can
talk till the hell-cat comes. What, you tremble!
On my life, your hands are cold. Take this.”
He put a flask of whisky to my mouth and I
gulped down a stifling draught. It was well I did
so, for my spirit was weak and we were not done
with this adventure by more than half. It is a hard
thing to strike a man down like that, even to save
one’s life. I could not reconcile myself to the shame
of having struck him from the back and while he
was defenceless. But Louis had saved my life and
I did not upbraid him with the way he had chosen
to do it.
“Louis,” I said—we were sitting side by side on
the coffin. “What does all this mean? Why did
you call your master a hell-cat?”
“He gave orders for us to lie in wait and kill you.
He thought you were Le Bourse.”
“Thought, or thinks?”
“Thought. He thinks you are the devil now.”
“Wherefore that compliment?”
“Five muskets discharged at short range, one in
your very face; none of them brought you down. I
had to club you with the butt end of my musket.”
“Strange how they came to miss me.”
“Not strange at all. I unloaded them. Hush,
don’t stop to thank me now. They are coming. I
hope he will not want to look into the box.”
.bn 248.png
.pn +1
A moment later the patroon and one of his men
entered.
“Is your work done, Louis?”
“Yes, sir; your orders are always obeyed, though
Barker and I had to sweat for it.”
“Good. You shall have your reward.” (This to
me.) “Now help us carry this out. We have got
the grave all ready.”
The four of us took up the box and marched
slowly out with it. We crossed a courtyard into
another shed. It was dusk outside, but quite dark
where we were going. I could see piles of lumber,
boxes and barrels on either side; and, at the far end,
a couple of disused vats. Everything was gloomy
and still and solemn. Beyond the vats a light was
burning, and here we found the fifth man sitting
beside my—nay, Barker’s grave. The patroon
urged speed, and we were not long in burying the
coffin. Then we covered it with boards and debris
so as to obliterate all traces of our presence and
the grave. When we paused at the end to survey
our work, I heard Louis mutter to the patroon:
“’Tis not the first time we have done a piece of
work like this.”
There came into Van Volkenberg’s face that
dogged look of hate that I had seen in the council
chamber the day I had humbled him in the presence
of his peers. Had I known nothing about him
but that look, I should have known that a day of
reckoning was at hand for the henchman. Van
.bn 249.png
.pn +1
Volkenberg’s only reply, however, was: “Remember
Ronald Guy.”
We were now ready to go out. As soon as we
were on our journey homeward, the patroon
touched me on the arm and motioned me silently
to drop back with him.
“You have done well, Barker. You have obeyed
orders without asking questions. Do you feel no
curiosity to know why he died?”
“It is not my place to observe that men are much
like women in the matter of trifles.”
“Trifles! Do you call the death of a living man
a trifle! Bah; but ’tis a shrewd hint, my honest
man. I shall reward you with my confidence. I
shall not honor the others so. Even Louis does
not know what I am going to tell you. That man
was Bellamont’s spy.”
“Spy,” I cried.
“Yes, my trusty Barker. A spy sent by the
enemy of the Red Band.”
“So perish all her enemies.”
“Do you think so?” asked the patroon in a tone
of condescension, as if he really wanted my corroboration.
“If you really believe that, heart and soul,
I have some work for you that will raise you high
as an officer of mine. There is still another spy in
the very bosom of the Red Band.”
“Another! Two of them! Who is he?”
“That prancing ape ahead.”
“Louis Van Ramm?”
.bn 250.png
.pn +1
“Louis Van Ramm.”
“I am astonished. We all thought he was our
master’s dearest man.”
“So he has been. I have found him out at last.
He is paid by the Governor-Earl to betray us, and
he must die for it. If you will kill him you shall
have his place. Will you do it?”
“You have but to command. Shall I ahead and
do it now?”
“No, no,” he said quickly, laying his hand on
my arm. “There are three of them; besides, this
must be done secretly. To-morrow, at nine o’clock
exactly, Louis and I shall set out for the Hanging
Rock. Be there to meet us. When we are done
with him I have a secret to introduce you to in the
chamber beneath the rock.”
“I shall be there in waiting, master.”
“Good. Be punctual. Now drop back and do
not show yourself in the meantime. I shall join
those ahead.”
With that he quickened his step and was soon
swallowed in the darkness, while I stood counting
his dwindling footsteps.
.bn 251.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIX | I MEET THE PATROON AGAIN
.sp 2
It is pleasant to indulge the habit of speculation,
and to this day I never weary of wondering how it
is that a person can perform acts in a moment of
excitement that he could do at no other time; or
why it is that one often collapses with fear the moment
all cause for anxiety is gone.
The latter was my case when the patroon left me
to rejoin his companions. Ever since my arrival
at the manor-house, I had known myself in great
danger. The alertness required, the readiness to
defend my life at a moment’s notice had caused an
almost continuous strain upon my nerves that was
well nigh unendurable. But, in spite of the two
bold attempts on my life, I had borne up bravely
and had not flinched.
The moment the patroon left me, however, I felt
my courage slipping after him. As I counted his
footsteps, as they became fainter and fainter in the
distance, I began to fear that he would return. Instead
of joy at my narrow escape, I feared lest it
should not prove an escape at all. Suppose Louis
should tell him who I was. I had every reason in
the world to believe in the dwarf’s honesty; the
very fact that I began to suspect him at the moment
he had delivered me from such imminent danger
.bn 252.png
.pn +1
shows the power of the reaction that had taken hold
of me.
My one idea was to get away. But at the first
step my knees doubled under me and I stumbled on
the ground, weak and exhausted. The grass was
wet with dew and when my face and hands touched
it I felt somewhat refreshed. I rolled over on my
back and lay for some time looking up at the stars.
There was one cold star just overhead which I kept
watching as it crept across a narrow gap in the
foliage above me. The stars move so slowly, and
I thought afterwards what a long time I must have
lain there noting nothing but that slow-paced point
of light.
After a while I began to feel ashamed of my
feebleness of mind and body. I recalled how I had
once berated a man for cowardice who was in much
the same plight on that flight from Paris years before
when my sister was a child and in my care. I
began to apply the same words to myself that I had
applied to him then, and presently my spirit was
returning to me. With the change came, fiercer
than ever, my hatred for my enemy. This slaying
a man in the dark and by traps was more than I
could stand. What infuriated me most was the
presence of Annetje in the fray. Of course the
patroon thought that it was his daughter who had
ridden out with me, yet he led the attack in spite of
her presence. Though he knew she would sustain
no bodily harm, he should have remembered the
.bn 253.png
.pn +1
terrible shock it must have given her. This brutality
to her was the match that kindled me into countenance
again. With the thought of it I was on my
feet, with my hand upon my sword hilt, ready to
keep my promise to Annetje Dorn.
But as yet I had no plan. I set out, however, towards
the tannery, resolved to get back my own
clothes. I had no difficulty in finding the way, but
I had no light and it was slow work unloading the
debris we had piled upon the grave. It was done
at last, however, and when I reached the coffin I
pried off the cover with the blade of my sword.
It made me shudder to put on the clothes that the
dead man had worn for so many hours, but I forced
myself to do it and felt the better when it was done.
It was about dawn by this time, and after I had
hidden Barker’s clothes—for I might need them as
a disguise—I occupied an hour, restoring the corner
to its former appearance of undisturbed disorder.
As it was now broad daylight I set out for the
manor-house, minded to stay about till shortly
before nine o’clock, for at that time I knew the
patroon intended to set out with Louis for the
Hanging Rock. I sat down to wait, but soon an
incident occurred that spoiled all the plans I had
been forming in the last hour.
I had taken a seat at the foot of a tree in the park,
merely to wait till later. Soon I heard footsteps,
.bn 254.png
.pn +1
and then saw the young mistress coming with a
basket in her hand. I rose to my feet.
“Mistress Van Volkenberg,” I said.
She gave a scream and dropped her basket. I
was by her side instantly.
“What is the matter?” I asked, excitedly, never
thinking that it was the sight of me which had
caused her to cry out and drop her basket.
“Matter! We thought you were dead. The
utmost search, my father says, revealed no trace of
the ruffians who attacked you. How did you escape?”
For a moment I was in doubt as to whether to
tell her the truth or not. Then we sat down on the
grass and I related the whole adventure to her from
the beginning to the end, keeping back only the
names of the persons who had been involved. Of
the fact that her father had been privy to it, I gave
not the least hint.
How truly Shakespeare knew the innermost
heart of woman when he wrote: “She thank’d me,
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I
should but teach him how to tell my story, And
that would woo her.” As I told my tale her eyes
opened wider and wider. I seemed to stand in her
simple imagination like one of the heroes of old
time. She did not realize that I had done nothing
to help myself, that my escape had all been arranged
for me. Her cheeks glowed with interest
and sympathy. I think it must have been at that
.bn 255.png
.pn +1
moment that the feeling for me was born which led
her to so many kind acts in the next few days.
“Oh,” she cried with a little gasp of breath. “I
am so glad. You are so brave. Let me tell my
father all about it.”
“Mistress Van Volkenberg,” I replied, “will you
grant me a favor?”
“Anything, Monsieur St. Vincent.”
“It is this. Do not tell your father. Do not tell
anyone. Your father is often ill, and if I told him
all it might excite him. Will you leave this to me?”
“Yes, if you wish it.”
“I do. You are very kind. Where were you
going when I alarmed you so?”
“I was going to the woods with a basket of
flowers. Will you carry them for me?”
We picked up the basket she had dropped and
rearranged the flowers that had fallen upon the
ground. Then we set out, taking a footpath
through the woods, which brought us quickly to a
little summer house perched high upon a jutting
cliff.
“This is the Hanging Rock, Monsieur St. Vincent.
It is what gives the name to our estate. It
was called so even before my father got possession
of the rock itself. This is one of the last grants we
received from Governor Fletcher. Governor Bellamont
shows small favor to us.”
Her sweet voice and innocent manner took my
breath away. The relations between her father and
.bn 256.png
.pn +1
the government were what I should hardly expect
her to speak to me about; yet she did speak of them
without the least hesitation or embarrassment.
Could it be that she was innocent of all knowledge
of what went on within the boundary of her father’s
manor? It was an impossible thought at first, yet
I could not associate a knowledge of such things
with the expression of her face at that moment.
Her features were lit up with a gentle sadness, such
as one sees in the pictures of the saints. I could
believe no wrong of her, yet how could I explain
it? Did she not know that her sire had been expelled
in disgrace from the governor’s council?
Was her only knowledge of her father’s faults drawn
from his unkindness to herself? She cut my meditations
short by an abrupt question:
“Will you carry my basket for me? I cut all the
flowers in my garden yesterday and brought them
here.”
She pointed to a large basket and asked me again
to take it up and follow her. I soon knew where we
were going. The vaguely familiar scene grew more
and more distinct as I trudged silently at her back.
I knew instinctively that we were passing through
the same wood where I had wandered in my trance,
where I had met her when she gave me the miniature
of my dead sister. We were going to my
sister’s grave. Yes, I knew the place instantly. I
saw her lift the piece of loose sod which covered the
stone marked with Ruth’s name.
.bn 257.png
.pn +1
Mistress Miriam sat on the grass by the side of
the grave, binding the flowers into wreaths and
bunches which she laid about. When she placed the
last she knelt and clasped her hands in prayer. Her
lips murmured and the tears followed one another
down her cheeks and fell among the flowers.
I turned away, a great pain in my heart. Here
was I by my sister’s grave, yet I could not throw
myself upon it and weep out my sorrow. Her only
mourner was a Roman Catholic. O God, it is not
for me to question the mystery of Thy ways! Thy
will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
.sp 2
On our way home I found it necessary to exert
my full power of self-control lest I betray my secret.
“You are affected,” she said. “It shows that you
have a warm heart.”
“Will you tell me more about her?” I asked.
Mistress Van Volkenberg related how Ruth had
come to New York, and how she had suffered longing
and sorrowful suspense for the brother who did
not come to her. Then she took service. The
young mistress of the manor-house fell in love with
Ruth, as everyone did who knew her. Even the
hard patroon at times seemed to feel her sweetness.
“But he should be forgiven. My father has
strange seizures. He is good to me when his infirmity
is not upon him.” She stopped suddenly.
“I ought not to be talking like this to you who are
a stranger.”
.bn 258.png
.pn +1
I did not feel that we were strangers, but I could
not tell her so. On the way back to the manor-house
a chance word recalled to me her innocence
of her father’s crimes. I followed this clew and
directed the conversation towards a revelation of
herself.
Mistress Van Volkenberg was a woman of high
spirit. Had I not seen her stand out against her
angry parent in defense of Ruth? Yet she was
gentle withal. In our conversation, she showed no
bitterness against her father, who had so little claim
to the honor which she bore him. He must have
been dull indeed not to see his daughter’s worth;
yet I wondered how she could be so blind to his
defects. She soon told me more of his dealings
with her.
“Father does not like to have me go to the city,”
she said. “I wish he did not care, for I love to go.
Yesterday morning was the first time for so long,
and he bade me not to tarry. The merry scenes on
market day before the fort, and the ships coming
and going with all the strange new faces of their
crews—one loves to watch such things. Ah, you
should have been here in the old days when the
pirates came freely into the port. I have seen old
Blackbeard and the Painted Dwarf strutting along
the Battery in silk and cloth of gold like any king.
But the Earl has stopped all that.”
Her face had lighted up with innocent enthusiasm
as she recalled the sights of the gorgeously
.bn 259.png
.pn +1
appareled buccaneers; but the lightness died away
with her last words, and she ended with a sigh.
We had nearly reached the manor when Mistress
Van Volkenberg darted from my side. Almost in
a moment she was some distance away, and kneeling
in the grass.
“Poor little thing,” I heard her croon gently.
When I came to her she was stroking an unfortunate
bird that had broken its wing and lay helpless
on the ground. The kind-hearted girl nursed it
tenderly till its little heart ceased to beat with fear,
and it snuggled safely in her hand. As she carried
it into the house, I could not help but think how
little fit such a place was for the scenes I had witnessed
in the last hour. The house where Ronald
Guy had died, where they had stolen upon me in
the dead of night to take my life, the house which
sheltered the man who was responsible for my adventure
at the tannery seemed no place for an innocent
girl like Miriam, whose tender heart was all
alive with sympathy at the sufferings of the poor
bird she had found in the grass.
“Yes, yes,” she said, stroking it and talking
gently as we walked along. “I shall take it home
and nurse it till it can fly away. I cannot fly away
either, so we shall play together.”
By this time we had nearly reached the house.
For some moments I had been afraid lest this trip
should occupy so much time that I should arrive
at the manor-house after nine o’clock, the hour at
.bn 260.png
.pn +1
which the patroon and Louis were to set out for
the rock. As we neared the house, I espied a man
who was leading their two saddle horses.
“Your father is about to ride,” I said.
“Yes,” answered Miriam. “He and Louis are
going to the Hanging Rock. At least they intended
to last night; I set out too early this morning
to see anyone before I left.”
“Remember what you promised me,” I said.
“My adventure is to be secret. Now, if you will
let me, I shall go ahead and meet your father before
he leaves the
A few minutes later when I stood by the door of
the patroon’s private room, I heard the voices of
him and his curious henchman.
“That Barker is a good fellow,” Van Volkenberg
was saying. “I have a notion to promote him to
some trust.”
“He may be worth it,” answered Louis. “But no
one has seen him since last night. Perhaps he has
run away and will not return.”
“One thing is sure,” replied his master. “St.
Vincent will not return.”
Instantly I drew aside the curtain and stood in
the doorway.
“Patroon Van Volkenberg.”
He started violently at the sound of my voice,
and turned towards me. Then his hands flew up
before his eyes and he uttered a scream.
“My God, my God, it is his ghost. Go back, go
.bn 261.png
.pn +1
back! Louis, try if it be real. Get your sword.
Give me mine. Stop it. Hold, hold; stop it. For
God’s sake, Louis, get between.”
I had come two steps forward, and my approach
seemed to drive him crazy. He backed off, holding
one hand over his eyes, and waving his sword with
the other.
“Can you speak? Why are you so silent? Who
are you? What is your name?”
“Henrie St. Vincent.”
“You are dead. Have you come to call me
hence? Begone. I am not ready yet. I have accounts
still to settle. Away, Sir Evelin. Help me,
help; call my daughter, call Miriam.”
He caught himself up at the last word and
stopped. He was gasping for breath, clutching his
hands tight together in the vain attempt to force
upon himself the mastery of his passion. Suddenly
he called out again.
“Bring my daughter; fetch Miriam or I shall die.”
While Louis went in search of her I remained at
his side. He was moaning pitifully and calling
upon his daughter. Now and then he uttered disjointed
sentences. “I must not let her know—the
Marmadukes—do not look at me with those fearful
eyes—I did not kill you—the pretty Ruth—she
knew my secret.”
And so he raved. Remorse—ah, I too know its
bitter taste—remorse was conquering where no
other foe could conquer. I bowed my head in
.bn 262.png
.pn +1
silence and departed; this was no place for me. I
left him with his daughter.
With this sudden visitation all my plans had vanished.
I had sought his room intending to defy him
to the utmost and to make him fight, and thus it
had all ended. Yet I have not told you half, nor
half of half. I cannot till this day forget the look of
fear and horror on his face when he saw me, whom
he thought dead, standing before him like a spirit
from another world. No, I could not wish even
my worst enemy the anguish he felt at that moment.
Then, as Miriam bent over him, with her sweet
pleading face I realized that it was her father I was
hounding to his death. That was a deeper cut than
all. I knew that a man cannot serve two masters.
Could I serve two mistresses—or three? Could I
avenge Ruth, serve Lady Marmaduke, and protect
Miriam all at the same time? How had I kept my
promise to Annetje? I was in this sullen humor
when I met the dwarf in the hall.
“What did you come back for?” he cried angrily.
“I saved your life and now you have lost me mine.
Do you think life is sweet only to you? Does my
ill-shaped figure, think you, have no love of the
green earth? Ungrateful!”
“What do you mean?”
“I chose the men who were to kill you. I prepared
the weapons that were to shoot you. I
watched by your dead body all the time—at least,
so I swore. Now he has seen you alive and well.
.bn 263.png
.pn +1
Do you suppose the little dwarf will live long after
that? You know his practices on yourself, and I
am not half your size. God’s curse upon you.”
“Louis,” I said, “I had forgot—”
“Forgot what I did for you?”
“No, I shall never forget that. You have a right
to be angry with me. But I have done it; it cannot
be helped. Is there no way I can undo my mistake?”
“None.”
“Think. There must be.”
“There is none.”
“Does the patroon remember what happens during
his attacks?”
“No, it is all a blank.”
“Then let me disappear. You can easily make
him believe that this meeting existed only in his
fevered imagination. I shall go away and not come
back.”
All this while Louis had been sitting a limp heap
at the bottom of the great staircase. Now he rose
and stood on the second step, which brought his
face almost on a level with mine.
“Do you mean that?” he asked, putting both his
hands firmly on my shoulders. “Can you really do
that?”
“I can and I will do it.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“Why?”
“Ah, no, ’twill never do. You could never, never
.bn 264.png
.pn +1
keep yourself away. Besides, I need you here. We
have more in common than you think. I need you
here. Sit down by me on the step. We must form
some other plan.”
And another plan we did form, and that most
quickly. I proposed it and Louis confirmed my
suggestion though, for the moment, I was myself
the more doubtful of its success. When the patroon
regained consciousness, Louis was to relate my
story just as I had told it to Miriam. The patroon’s
own recollection of the events was to be attributed
to some hallucination during his attack.
I had hardly suggested the plan before an objection
occurred to me. Could he ever be made to
believe all this? Louis, however, combated my
fears. He had a bit of information that he had not
yet communicated to me. He had chosen the men
who were to take part in the attack. They had all
come to the meeting place masked, and the patroon
had not stopped to ask who his henchman had
selected for the task. So, except in the case of
Barker, whom he had brought himself, the patroon
was ignorant of the men who had helped him. It
was impossible, therefore, for him to make inquiries
among his men in case he suspected the truth of
Louis’s tale.
There was still another point in our favor.
Miriam had not forgot her promise to me, but her
father asked her such shrewd questions as to what
had happened that she fully believed I had already
.bn 265.png
.pn +1
told him my adventure. Upon that, with no intention
but to emphasize what she supposed I had
already said, she talked over all she knew about
me. Louis’s account, coming after this, seemed
mere corroboration. The dwarf had a cunning
tongue, and at last succeeded in allaying all his
master’s suspicions. Then I was sent for.
“Ah, Vincent,” said the patroon when I entered,
“I have been ill since yesterday, and Louis tells me
that you have been hard used yourself. Tell me all
about it.”
He made me go through with every detail from
the beginning to the end. I could see the nervous
anxiety in his face, and I could guess the drift of
his thoughts when he questioned me concerning
the appearance of my assailants.
He was utterly confused by the discrepancy between
what he remembered and what he had been
told. Yet he often recovered from these attacks
with wild memories in his mind, and he could not
tell whether this was one of them or not. To tell
his suspicions truly, would be to say that he had
meditated my murder. Patroon Van Volkenberg
was too wary a man to disclose his inmost thoughts.
I knew all this was passing in his mind, and that
in my replies about the appearance of my assailants,
he hoped to recognize himself or Louis. But I took
care of that and managed to allay his suspicions
for the moment, though what his future plans were
I never knew.
.bn 266.png
.pn +1
“We must complain of this treatment to the
Earl,” he said. “Now, tell me what happened before,
when you rode to the city with my daughter.
How did you fare? What did you hear? Did she
learn anything of what is said of me in Yorke?”
I told him many of the details of our ride, especially
about the meeting with the Earl, but he was
not satisfied.
“Did you hear nothing as you rode along?
Nothing of what is said of me?”
“Yes, something,” I answered slowly. “But it
was not about you. I heard rumors, but they
seemed to have slight significance. While we were
standing on the Slip, two of the gray coated soldiers—”
“Ay, the governor’s guard; what did they say?”
“There is a fear in the city that something is
going to happen. Omens have been observed. A
wall fell towards the north against a high wind.
A bright light was seen in the northern sky three
nights ago. These things are causing much excitement.”
“Excitement at what? What conclusions do
they draw?”
“I could not hear; someone spoke of an invasion.”
“Fools! It will not come from the north. Pardon
my heat. The County Frontenac is no such
fool. He has tried the wilderness before and failed.
No, it will not come from the north.”
.bn 267.png
.pn +1
“Yet,” said I, “if the French count has tried the
wilderness before, why may he not try it again? If
I were the Earl of Bellamont, I should look to the
defense of Albany.”
“Albany! Why yes, Albany to be sure; Albany
is the thing. I should defend Albany at all hazards.
By my faith, that is an idea, my Vincent. I should
advise the Earl myself, but I am not in the council
now. God’s curse upon that man Le Bourse.”
I wished to change the subject, now that it drew
so near myself, and I wished also to say a word
for Miriam. So I spoke of the Red Band.
“Your instructions to guard your daughter’s ears
make me wonder that you do not see that she must
learn all this some day.”
“All this? What do you mean by that?”
“Your expulsion from the council, the liberties
of the Red Band, the ruin of your house.”
I expected an outbreak of anger in return for
these plain words, but none came. Instead, the
patroon looked at me with eyes brimful of tears.
“You are right. The ruin of my house. If only
I could put it off, but I cannot. Miriam, my
Miriam, it will fall like death upon you; it is coming,
it is coming like a storm.”
“But you can stop it. It is not too late.”
“It is too late. How can I stop it? I expected
the support of my class. They have drawn back.
I stand alone. I cannot go back. Where will my
honor be if I desert my men? I have led them
.bn 268.png
.pn +1
on in defiance of the law. Can I give them up to
justice now? Would you have me play the coward
to save myself? The die is cast. The Red Band
cannot draw back. I must lead them on. I have
no more the power to stop this that I have set my
hand to than you have to stop the sun. Can I
not see the end? I and the Earl! Who am I?
And he has the whole power of England at his
back; but I’ll play the bull-dog till I die. I’ll set the
horseback rider by the ears. The Red Band is not
asleep. Beware, Earl Bellamont, beware. No
maid is playing with you now. Do I not see the
end? Do you think a man stares ruin in the face
and strikes a feeble blow?”
His excitement had led him on; but he was showing
me a deal more of confidence than he thought
wise. He became suddenly more reserved, and
then dismissed me abruptly, as if he repented what
he had said, and did not know how to get rid
of me in any more delicate manner. He gave me
a command to wait upon him later in the day.
With that I left the room.
And so this chapter of my adventure ended; I
had been in deadly peril, and I had escaped; but
I was in the same uncertain state as before. What
would yet come of it? That was my thought,
and only time could tell.
.bn 269.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XX | THE SKELETON IN THE PATROON’S CLOSET
.sp 2
As I glance over the pages I have just written
I wonder whether anyone will believe the record
I have set down. So much happened during the
first three days of my residence at the manor-house
that the recollection of it seems to me now more
like some romance of the old time than of life
here in New York within the memory of people
now alive. Yet these are events not soon forgotten,
and every detail clings in my memory as fresh to-day
as on the day it happened.
When the patroon dismissed me there was a
strange, half-convinced look about him which augured
further trouble. His state of mind was peculiar,
and later events enable me to say pretty surely
what it was. Though I was fairly free from superstition
myself, that was a time when it ran riot. In
that respect, Van Volkenberg was the creature of
his day. He felt many a secret dread that could
never have taken hold of me. Once he had tried
my life at night; and Louis subsequently told me
that my opportune absence when they came inspired
the patroon with the unrighteousness of his
act. He never guessed, nor did I at the time, that
Meg’s warning to me had been due to the prompting
of her son. Again he had tripped, captured
.bn 270.png
.pn +1
and buried me, as he firmly believed, only to find
me in his house the next morning as hearty as
ever. And so I became, to him, an invulnerable
foe; I bore a charmed life. The swift and deadly
blows that made such short work of his other enemies,
had, to all appearance, scarcely a finger’s
weight with me. I grew vaguely conscious of this
superstitious attitude on the part of the patroon
towards me, though not until afterwards did I learn
how heavily the burden weighed upon his spirit.
There was not much difficulty in persuading the
patroon of the truth of the story we had put upon
him to account for my second escape. To him
it was a fearful dream, which pointed yet more
clearly to the fact that I was not the man for him
to meddle with. This fact almost turned the balance
permanently in my favor, though he still had
a lingering suspicion that I was some sort of
spy, and I was to feel still more of his ill-humor
on this score.
I heard no more of him that day. But the next
he set me to some dirty work which was quite beneath
the position in the household that he had
at first accorded me. On the second day he forbade
me to eat at the family table, and banished me to
the servants’ hall. In a thousand ways, he did all
in his power to make my position as uncomfortable
as he could. I resented it much at the time, and
was continually on the point of an angry outbreak
of temper. One fact, however, more than anything
.bn 271.png
.pn +1
else, deterred me. That was my duty to Lady
Marmaduke.
I was heartily sick of the part I was playing.
I had never been ashamed to own my name before,
and, day by day, the sound of my false name covered
me with more confusion. I felt like a coward,
and that is a hard thought to one who prides himself
on his courage. It was about this time that
I began to doubt the leadership of my stern mistress.
A man, however, cannot betray others to
set himself right in his own eyes. I had done wrong
to be led into this duplicity; but I had accepted
a trust, and I should consider myself doubly wrong
to betray my mistress now. I resolved to get out
of it as soon as I could, but not by means of a
second act of dishonor.
Meanwhile, the patroon’s ill-treatment of me continued.
Yet it had its good side, as I can see
now. I had already gained Miriam’s attention in
the recital of my adventure at the tannery. She
did not share her father’s prejudices against me.
The patroon had said nothing openly, except to
Louis, about his suspicions of my identity with
Le Bourse. In Miriam’s presence, he had been
especially careful to express himself in a way different
from what he really felt. Doubtless he thought
she would repeat his compliments to me, thus
throwing me quite off my guard. In this way,
without suspecting it, he pleaded my cause to
Miriam long before it had taken shape in my own
.bn 272.png
.pn +1
mind. Her sympathies were already enlisted in
my behalf when I told her of my narrow escape.
Her father’s present treatment of me was so at
variance with what he had formerly said to her,
that she was utterly at a loss to understand it.
“It must be a mere whim,” she would say; or, “He
is ill. He does not feel so, let me tell you.” Then
she would repeat, just as the patroon had expected,
what he had said to her. Thus, I and my affairs
were constantly in her mind, as if it was her duty to
settle them and restore peace.
“It will wear off,” she said soothingly, just after
he had brought me up sharp with an insulting
answer. “He has not been well lately. I know he
does not mean it. Come, take a walk with me.”
So, twenty times a day, she would speak to me
kindly and do some little act to soothe a reproach
from him. At last she went to him direct to appeal
for me. She has told me many a time since how
she talked him out of a sullen humor. He told
her flatly that he thought I was Le Bourse. Dear
girl! She vouched for my honesty, and defended
me so stoutly that he gave in at last.
“It is fate, Miriam,” he said. “It is fate. Let
us cast lots. Cry as I toss. Crown or shield?”
He took a coin from his pocket and spun it
on the table.
“Crown!” cried Miriam.
“It is so,” said the patroon as the coin flattened
.bn 273.png
.pn +1
down with a jarring ring. “Fate says that I shall
trust him. Call the man in.”
From that moment I stood in the better graces
of the master. There were times, to be sure, when
I thought that he still shared his old suspicions.
But for the most part he seemed to trust me. After
all, the silver buttons were a good introduction.
I had to thank them for much.
I now quite supplanted Louis. He did not
seem to resent the change, but followed or stayed
at home as he was bid. Time went on in this way
for several days, during which my own feelings
toward the master began somewhat to change. He
seemed in a way to charm me. One who looks
too long on an uncomfortable color will grow used
to it at last. This fact and the presence of Miriam
did much to account for this spleen of toleration.
Many a time I had wondered how a man of his
wicked practices could rise to such a height of influence
and power. Little by little I came to comprehend
the secret of his hold over the affections of
his retainers. He was their lord and master and
they loved him as their lives. I was soon to learn
of this at first hand.
A few days after he had taken me into his confidence,
the patroon set out for a ride about his
estate. He chose me instead of Louis to go with
him. His new confidence in me must have been
increased by the growing distrust of Louis; yet he
continued to treat the dwarf with kindness; nor was
.bn 274.png
.pn +1
Louis the least jealous of me, who was fast taking
his place in the affairs of his master.
The patroon and I set out on horseback. It was
a bright day full of the sombre autumn color. As
we rode about we met many persons, all of whom
were known to the patroon. He had a word and
a smile for each of them; of every one he had
some kind inquiry to make of mother, brother, or
sister; sometimes he would crack a merry joke,
or indulge in some quiet chaff that did not hurt.
Frequently on that ride I heard the “Good Patroon”
blessed for some little act of interest, or for
a bit of money bestowed without the air of righteous
charity.
We had been riding for an hour in parts unknown
to me, when we came out upon a cliff where
we could look out over the bay and catch a faraway
glimpse across Long Island to the turquoise
sea beyond. My companion lifted his arm and
swept it slowly along the horizon. I was surprised
to see the grim, set expression of seriousness that
came into his face. For the last hour he had been
entertaining me with merry tales of his childhood,
and of his adventures aboard ship when he was a
young man. But now all that was gone. Was
it the vast presence of the distant ocean that put
a curb on his jolly spirits? Or was there some
nearer motive close at hand, whose presence I could
not see?
We sat side by side for twenty minutes. Neither
.bn 275.png
.pn +1
of us spoke a word all this time. Only now and
then was the silence broken when one of the horses
stamped impatiently on the ground. The patroon’s
face grew more stern and lowering. His fingers
doubled tight around the bridle. Once or twice
his lips moved, as if he were talking to himself.
Then he struck his breast fiercely and pointed to
the blue ocean.
“There, Vincent, there lies the fortune of the Red
Band. By the sea we live or perish.”
I did not know what he meant, nor did I have a
chance to ask him, for he turned quickly and galloped
away, with me hard at his heels. It was
some time before I was able to come abreast of
him again, but when I did so, he opened the conversation.
“A man who would be great must keep his own
secrets. I know that fact to my cost. I shall not
tell you this, at least not for the present; but there
will come a meeting soon and I shall need you
then.”
He fell silent and musing. Evidently he was
much tossed about in his own mind over something.
I could see by his face that he was on the
point of saying something to me a dozen times,
and that he checked himself in the effort again and
again. Suddenly these words burst from him in
a sharp tone.
“Van Ramm knows too many of my secrets. I
want him killed. Will you do it?”
.bn 276.png
.pn +1
I was thunderstruck at the proposal. I looked
at him to see if he was in earnest. His face was
set and rigid, full of heavy lines, and the corners
of his mouth were drawn down in an evil fashion.
My ears had certainly made no mistake. He was
in earnest. It was a long moment before I found
my voice.
“Must everyone who knows your secrets die?”
“God damn you, no!”
This was no ribald oath, but uttered from the
very depths of his soul. I knew as well as I knew
my name that I had alluded unknowingly to some
secret of his, perhaps the very one for which he
sought the life of his henchman, for a sudden
gust of terror seemed to leap into his face at my
words. He gazed at me for a moment speechless,
his jaw dropped and there was a gurgling rattle in
his throat. Then the mood seemed to pass slowly,
and he became himself again.
“Do not say that word again, Vincent. It cuts
me like a knife. There are sins upon my soul you
cannot know. My God, if I were only what I used
to be. But that day is long, long passed. Sometimes
I think that I am possessed by a devil. I
have gone wrong so long that I cannot stop now
if I would. I have resolved against it, but I have
no power. I can see my ruin close before my
eyes. Do you think there is no terror in it? My
God! Yet I cannot haste enough to meet it. It
is like the dizziness that takes you on a cliff. I
.bn 277.png
.pn +1
cannot keep back my mad desire to leap. You are
my man. Answer me yes or no. Will you kill the
dwarf?”
“No.”
“Then let it be. I respect you all the more for
it. I wish I had had men like you about me from
the first. Then I should not see the gallows in my
dreams. But I have done my wicked work myself
before. Let this pass.”
There were drops of sweat upon his forehead
as he galloped ahead. But in a short time he had
thrown off all trace of this behavior, and what was
in his mind then seemed to be quite forgotten now.
His merry tales returned. A beggar we met was
well rewarded for his humble plea for alms. So we
continued, just as if nothing had happened, as if we
had not for a moment been at swords points, almost
ready to fight over a question of honor. And in
this way we rode till we came into the hills that
sheltered the cottage of Meg.
“Poor old Meg,” said the patroon gently. “She
has been ill since yonder night of Ronald’s death.
I must stop and see her.”
The cottage of the old woman was a tumble-down
affair, with doors and windows all awry, and
the thatch hanging loose and all but off in many
places. We dismounted and met the dwarf in the
doorway.
“Hist,” he said, cautioning silence with his raised
finger.
.bn 278.png
.pn +1
“Has he come?” asked a feeble voice from inside.
“The noise of the horses must have waked her,”
explained Louis. “Come in.”
We entered the low, desolate looking room. On
a pallet in one corner lay Meg of the Hills. The
patroon went to her and took her hand with something
like affection in his manner.
“How is the day with you, my Meg?”
“My Meg,” she repeated plaintively. “It is a
long time since you have called me that.”
“Hist, Meg, not so loud,” said the patroon in a
half-whisper.
“Why should I hist?” she cried with a tinge of
anger in her tone. “Are you ashamed of me?”
The patroon made no reply, and in a moment
she repeated her question.
“Answer me, ye auld jade, be ye ashamed of
me?”
“Hush, Meg. Don’t fall into that ballad-singing
habit of yours. I can stand anything but that.”
“You stand! What have you to stand compared
to me? It was not always so. I was fair to see in
the old days long gone by. Was I not a bonny lass
then, Kilian?”
“Ay, you were so, Meg; but that is long gone
by.”
The old woman moaned. She had regular features
and may have been a beauty once; but, as the
patroon said, it was long ago. How wistfully she
.bn 279.png
.pn +1
must have looked back upon what would never
come again. There was a pause, and Meg was
the first to break it.
“What did you come for?”
“To see how you were; to see what I could do
for you.”
The last word seemed to rouse her evil demon.
She sat bolt up in bed and clasped her hands tight
together; then she doubled her fists and shook
them in his face like a mad woman.
“To do what you can for me, you brat of hell.
Have you not had half a life for that? What have
you done for me? You have kept me, you would
say. Ay, you have kept me like the old toothless
bitch I am. But you did not keep me where I should
have been. And I could have hanged you any time
these twenty years. But I loved you. My God,
what will not a woman do for the man she loves!”
Meg fell back upon the pillow in exhaustion.
“So, so,” said the patroon, trying to soothe her.
He only made her worse. In a moment she had
risen again and was glowering at him through fierce
flashing eyes.
“What have you done?” she cried in a frenzy,
snapping and wringing her long, bony fingers.
“What have you done for me and mine these twenty
years, since you had your fill of pleasure out of
me?”
“Tut, tut, Meg, you are wild to-day.”
“Wild I have ever been since you cast me adrift
.bn 280.png
.pn +1
like a gutter drab of Yorke. Tell me what you
have done for me and mine.”
Her face grew dark and sullen like an animal’s
at bay. The patroon glanced about him and half
rose to go; but she clutched his wrist and repeated
persistently:
“What have you done? What have you done?
What have you done?”
“You know well enough what I have done, my
Meg,” said the patroon. He spoke quietly, but I
could see that he was in the grip of fear. Was
the woman going to make a disclosure? I half
expected what it would be, but I did not guess the
half.
“But what have you done?” she went on, sticking
to her one idea.
“I have done my best, Meg. You know that I
could not do it openly, but I have kept him near
me; he wants for nothing.”
“Ay, he wants for nothing but his life.”
“Life?” cried the patroon. “What do you mean?”
She looked at him in contempt and rage.
“Who is it that you say wants for nothing?”
“Louis, you hag,” he hissed between his teeth.
“Louis Van Ramm.”
She fell into a mocking laugh that was terrible
to hear.
“You thought it was Louis, did you? He was
my son well enough, born in lawful wedlock; but
he was no son of yours. Did you think I told the
.bn 281.png
.pn +1
truth when I came back to live on you? Ha, ha,
I was a bonny lass then. Do you remember how
you pleaded for my love and the use of my shapely
body? ‘I’ll marry you, Meg, if anything goes
wrong.’ Those were your very words and everything
went wrong and—”
Here the patroon caught her by the shoulder and
shook her violently.
“Stop. If Louis is not our child, who is?”
“Ha, ha, ha! You dolt! You idiot! You liar,
thief—” She paused for a moment and then almost
shrieked out the word “Murderer.”
“Murderer!”
“Ay, murderer. Louis is my child but none of
yours. Our boy is dead. His name was Ronald
Guy.”
Then she fell to singing that weird scrap of an
old ballad that I had heard once before:
.pm start_poem
Is there ony room at your head, Ronald?
Is there ony room at your feet?
Is there ony room at your side, Ronald,
Where fain, fain I wad sleep?
.pm end_poem
The patroon sprang up from where he had been
sitting on her bedside. He covered his face with
his hands, and, for a moment, swayed back and
forth, but he was not taken with one of his seizures
as I feared. In a moment more he started for the
door.
“Follow me, St. Vincent,” he said, and nothing
more.
.bn 282.png
.pn +1
In silence he mounted his horse and spurred desperately
away. I rode at his stirrup, awestruck
and wondering what would happen next. He remained
silent so far as words went, though sometimes
he was muttering to himself. We had nearly
reached the manor-house when he spoke briefly in
cold tones, like a man asleep.
“I have killed my son. The day of reckoning
has come.”
A horror of this man took hold of me and I
turned to bait him as I would a dog.
“You thought Louis was your son and you
wanted me to kill him.”
The patroon stopped his horse; I, also, full in
front of him. He stared me in the face.
“Don’t try me,” he said doggedly, “or I’ll kill
you. Had I not thought he was my son he should
have paid the penalty of what he knows any day
these ten years past. When all’s said, I thought
him but a bastard. Ride after me in silence.”
I did as I was bid. For the one time in my life
I felt completely cowed. I did not know what to
do, and before the reaction came, we had reached
the house and Van Volkenberg had disappeared
in his study.
.bn 283.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXI | MEG’S PLEADING
.sp 2
Four days later news came to the manor-house
that Meg of the Hills was dying. Since our visit
to Meg’s cottage I had seen little of the patroon.
This particular afternoon I had spent in my own
room in no amiable frame of mind. In fact, I had
begun to ask myself why I was at the manor-house
at all. I had come to trap the patroon, yet what
had I done? I had seen crimes committed before
my eyes, and I had been asked to be privy to yet
another—the cold-blooded murder of the dwarf.
Why did I not go direct to the Earl at New York
and expose my new master? In truth, I do not
know, yet there were many reasons. In the first
place, I still hoped in a vague way to learn more
about the circumstances of my sister’s death. I
held on, waiting for some bit of evidence that would
convict the patroon of her murder. I had not the
least doubt that he had murdered her, and the
desire for revenge was too sweet to waste upon
other crimes. He must meet his punishment for
that one and I must be the one to bring him to it.
Yet, as I look back upon these events, I know
that there was still a stronger reason than this
which stayed my hand, though I did not realize it
at the time. Every additional bit of confidence
.bn 284.png
.pn +1
that the patroon put in me made it harder for me
to think of betraying my new trust. At times I
caught the wild feverish desire of everyone about
the manor-house to keep it all away from the
knowledge of his daughter. At those times I would
be almost willing to draw my sword in defense of
the wicked practices of the Red Band rather than
have it go to wreck and ruin over the young mistress’
head.
But all these thoughts were cut short by the
sound of the patroon’s cane tapping in the corridor
towards my door. It was not often that he honored
me with a personal visit like this and I rose to
receive him.
“Get on your traps,” he said abruptly. “They
say that Meg is dying, and, before I could stop
her Miriam hurried off to the cottage. Quick man,
quick; you must stop her ears again. What if my
child should hear what you heard the other night?
Hurry, man, would you have me shamed before
my daughter?”
“For her sake I’ll go,” I answered; but I muttered
between my teeth that it was for none of him
I went.
I did not stop to saddle a horse, but went directly
on foot. It was a mile or more to the cottage,
and when I set out it was about twilight.
Before I reached my destination, darkness had
closed in. I heard the low sound of a single voice
as I drew near the cottage, and when I came to
.bn 285.png
.pn +1
the threshold the sight I saw within made me
stop.
The moon was full and the bright light fell across
the floor in a wide band. Meg’s face was in the
shadow, but the lower half of the cot on which
she lay was shrouded in the light. Mistress Miriam
was kneeling at the foot of the bed, in the full
glow of the light. She was praying, and her hands
were clasped with her silver beaded rosary hanging
across them. Since the first night of my arrival
at the manor-house, I had not often come in contact
with the religion I had so often cursed. Now
a pang shot through my heart and I turned away.
But at that moment long forgotten words came
into my mind like a voice from the dead. “No,
no, brother,” Ruth had said to me. “Vincent, turn
the word of God into your own dull heart before
you judge your neighbor.”
So Ruth, my sister, had said to me. I looked in
again at this young woman praying in the moon-light
and my heart softened. From her beautiful
face I looked into the shadow where lay the woman
with the memory of her sin.
I could not help but listen. Miriam’s voice was
soft and pleading. It fell upon Meg’s ear like a
promise of better things. She stopped moaning
and her fingers, which were nervously twitching
at the bedclothes, grew still and sank restfully by
her side.
All this time I had been standing on the step
.bn 286.png
.pn +1
outside, unknown to those within. I had been sent
to watch the young mistress and to keep her from
hearing what she should not. But I had no strength
of will to interrupt this scene. I was about to turn
away when my attention was attracted by some
words of Miriam’s prayer.
“Holy Mother, help this poor woman. Make
her happy in the life to come. In the name of
Christ who died let not her death be upon our head.
O God, what I have heard, let it not be true.”
My first thought was that the old woman had
told her everything; but I was soon undeceived.
An interruption came from the shadow.
“What have you heard, my lass?”
Miriam sprang up in excitement; as she did so
her rosary fell from her hands to the floor near
the door, where I was standing.
“O Meg,” she cried joyfully. “Can you speak
again?”
“Ay, my dear, my head feels clearer now. But
what have you heard?”
“Nothing, Meg, nothing at all.”
“Tut, tut, do you think it will worry the life out
of me? Tell me what it is you have heard?”
“No, no, I must not.”
“Miriam,” cried the old woman, “I’ve loved you
all my life, never ask why. There is something on
my mind now. I shall die easy if you will tell me
what you have heard.”
“O Meg, how can I? Such tales of my father.”
.bn 287.png
.pn +1
“What are they? I’ve got but a few minutes left
to give you comfort in. Tell me, my lass, what you
have heard that troubles you.”
I had already had experience of Meg’s devotion
to one idea. I thought that now the disclosure
would come and that it was time for me to step in
and prevent it. Yet I stood immovable as a statue
on the outside, against my will.
“I have heard that he was to blame for your illness,
and that——”
“It is a lie,” she cried fiercely, rousing herself
with some of her old-time spirit. “My little lass,
they lie who say such things as that.”
Then, to my astonishment, fell rapidly the old
woman’s tale. In quick, passionate words she
pleaded on behalf of the patroon. She forestalled
every bit of information that might by accident
get to Miriam’s ears. She denied the truth of
what the patroon had really done. She put good
motives where he had acted from bad. Was it her
old love returning at the last moment to act in behalf
of the man who had ruined her? Or was she,
too, like the rest of us trying merely to shield the
young mistress? Everyone seemed to love her;
everyone tried to save her from the ruin that we
all foresaw. I stepped back and retraced my way
to the manor-house.
All the way home my mind was occupied with a
new thought. I flew backward in imagination to
that scene on the Royal Lion when Ruth taught
.bn 288.png
.pn +1
me my duty in words I had forgotten. From the
time of our second separation, I had been growing
still harder on the Catholics. My heart had leaped
with joy when I knew that I had the patroon nearly
in my grasp, and that it was a Catholic I was hounding
to his ruin. Yet Ruth had taught me to be
tolerant. How had I followed her instructions?
Should I not be ashamed of myself? Then like a
revelation it all came over me; why I had done
nothing for so many weeks, why I could not play
false to the patroon, why I stood spellbound on the
cottage steps when Miriam was praying at the old
woman’s bedside. When I left the cottage I held
something in my hand. Now I looked at it passionately
for a moment and put it in my bosom.
When I reached home I told the patroon what I
had overheard, and that there was no danger of his
daughter hearing anything he did not wish her to
hear. I thought the tears came into his eyes when
I told him this.
“It is for love of her,” he said in a low voice.
“But not for me. God help her.”
The patroon had nothing for me to do, so I returned
to my room. But I could not rest. After a
while—it must have been towards midnight—I rose
and went outside for a breath of air. I hardly knew
where to walk. Then I bethought myself of
Miriam alone in the cottage among the hills. I was
just turning in that direction when I heard footsteps
in the gravel path behind me. I drew back into
.bn 289.png
.pn +1
the shadow to conceal myself till I knew who besides
myself was stirring at this hour of the night.
I soon recognized Louis Van Ramm coming towards
me slowly. He paused near where I was
hiding and looked about him.
“Where are you?” he asked in a guarded whisper.
“Here,” I answered.
“Ah, I thought I saw you. Let us walk farther
from the house.” When we had gone a short distance
he continued abruptly, “My mother is dead.
The young mistress will stay there till I come. I
told the patroon and he was glad that she was dead.
Curse his soul! Now that he knows Ronald and
not I was his son I shall go like the rest.”
“Why should he want your life?” I asked.
“I know his secrets. Do you know why Le
Bourse died; and who warned the Marmadukes?”
“Was it you?”
“Who else would it be? I knew you from the
start. It was I blinded the old fool, for I saw that
you brought me a chance of revenge. He killed
Ronald. He killed my mother. But that is not all.
Do you ever wonder why your sister died?”
“For God’s sake what of that?”
“Not much. She stumbled on one of his secrets
and when she would not refuse to tell she was murdered
in her bed.”
“Merciful God, shall I stand this? I’ll back and
defy him to his face.”
The dwarf caught me by the arm. “Not yet.
.bn 290.png
.pn +1
What proof have you except my word? And any
morning may find me dead. We have no fool to
deal with unless it is you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You are a Huguenot; Mistress Miriam is a
Catholic.”
“What of that?”
“You would not have asked that question three
months ago. What did you say to the patroon the
night you came, when he asked you to go into
service? Yet—what is that?”
He leaned forward and placed his hand upon my
breast. This action threw me into a fury.
“Hands off, you dog,” I cried. “Stand back or
take the consequences.”
“It is clear enough,” he replied. “She is the
witch. You cannot be trusted. But you are all I
have. Listen to my story. When your sister was
murdered I got word secretly to Lady Marmaduke.
The grave was opened in her presence. She knew
that his story about branding her was a lie. Yet
she would not act. She would not do what I wanted
her to. If she had, I should have told her the great
secret. But I did not and that must wait.” He
turned on me sharply. “Will you kill the patroon?”
“He asked me to do the same by you.”
“Me? When?”
“Four days ago.”
“The day he learned who Ronald was. I knew
it would be so. Why did you refuse?”
.bn 291.png
.pn +1
“I am not a murderer.”
“A spy?”
“No!”
“What then?”
I could not say. I stood in silent shame.
“Well,” continued the dwarf. “You are not ripe
for the great secret yet. But remember one thing.
Back of the old oven there are some loose bricks.
If I die by violence, look there. You may do my
bidding yet.”
By this time we had reached his mother’s cottage.
Miriam was seated by the bed near which
she had placed lighted candles. At our entrance
she rose and said that she would go home if I would
take her. We set out alone. The air blew very
keen and chill in our faces as we passed among the
trees of the park. Little was said by either of us
till the first cold from leaving the house began to
wear away by our brisk walking. Then she began
to speak of Meg and of how she seemed happier
before she died.
“She said that it was I who made her happier.
In truth, I was so happy myself. I had heard some
soldiers talking about my father and saying what
I could never believe; though it distressed me so.
Meg told me how it was, and made me feel ashamed
of myself. I had heard that he was expelled in disgrace
from the governor’s council. But it cannot
be so. Have you heard anything of it?”
“I know,” said I with hesitation, “that he is no
.bn 292.png
.pn +1
longer a member of the council. I have heard that
when he left it he behaved with a dignity that carried
the day for honor.”
“How could it be otherwise? The Earl deals
with doubtful means. My father must have become
disgusted with his dishonest practices and resigned.”
I said nothing to contradict her, nor had I said
aught but what was strictly true. I remembered
well the day we had baited him before the great
carved table in the fort, and how much dignity he
had shown at the end. Even then, for the moment,
I had felt sorry for what I had done. But my good
impulses were short-lived; I had much to lead me
astray in those days.
“Mistress Van Volkenberg,” I said after a pause,
“there is something on my mind to say to you.
You know that I am a Protestant. I have had bitter
feelings towards people of your faith and bitter
treatment from them for many years. But it has
been my lot to meet only the worst. I had a sister
once”—here my voice trembled and I was fain to
stop for a moment—“I had a sister once who tried
to teach me better things. I was slow to profit by
what she said. But of late your example has made
me see the wickedness of my ways.”
“Do not follow me,” she replied. “I am so sinful;
but I pray to the blessed Virgin every night, and
she sends me strength. I know that she will give
me heart to do my duty.”
.bn 293.png
.pn +1
“Do you really believe that?” I asked.
“Of course, if I pray. I shall get everything I
pray for if I ought to have it.”
She spoke with a simpleness of faith that I had
never felt in spite of my confident pretensions.
“I wish that I could share your belief. But there
are things I have prayed so for without result.”
“You must continue. I confess every night upon
my knees. I wish I could have a priest. I used to
be afraid to confess my sins to a real person, and
that kept me good often when I should otherwise
have done wrong. Ah, me, there are no priests in
the province now. The new laws punish a priest
with death if he come to us. I suppose they will
shut us out next.”
This injustice made my blood boil. I had been
driven out of France because our church had desired
freedom to worship God in our own way.
Here the tables were completely turned and I could
sympathize with her.
When we arrived at the manor-house she told
me that she was going into the little chapel room
to pray. Would I go with her? I said “yes,” and
was surprised at my answer. I stood near the door
while she knelt at the foot of the crucifix. When
she arose I noticed that there were two stools to
kneel upon.
“Yes,” she said, observing the direction of my
glance. “Little Ruth and I used to kneel there
side by side. She was of your faith, too. Often
.bn 294.png
.pn +1
she would put her arm about me and pray in her
faith while I prayed in mine. Holy Mother, rest
her soul.”
She crossed herself devoutly and then we parted.
In my own room that night, or rather, morning,
for it was nearly dawn when I reached it, I fell to
sobbing in great misery. I began to see the error
of my ways. I remembered Ruth’s words: “What
shall I say at the great day if they charge 'Your
brother did this or that wrong in your name? Answer
me, Vincent, what shall I say?'”
I could do nothing but fall on my knees and cry,
God be merciful to me a sinner. After that I rose
with more peace of mind. I put my hand upon my
bosom where Louis had laid his upon me, and drew
out the rosary which I had picked up when Miriam
dropped it on the floor of Meg’s cottage. I held it
before me for a moment, then I put it to my lips
and kissed it as a sacred thing.
.bn 295.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXII | A FRUITLESS RESOLUTION
.sp 2
This scene with Miriam put me in a state of bad
humor, for all there was in it to make me glad. It
is seldom that sweet recollections come unmixed
with sour, and then the sour bite into our thoughts
and the sweet are clean forgotten. I ought to have
been happy over the dear picture of my sister and
her friend praying together, each in her own faith,
as Miriam said. But I could think only of my own
loss in Ruth’s death, and of what wicked ways I had
fallen into without her to keep me free of pitfalls.
It was useless to argue with myself that I had been
driven against my will; that, through my late
career, I had chosen what seemed to be the right
path, or, at least, the lesser of two evils. Such
meditations gave me no comfort.
Here I actually was in the household of the
patroon, a spy not even owning my name. My
present safety was due mainly to Miriam’s intercession
on my behalf. She had denied that I was a spy
and had vouched for my honesty. This added new
weight to my burden of remorse. I tossed wakefully
on my bed at night, wondering what would
happen if she knew the truth. How she would hate
me and despise me when she found out who I was.
I was not only deceiving the patroon, acting a lie
.bn 296.png
.pn +1
day by day; I was also deceiving her, she who had
been so kind to my sister, and whose coveted belief
in me had become more than I could contemplate.
So, when I rose in the morning after Meg’s
death, I was full of a new idea. Come what would
of it, I should seek Lady Marmaduke that very day
and demand my release. I had gone to the manor-house
at her instigation and felt myself bound to
her service; but I would soon end that. Just how
to accomplish the meeting had not occurred to me
as yet, but I could not fail to make a chance before
the day was over.
For an hour in the morning I was busy in my
mind going over the situation and trying to read
the signs of the times. I knew well enough that
Van Volkenberg’s expulsion from the council was
not the end of his account with the governor. It
was but one successful blow from his enemy and
was sure to be returned. Theirs was a bitter struggle
that I knew would end only with the utter annihilation
of one or the other of them.
Could Van Volkenberg possibly succeed? He
was nearer to success than I had any idea of at the
time. There were many points in his favor. Captain
Kidd was about to arrive—in fact, he had arrived
during the night, but we did not know it then.
His mission was now familiar to everyone, and the
fact that he would recruit his crew in New York was
also public. There were so many merchants in the
city whose trade would be hurt by the suppression
.bn 297.png
.pn +1
of the buccaneers, that ill-feeling against the Earl
was running high. The patroon made the most of
this, coaxing here, explaining there, till all the discontented
faction began to look to him more than
ever as their leader against the Earl.
Had the patroon been ready to strike his blow
a few days earlier, I ween he had overturned the
city.
Bellamont, on the other hand, was likely to suffer
from too much security, or fancied security. He
was an easy-going man most of the time; one who
prided himself on his knowledge of the character
of men—a knowledge which he really did not possess
at all. Through me he had detected the plotting
of the patroon. Governor Bellamont thought
that the retirement of his enemy from the council
in disgrace removed him altogether from the sphere
of troublesome elements that beset the King’s processes
in the province. There was one person, however,
at his very right hand who realized the danger.
Hardly a day passed that Lady Marmaduke did not
warn the Earl, did not beseech him to use more
care and watchfulness.
“No, no,” Bellamont would answer in his easy-going
way. “I have killed him now. I’ll get the
Assembly to reverse his grant and we shall hear no
more of him.”
But Lady Marmaduke knew better. If the Earl
would not keep an eye on the enemy she would.
She had plotted without the Earl before, and was
.bn 298.png
.pn +1
willing to do so again. She had already communicated
once or twice with me. Through Annetje
and Pierre, all the doings at the manor-house were
reported to her promptly. She was ever watchful
and employed half a dozen men to seek out bits of
gossip and trace home the vague rumors that were
constantly gaining ground—rumors of some mysterious
danger that was about to overwhelm the
city.
I, too, was on the alert. I had been deeply fired
at the patroon’s part, whatever it was, in the death
of my sister. Lady Marmaduke had put her own
burning spirit into my blood that time she pleaded
with me in her own house, that time she thrust her
finger into the candle and I smelled the burning
flesh. But Miriam had come between us and had
dashed all our plans. In her presence I could see
nothing but my own shameless duplicity and the
effect it would have on her when she discovered my
dishonesty.
In the manor-house itself all was at sixes and
sevens. Though the patroon seemed much relieved
over the death of Meg, I could plainly see that
something was on his mind. On the day we had
ridden together about his estate he had pointed to
the ocean and said that the fortunes of the Red
Band lay in that direction. One of the recent rumors
concerned the coming of a French fleet.
Could he be involved in that? I knew that there
had been mysterious comings and goings about the
.bn 299.png
.pn +1
manor-house that I had no share in. Were there
other seamen to be met with at Wolfert Webber’s
tavern? Now that I look back upon these events,
I wonder that I did not see the danger that threatened
us. But one who is in the midst of things is
ever blind.
Louis Van Ramm really held the key to everything,
for he shared his master’s most important
secrets. It was not till later, however, that I fully
understood his character, or why he held back so
long. He hated his master and had hated him for
years; but Louis had not the power of action.
Courage was not wanting in his makeup, but he
lacked that power of self-reliance that would enable
him to take the initiative in overthrowing the
patroon. He knew that I was set on the ruin of
Van Volkenberg, and hoped to put the proper cards
in my hand, thinking that I would play them freely
without let or hindrance.
Such was the confused state of affairs at the time
I made my resolution to go to Lady Marmaduke
and assert my independence of her service. I should
have set off alone for the city that morning had
not the patroon sent for me to accompany him to
Yorke about ten o’clock in the morning.
I said that Captain Kidd had arrived in the night,
though we did not know the fact when we set out.
The wind was southerly that morning, and we had
not gone far, when it brought us the sound of a
gun.
.bn 300.png
.pn +1
“Ha,” said the patroon. “Doubtless that is to
welcome the Adventure.”
And sure enough it was. Kidd’s ship had been
in the bay all night and, as we soon found, was
coming up to the town. It had been some hour
anchored when the patroon and I rode up to the
Slip to look at it.
“A tidy ship,” said the patroon after examining
it as thoroughly as he could from the shore. “One
that could sail far with a safe crew. New York
must furnish him good recruits, St. Vincent.” He
laughed in a low, satisfied way, as if at some joke
of his own. “Ay, we must serve him with a good
crew.”
I had thought that he had ridden to the city on
business, but such seemed not to be the case. We
set out on our return immediately. To be sure,
we did not go directly home, but rode about in a
wandering way from street to street, like strangers
viewing the town for the first time. All the while
my master glanced from side to side, eyeing every
person who passed as if he were in search of someone.
Suddenly I heard an exclamation. Van Volkenberg
drew in his horse just as a stranger stepped
out from the stream of passengers at the side of
the street. This person was dressed in ordinary
clothes, but I knew from his walk that he was a
seaman.
“Well, William,” said the patroon, as soon as
they had greeted each other, which they did
.bn 301.png
.pn +1
warmly, as if they were old friends long parted.
“How does New York look to you now?”
“Much as usual. But I see that the privy-council
is changed a bit.”
“Ay, changed for the worst.” They both
laughed good humoredly. “What else do you notice?”
“Your French County seems to be on the warpath
again.”
“Yes, there are rumors to that effect; but I put
no faith in them. Still, everyone believes them
here. It would be a good thing for the governor to
garrison Fort Orange, if only to allay public excitement.
It would be easier to stop him at Albany
than at any other place.”
At that moment one of Van Volkenberg’s clerks
came up and put a paper into his master’s hand.
“I have been looking everywhere for you.”
“Yes,” answered the patroon. “This needs my
attention.” Then, turning to the stranger, he continued:
“I must back to the warehouse, William.
Remember our appointment; midnight on the
river.”
We rode off directly to the patroon’s warehouse
on the Slip. Before we had gone far the patroon
put the letter into my hand. It was but a line and
signed by one of the confidential clerks. It read:
“Lady Marmaduke is about to appeal to the Assembly
to stop the troops.”
.bn 302.png
.pn +1
“It is Greek to me,” I answered. “What does it
mean?”
“You suggested it yourself. Bellamont has decided
to fortify Albany, and is going to send off
three of the city companies to-morrow or next day.”
“What has Lady Marmaduke to do with it?
Why does she want the troops stopped?”
“Have you not heard the rumors? Some people
here in the city believe that there is danger from a
French fleet. They have not forgotten how helpless
Stuyvesant was in '64. I tell you, St. Vincent,
there is no danger from the sea. Frontenac is the
man to fear. I would wager my estate he is coming
through the wilderness, and has set these notions
in the air himself to keep attention off from Albany.
He is a shrewd old fox, and if the troops are stopped
we shall get a message down the river soon: likely
as not the county’s greeting and news that Fort
Orange is taken.”
“If all this is true why should Lady Marmaduke
oppose it?”
“Because she is a fool. She believes the gossip
of the street. She has already tried to convince the
Earl. But he has more sense. I hate him, but, I
declare, he demands respect in this.”
We had reached the patroon’s door by this time,
and the clerk who had signed the note came out to
meet him.
“When does the Assembly adjourn?” asked the
patroon aloud, after a short whispered consultation.
.bn 303.png
.pn +1
“They have moved to adjourn for a week at noon
to-day.”
“Can Lady Marmaduke sway them to her
wishes?”
“There is little doubt of it.”
“Then she must be kept away. St. Vincent, ride
to Marmaduke Hall. Keep the mistress in conversation
for an hour and a half. Ask her what became
of Le Bourse. Tell her I shall oust her from her
estate, break her title, anything you please. Stay
there till noon and occupy her time. She must not
stop the troops. Go; instantly!”
There was no resisting the patroon’s haste. In
the next breath I was galloping at breakneck speed
to my lady’s house. What a coincidence! All the
forenoon I had been racking my brain to find a way
to meet her and withdraw from my task of spy.
Now the chance was made. It filled my mind.
Before I turned the first corner the Earl, the
troops, and Albany were quite forgotten. I could
think only of the stormy meeting before me and
how I had best carry it through.
I banged the brass knocker with a will, and was
shown into the receiving room. The name I
sent to the mistress was Henrie St. Vincent, of
the Hanging Rock. She knew it and came in a
trice.
“What news do you bring?” she cried, sweeping
into the room like a blast of wind. “How do you
come so openly, Le Bourse?”
.bn 304.png
.pn +1
“St. Vincent.”
“Tush! There is no one to hear. What is your
news. What have you learned?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Then why do you come here?”
“I am tired of my work. I want to give it up.”
“Give up? You coward!”
“I knew you would say that.”
“Then you deserve it.”
“I do not.”
“Explain yourself.”
I told her briefly the confidence that the patroon
had placed in me and the way the deception gnawed
my conscience. I did not move her in the least.
Her lips curled in scorn and she gripped her hands
together till they were all mottled red and white
with the pressure.
“Sit down,” she said in a tone so cold and biting
that it made me shiver. “If you are going to leave
my service I shall dismiss you like a man.”
She strode haughtily across the room and poured
out two glasses of wine. She came back and
handed one of them to me.
“My dear Michael,” she began. “I am a stormy
woman. I repent of what I said to you. Here we
part. Rise and lift your glass. We shall drink a
toast before you go.”
I stood up. This was easier than I had expected.
I had counted on more of a scene and could almost
smile at the ease of my achievement.
.bn 305.png
.pn +1
“You do me honor, Lady Marmaduke. I hardly
hoped that you would sympathize with my conscience.
Propose your toast.”
“Can you guess who it is?”
“The Earl?”
“No.”
I laughed. “Our friend, the patroon?”
“The patroon of Hanging Rock? Yes, but by
a different title. Drink, Michael. Long life and
happiness to the seducer of your sister.”
“My God!” I cried, dashing glass and all upon
the floor. “What do you mean?”
“You know well enough. I told you long ago
that he visited her room that night she died. We
of the aristocracy here think little of our bond-slaves.
They are mere chattels to our lust. Why
should they not minister to our pleasure. Why
should not Ruth—”
“Stop! You are baiting me. You do not know
this. Louis said that she was murdered, but not
that she was—”
“You know that? You will not strike her murderer?
You craven coward! And I know why you
halt. You love the Catholic woman.”
“What if I do? She loved my sister.”
“Ah, she loved your sister and you love her; he
killed your sister and you love him.”
“What can I do? He is her father.”
“Do you remember a masterless man who once
.bn 306.png
.pn +1
came into this very room to smell the smell of burning
flesh?”
“Don’t, don’t.”
“Why don’t? What do you care now? Your
sister’s agony, the tortured flesh quivering under
the iron’s heat—why, man, you should thank God
for that. How else would you have gone to the
house at Hanging Rock? How else would you
have met your wonderful, adorable, queen of your
heart, the Catholic Miriam? How Ruth loved
Catholics! Get down on your knees, man. Your
sister’s martyrdom has brought you a love. It
brings you a home, position, with the name of
coward and of traitor to my trust. Thank God, I
say; thank God.”
“You are unjust, Lady Marmaduke. You do
not understand me.”
“My dearest Michael, I understand you perfectly.
It was in the beginning that I made the mistake.
I took you for a man. I supposed flesh and blood
could not forget the debt you owe the patroon.
But ’twas a small debt after all. What is a sister
ruined and murdered to a father-in-law who ruined
her? Ha, ha, ha, Michael; do you think I misunderstand
you now?”
This was hard treatment and it took my resolution
as the summer dries a stream. I could stand
ridicule—though that hurt me more than most
things—but the worst was that the picture she drew
was true. I had never admitted to myself that I
.bn 307.png
.pn +1
felt more than mere respect for Miriam. At that
moment I believe I hated her.
“I took you in,” continued my tormenter. “Now
you may go. Perhaps he will murder you.” How
this struck home in the light of what he had already
done. “Perhaps he will give you his daughter in
marriage.”
“I don’t want his daughter.”
“Hoity toity, child. Don’t break your china
doll now it is in your hands. What will you have
in exchange for your peerless sister?”
“I want revenge.”
“And refuse to take it! Bah, you talk like a
fool.”
“I have talked like a fool. But now I swear to
hound this hell-cat to his death.”
“And Miriam?”
“As we sow, so must we reap. Let us spare her
if we can, but—”
“Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, my
Michael. I come not to bring peace into the world,
but a sword. This is the word of God, my child.”
She had slipped her arm about me and was talking
in the gentler manner in which she had comforted
me the time I first learned the news of my
sister’s fate.
Half an hour later I left the hall, sullen, resolved
and conquered. Yes; once more the strength of her
spirit had proved greater than the strength of mine.
I must see more and be tried again before the final
.bn 308.png
.pn +1
break should come. And when it came, like a flash,
like a thief in the night, some who were upon the
housetop came not down, but were taken in their
sins. And others like myself were spared to learn
the glory of God through goodness and mercy in
return for sin and evil.
.bn 309.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXIII | VAN VOLKENBERG AND THE EARL
.sp 2
The next day was the beginning of that period
that led rapidly to the end. A few days later and
all was over; there was no Red Band left to threaten
New York, and I—I had suffered untold remorse
for my cunning and deceit.
Meantime the uncertain breath of rumor that I
had heard upon the Slip had grown into a gale of
certainty. People stopped at corners in a frightened
sort of way to discuss the former invasions of
the French. The Coffee-House was full to overflowing,
and the conversation always turned upon
the last invasion of the County Frontenac, or upon
our long immunity from northward danger. But
at last, we all thought, peace was at an end. Certainty
of the coming of danger was quickly followed
by fear of what would follow in case of a descent
from the Canadian frontier. It was a long way to
Albany, to be sure, but the fort at Albany was weak.
If that were once taken the enemy would have a
free path to our very doors.
So the people fell to work in haste to repair the
wall which toppled across the island in a miserable
state of repair. The trench on the inside was
cleaned out and deepened. New palisades were
put in to replace some of the old ones that had
.bn 310.png
.pn +1
rotted through and were ready to fall from their
own weight. The gates were hung anew and a
guard stationed at them. Sunrise and sunset saw
them securely locked. While the gates were locked
no one was allowed to leave the city without a pass
signed by the governor and stamped with the great
seal of the province.
Often by day you would see great swarms of
people clustered about upon the ledge of rocks
west of the city just at the foot of the stockade,
with their eyes turned up river, as if they expected
to see a French flotilla appear in sight at any moment.
The little wicket gate through which I had
fled with the suspicious sailors the night before Van
Volkenberg’s disgrace was now seldom closed in
the daytime. Through it staggered a stream of
fearful people, ever on the lookout for the invader.
The excitement was no less on the island north
of the city wall. All the little hamlets between New
York and Harlem were making preparations for
defense, drilling and mustering men into companies
to meet the stranger. Every afternoon and evening
the Red Band assembled on the terrace to practice
the use of arms, marching and countermarching,
and all things needful for the little army of the
patroon. They moved like clockwork. There were
no soldiers like them in the whole province; even
the governor’s guard was not so well trained by
half. Still there was no visible sign of danger. A
post came in from Albany and reported that all
.bn 311.png
.pn +1
was peaceful in the neighborhood of Fort Orange.
This ferment had grown to a head while our attention
at the manor-house was attracted to other
things. It was on the night after the death of Meg—or,
was it the next night? I forget, but it makes
no difference—that I sat in my room reading the
little Bible that I had carried ever since the old
days in France. Suddenly I was startled by a sharp
scraping sound apparently in my own room. I
listened a moment attentively and placed the sound
low down near the door. There was a pause; then,
after a moment’s silence, the scraping began again.
“Begone,” I cried, with a loud stamp of my foot,
supposing, of course, that rats were gnawing in the
wainscot.
At the sound of my voice there was a rustle like
skirts in the hall, and then I was sure I heard light
footsteps running away from my door. I rose
quickly and opened it. All was dark in the hall,
and there was no sign of any visitor. I sat down
again, wondering who it was and whether the
visitor would return. Perhaps ten minutes passed,
during which I heard nothing, though I listened
with both my ears. Then of a sudden, without any
foresounds, the scratching began again. I rose very
quietly with my candle in my hand, and tip-toed
across the room. I took care to make no noise this
time, for I wanted to surprise my visitor, and find
out who she was. I turned the knob softly without
letting the door give an inch, paused a moment to
.bn 312.png
.pn +1
get my weight right, and then flung the door wide
open with my candle held high above my head.
There stood Annetje Dorn, with her fingers to
her lips for silence.
“Follow me,” she whispered. “But don’t make
the least noise.”
She led me a long way till we came out after
many wanderings upon a little balcony on the outside
of the house under the eaves. In the shadow
before us I could just make out the vague form of
a man who was awaiting us.
“It is Pierre,” she whispered; and the next moment
we were talking in guarded whispers. She
had smuggled him into the house and up here so
that he could deliver his message to me without
danger of being overheard by stray persons about
the house. But after all, his message to me was
small enough, if it was worth being called a message
at all. But I learned something of importance from
him, for all that.
“Lady Marmaduke is getting so anxious that
she would have it that I come and speak with you,
danger or no danger,” said Pierre. “Have you any
word to send her?”
I told him briefly that nothing of importance had
happened. Then I asked him what news he could
give me from the city. Matters were in a much
worse state there than I had thought.
“The citizens,” said Pierre, “are like chicks without
their mother.”
.bn 313.png
.pn +1
“They’d duck you if they heard that,” put in
Annetje, who always enjoyed a fling at Pierre for
his former escapade. “It is just the thing for people
who talk too much. Now there was Long Mary
once—”
“Never mind Long Mary or you’ll get ducked
yourself. Monsieur Le Bourse, they are just as I
said, like chicks without their mother. They run
here and there and everywhere, chirping for the
governor to do something. There is nothing he
can do unless he loads up the guns on the Battery
and shoots them at the bay. I wish he would. It
would make safer ducking, which I should like in
case Annetje—”
Her hand smothered the rest of this, whatever
it was.
“If I were the governor,” broke in Annetje, trying
to keep her muzzling hand over her sweetheart’s
mouth. “I should do something. I am
sure I don’t know what there is to be done. But
look how the patroon always does something right
away. He always knows that something is to be
done and just what it is. He never waits a minute.
The governor always puts things off.”
“So, ho,” retorted Pierre, getting free at last.
“What do you know about it? Have you ever
heard the saying: Gray heads on green shoulders?”
“Ay, ay, and green heads on gray shoulders.”
“Bah, I am only a year older than you. But gray
.bn 314.png
.pn +1
heads can hide their green shoulders by holding
their tongues.”
“Try it then and see. Now, Monsieur St. Vincent,
if you please, what is there to be done? Pierre
told me before I fetched you up that if something
were not done before to-morrow three companies
of the guard would be sent up the river to protect
Fort Orange.”
“That’s what Lady Marmaduke is afraid of,”
broke in Pierre. “With only one company left in
the fort and the Red Band gathering—that looks
like trouble. There are seven of the patroon’s ships
in the harbor at this blessed moment, and that is
more than there has been at any one time these ten
years past. Some of them have been here a month.
Why does he not fill 'em up and let 'em go their
way a-trading?”
I had already noticed that more and more men
came to the drill as each day went by, but, before
this, I had not known the cause. However, I
had no intelligence to send on that score; Pierre
seemed to know more about it than I did, and so
he went back to the city with nothing of account
to relate to his mistress for all the danger of his
errand.
Since the day on which the patroon had been
dismissed in disgrace from the privy-council he had
not visited the city in state; not since that first day
when Pierre and I had wandered out north of the
city by the Collect, where he told me of my sister’s
.bn 315.png
.pn +1
fate. On our return that day, we had nearly
reached the Kissing Bridge when the trampling of
horses sent us to the bushes for concealment. I
remember to this hour how the patroon looked as
he rode by with Louis by his side and the Red
Band two and two at his heels. They made a brave
sight, but since his disgrace, the patroon had not
ridden in that way. When his affairs called him to
town he went alone or with only Louis or me to
accompany him.
But to-day, he resolved to ride in state. An early
summons came to wait upon the master. By ten
o’clock a splendid retinue was ready to set out for
New York. Van Volkenberg was at the head with
Louis upon one side and me upon the other. Behind
us, in rows of four, came one hundred and
fifty chosen men in the full livery of the Red Band.
They wore cloth of a dark olive green, and on the
left arm the band of brilliant red, which was their
distinctive badge of service. The English flag and
the patroon’s banner flapped merrily as we galloped
over the half-frozen ground. This was the very
road over which I had followed Louis to the printing
shop of Bradford. I compared that night to
this day and wondered what was the meaning of
all this display of force. Could it be that the wheel
had come full circle? Was it the patroon’s turn
now? He had often told me that it was dangerous
to drive a sullen foe to bay.
Meantime the patroon rode proudly at the head
.bn 316.png
.pn +1
of his company. We were half way to the city when
he motioned me to ride a little closer, and Louis to
fall back out of earshot.
“St. Vincent,” he said, “do you remember the
conversation we had a few days ago? Well, I am
going to take your advice. I am an old man, most
too old to begin, and it is ill work to teach an old
dog new tricks, as the proverb says; but I shall do
it, by the grace of God, I’ll do it.” He broke into
a boisterous laugh. “Oh, it makes me feel young
again. I’ve been like one gone mad, many a time
of late. Somehow I feel free again. Your rough
words the other day put new life into me. Thank
you, Vincent, I thank you from the bottom of my
heart. Perhaps you do not remember what you
said. That is often the case with people who do
more good by their stray acts than they know at
the time. Ah, Vincent, you don’t know how far
a little word sometimes reaches. Maybe it was only
your tone at the time. At any rate, I have turned
over a new leaf. Can you guess what I am going
to do?”
“No,” I answered. “I cannot.”
“’Tis this: I am going to offer my household to
the Earl in defense of the city.”
He jerked this out in quick sudden breaths as if
it hurt him to say it, and there was a tightening
about his lips that seemed to indicate the struggle
it had taken and was still taking to keep him up to
this honorable resolution. But there was a doubt
.bn 317.png
.pn +1
in my mind, however glad I was to see this change
in a man whom I had given up as almost altogether
bad.
“Do you think he will accept your help?” I asked,
putting my doubt into words.
A shadow crossed his face.
“I have thought of that. I know that my motives
are likely to be misunderstood in the light of my
past actions. But I must put up with that. A man
can do no better than his best.”
He made the sign of the cross and then sat square
in the saddle again. We were now hard upon the
Landport where workmen were still busy hanging
the clumsy gates that had for so long a time been
out of use. We rode through the open way and
into the crooked streets of the city. In a moment
they were swarming with people, come out to see
the Red Band go by. Never before had it made
such a fine appearance. Never before had the people
tossed up their caps like one man and cried:
“God save the good patroon, the defender of the
city.” For rumor had gone hotfoot ahead of us
and, somehow, the people were aware of the errand
which had brought us to the city. They knew that
the Red Band had come to fight for the town. Old
hate was forgotten. The frequent brawls with the
patroon’s sailors were not called to mind. And all
went as merry as the bells of Trinity on a wedding
day.
The patroon was proud of his display, and took
.bn 318.png
.pn +1
a roundabout way to reach the fort. When we
drew near, all the neighborhood was in confusion.
A great crowd blocked the street from one side to
another. Everyone’s attention was fixed on the
stone gateway and the massive gates that barred it.
When I saw that the gates were closed, I wondered
whether there had been an alarm. My thought was
soon answered. A bugle from within the walls rang
out clear on the frosty air. The notes, beautiful as
they were, fell on my ears with a chill foreboding
sound. The murmur of the people softened. The
great iron-bound gates swung back. There was
the throbbing sound of a drum and the dull tramp
of soldiers marching. Three of the four garrison
companies passed out in a long narrow line, down
to the river, and embarked to Albany. This is what
Pierre had foretold. The soldiers were gone. The
city was now almost defenseless. But its only other
danger, the patroon, had espoused its cause. No
wonder the people shouted: “God save the good
patroon, the defender of the city.”
When the Earl’s troops were gone, followed by
many of the spectators, I glanced through the gate
into the courtyard of the fort. The Earl of Bellamont,
surrounded by most of the members of his
council, were still seated upon their horses in front
of the executive mansion. Patroon Van Volkenberg
gave orders for his troops to remain drawn up
in the street; then he rode into the paved courtyard
of the fort, accompanied by Louis and myself. After
.bn 319.png
.pn +1
he had saluted the governor and his associates, the
patroon cleared his throat a little and began to
speak.
“Your Excellency,” he said, “I come to beg no
favors, to make no excuses. I have been guilty of
many acts which I performed with my eyes wide
open, knowing what the consequences would be,
and I have likewise suffered the consequences as I
should. But that is not what I came to talk about.
By the grace of God, I have suffered a change of
heart. If it is not too late I should like to make
amends for my past acts. Vincent, present this
paper to the Earl.”
I handed the document which he had withdrawn
from his pocket to the Earl. Bellamont’s face took
on an expression of surprise as he read. Suddenly
he exclaimed:
“Why, this is the title to your estate of Hanging
Rock.”
“Yes, it is that,” answered the patroon. “I know
that it is your desire to recall the lavish grants of
your predecessor; and I have come to see, in spite
of my former acts, that they are a danger to the
safety of the province. Therefore I have brought
myself to the point of resigning my claim into your
hands, hoping thereby to make some amends for
what I have done in the past times to oppose the
purpose of your administration. I have brought
my household with me, armed and at your service,
and I pray that you will receive them into the fort,
.bn 320.png
.pn +1
subject them to your own officers, and let me repair
to my home until you have disposed of my title as
the welfare of the province prompts you.”
Van Volkenberg had spoken with calmness and
respect; but for the moment I was in doubt whether
the governor with his strong prejudices would trust
him. He did not know, of course, as I did, what
had prompted the patroon to this act of humility
and grace. However, after a few minutes’ hesitation,
the Earl thanked him cordially. He consulted
with his advisers and they came to the conclusion
that it would be best to accept the offer of the
patroon. The fact that he himself would return to
his manor-house for the time being and leave the
command of the troops wholly to the governor won
them over. They all shook hands with him, and
Bellamont thanked him again for the way in which
he had come to the rescue of the city.
“We shall let bygones be bygones,” he said. “We
have had our quarrel. To-morrow there will be a
meeting of my council at the usual hour, at which
I hope you will be present.”
For just a moment there seemed likely to be an
interruption in store for us. Louis, who had not
shared my conversation with the Earl, seemed
amazed. His eyes stood out like knobs. His great
misshapen mouth opened. He threw back his head
with that weird contortion of his face that preceded
his peculiar, ghastly laugh. I caught in my reins
lest my horse should startle at the sound. But
.bn 321.png
.pn +1
Louis subsided slowly without a laugh and took on
again that solemn look of acquiescence.
“A mere freak of his,” said the patroon in explanation.
“A curiosity of mine, but he means no
harm.”
With that they parted harmoniously and we
three, the patroon, Louis and I, rode back to the
manor-house. We who had gone into town in such
pomp returned alone without a man to bear us company.
And a hundred and fifty of the best troops
of the province were in the fort, ready to guard it
against attack.
Later that evening, Louis Van Ramm was nowhere
to be found. The patroon seemed alarmed
at his henchman’s absence.
“He has never left me without permission before,
St. Vincent. Did he say anything to you?”
He had said nothing to me. No one else had any
notion of the dwarf’s whereabouts. We went out
upon the terrace in the vague hope of seeing or
hearing something of him. Suddenly the distinct
sound of clattering horse hoofs fell upon the night.
The wind blew in gusts and, in a moment, the sound
had vanished. But the wind came again in a moment
and the hoof beats with it, louder than before.
And then, fast and clear, the triple ring of a horse
at full gallop along the frozen highway to the north.
“Someone is abroad to-night,” said the patroon.
“Yes, a horseman,” I replied.
We both spoke calmly. An observer might have
.bn 322.png
.pn +1
wondered why we had not cried out, for the sound
came suddenly like one speaking in the dark. For
my part, I suspected Louis, though how or what I
did not know. The patroon may have thought
likewise, for he asked:
“Who is that, do you suppose?”
“A horseman,” I replied again.
There was no other answer to be had. The rider
passed the park without stopping or slackening his
speed, which we could now tell was breakneck and
wild to the extreme. Where he was going and for
what purpose we could not tell. Gradually the
sound died away and left us gaping at the blank
dark. After that we went back into the house, the
patroon muttering curses upon the dwarf for his
absence.
.bn 323.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXIV | CAPTAIN WILLIAM KIDD
.sp 2
Though we sat together for some time after that,
little enough passed between us. I had my own
thoughts and so had the patroon. Whatever was
in his mind I could not tell, but I thought that it
was Louis. For if there was the least sound outside
he would start up expectantly; and when, as always
happened, Louis did not appear, his face
would grow black, and the corners of his mouth
would drop down, as they did in his worst moments.
I hardly wonder, considering what followed later,
that he was ill at ease. In all likelihood, he suspected
the real cause of Louis’s absence and knew
much better than I did in what danger it would
involve himself.
However, the whole evening was not to be given
up to hopeless grumbling after the lost henchman.
I had first come to New York in August, as you will
remember, and it was now late in November. The
roads were still hard, witness the sharp clattering
ring of the horseman who had ridden by shortly
before on the frozen ground; but at any day now
we might expect the bad weather to set in and difficult
roads to follow.
We had heard the horseman ride by about nine
o’clock. For two hours the patroon fussed and
.bn 324.png
.pn +1
fumed and visited the clock in the hall so often that
it scarce seemed to leave time for him to do anything
else. I wondered why he should be so
anxious about the clock, when he explained the
motive all of a sudden.
“Get on your cloak. It is time for us to go. This
is the errand I spoke to you about this morning.”
I asked no questions—no one ever did of the
patroon, especially when he was in a bad humor.
No one ever dared to approach him on a forbidden
subject, and I knew enough to know my place if I
knew nothing else. So I wrapped myself up warm
and the two of us set out on foot. We followed the
narrow path that led down to the river. It was
steep walking part of the way, but we managed to
stumble to the end of it in safety. At the landing
we found the patroon’s barge waiting for us. Eight
negro slaves were at the oars and an overseer held
the tiller.
“Have you seen the signal?” asked Van Volkenberg.
“Yes, about ten minutes ago for the first time,
and twice since. He seems to be in a hurry.”
“Very well. Let him know that we are coming.
Get in, St. Vincent.”
As soon as we were seated, word was given to
the slaves, and the barge shot out into the current,
turning southward towards the town.
“I do not like this disappearance of Louis,” said
the patroon in a low voice to me. “I have expected
.bn 325.png
.pn +1
him to turn against me for a long time, but I was
hardly prepared for it just at this moment. If he
comes back he shall feel the lash on his bare back
for the fright he has given me.”
“Poor Louis; I hope we shall not find him now.”
“No, this meeting is with someone else. You’ll
know who shortly.”
Soon after this the slaves left off rowing and we
drifted with the tide. We had come to a place just
opposite the fields north of the city wall.
“Show the light,” said the patroon.
A dark lantern held by the steersman was made
to flash three times; it was answered close at hand.
Five minutes later a boat glided up out of the darkness,
from which a stranger stepped aboard us.
Then we set out for home.
The stranger, so far as I could see in the dim
light, was a strong-built man, not over large in
stature. He wore a seaman’s great coat and carried
his cutlas in his hand. He swore fearfully in
his speech and the patroon was constantly warning
him to lower his gruff voice.
“I tell you, William,” he said after their conversation
had gone on for some time, “it will never
do. I have had a change of heart. It will never do.
I have surely suffered a change of heart.”
“Well,” returned the stranger with a large accompaniment
of oaths, “if that’s the fact, what’s
the use o' lugging Willie Kidd all the way to Hanging
Rock?”
.bn 326.png
.pn +1
“Tut, tut, man, we shall have a glass of old Madeira
and talk of bygone days.”
“Ah,” muttered Kidd, smacking his lips in anticipation,
“that is another matter.”
So this was Captain William Kidd, merchant, of
New York. This was the man to whom had been
entrusted the King’s ship that was to prey upon the
buccaneers and to put the booty into the pocket of
the sovereign and his co-adventurers. This was
the man about whom the patroon had got himself
into disgrace with the governor’s council. I tried
to make out the expression on Van Volkenberg’s
face, but the night was too dark for that. I could
only fancy how this appointment had been brought
about. Then I remembered the seaman we had
met in the city the day before, and the patroon’s
parting injunction: “At midnight on the river.” He
must have been Captain Kidd—at least his name
was William, for I had heard my master call him so.
They went on talking in low voices, although not
so low but that I could catch the drift of their talk.
I soon learned that the troops had been dispatched
to Albany mainly upon Kidd’s representation.
He had urged Bellamont to protect the
colony at all hazards against an invasion from the
north; and such was the faith of Bellamont and
Livingstone in the advice of the commander of the
Adventure that he tipped the scale of a hesitating
executive, and the troops were sent.
I also learned that, whereas Bellamont had taken
.bn 327.png
.pn +1
the advice of Kidd, Kidd had received his cue from
Van Volkenberg. So it was the patroon after all
who had emptied the fort of its regular guard. But
I had no time then to think of what motive he had
for doing so, for we were fast nearing the landing
at Hanging Rock. Several times during this conversation
Van Volkenberg had spoken again of his
change of heart. Often a low chuckle escaped him
on the occasion of such a reference. His spirits
were evidently rising, and, for the present, all
thoughts of Louis and his absence must have been
forgotten.
When we arrived at the manor-house, the
patroon led his guest to the door of the dining
room.
“St. Vincent,” he said, “stand here on guard.
No one is to come in or to interrupt us in any way
till we come out again.”
With that he opened the door and motioned Captain
Kidd to enter. I could only see a part of the
room from where I stood. What mainly occupied
the vista disclosed by the open door was the great
mahogany sideboard, which stood against the wall
at the farther end of the room. On the upper part
of it were plenty of glass vessels and blue china
pieces from Delft and heavy articles of silver plate;
the lower part was a huge cupboard used to store
less showy articles of furniture. I used to wonder
at the bigness of this enclosure and thought what
a place it would be to play hide and seek in if there
.bn 328.png
.pn +1
were only children about the house. Then the door
closed and I saw no more of the sideboard or of
the visitor for a while. But I heard a laugh; it was
loud and uproarious, and I thought he would never
have done. But he subsided at last; then I could
hear the muffle of low voices, but never a word
reached my ears that I could understand.
I walked up and down the hall for a long time.
The minutes merged into an hour and then two
hours. I grew tired with nothing to occupy my
mind but the continual mumble of low voices. I
fell to wondering where Louis was and what he was
up to. More than once I had suspected the
patroon’s motive in garrisoning the fort with his
own men. I was so sure that his action was a mere
trick, though I was taken in by it at the time, that
I intended to slip from my window that very night
and go to the Earl with a warning. Then it flashed
upon me that perhaps Louis had already done this.
Could the horseman we had heard be a messenger
to recall the troops that had been dispatched to
Albany? The idea seemed possible. The more I
thought of it the more certain I became. I can
remember to this day the thrill of satisfaction that I
felt when I understood that the patroon was within
one of checkmating himself. My imagination ran
riot there in the silence before the door I was guarding.
I began to fancy that the patroon meant to
get possession of the city. I had noticed that day
that his seven ships were so drawn up in the harbor
.bn 329.png
.pn +1
as to command the whole front of the city. But
in spite of everything I was satisfied with the situation.
If the Earl had received warning, the
patroon, after all, might succeed only in trapping
himself.
Then I felt a pang at heart—he was Miriam’s
father. I could no longer hide from myself the fact
that I was in love with the patroon’s daughter.
From the moment when I first felt the charm of her
attractiveness, I had fought hard against it. She
was a Catholic and, worse than that, she was his
daughter. But she had been good to Ruth. I recalled
how earnestly my sister had tried to break
down my unreasoning hatred of the Catholics. I
thought, too, of Miriam’s kindness to old Meg; and
of her love and belief in her father; and of her simple
purity of faith. These were qualities I had not
looked for in the Roman church. Then came that
sweet picture of her and Ruth kneeling side by side
in the little oratory, each praying in her own faith.
This very evening I had begged Miriam for a
keepsake. She had been with us during a part of
the time when her father was so upset by Louis’s
absence. She had tried to coax him into a better
humor, but he told her sharply to leave the room
and go to bed. I followed her into the hall and
when, a moment later, I picked up a handkerchief
which she had dropped on the floor, I begged her
to let me keep it. It was a mere bit of sentiment on
.bn 330.png
.pn +1
my part, I confess, but it would have been a treasure
to me and I wanted it with all my heart.
But Miriam thought differently. She protested
against the gift in such a vigorous manner that I
could think nothing less than that she would not
have me wear a favor of hers. This dashed my
spirits and she saw accordingly how seriously I
took the matter.
“Pooh, you are foolish,” she cried, laughing.
“This is why I won’t let you have it.”
She shook out the handkerchief and thrust her
finger through a tiny hole in one corner. In vain
I told her it was all the better for that. She only
brushed me lightly in the face with it and ran up
stairs laughing.
All this and many other things were in my head
as I walked back and forth like a sentinel before
the door of the dining room. Soon the sound of
other voices besides those of my master and Captain
Kidd became audible. They were above stairs
and seemed to come from the upper landing. One
I recognized immediately as Annetje’s. The other
person could be none but her mistress; though I
heard but little that she said, who else would be
with Annetje at this hour of the night?
There was a lamp burning in the hall whose light
fell dimly upon the foot of the stairs, but all above
the fifth or sixth step was as dark as the pit.
“Look on the bottom step, Monsieur St. Vincent,”
I heard Annetje whisper.
.bn 331.png
.pn +1
I glanced at the door of the dining room and then
walked sideways towards the stairs, so that I could
keep my eyes cast backward and attend to my duty
at the same time. On the bottom step lay a patch
of white which I caught up eagerly, for it was the
very handkerchief I wanted, hole, wrinkles and all.
“It is for you,” said Annetje from the dark above.
“She sends it with her—”
A hand must have been clapped over her mouth,
she stopped so suddenly. I hardly dared to hope
for that last word. No matter; I had the handkerchief
safe, at least. I called up my thanks, though
I could not see either of them and was soon back
at my post.
When Van Volkenberg and Kidd came out, we
retraced the journey of two hours previous, dropping
down river and transferring Kidd to his own
boat. And with this one appearance he vanishes
from these pages.
During those two hours when they were closeted
in the dining room, he and the patroon hatched a
plan which indirectly affected us mightily, but
whose ultimate success transpired too late to influence
the fortunes of the patroon.
As everyone knows, Captain Kidd sailed from
New York an honorable merchant and well trusted
by the government. When he was next heard of
he was a jolly pirate on the high seas, flying the
black flag. But he was only an amateur buccaneer
after all, and found pirating less to his mind than
.bn 332.png
.pn +1
he had hoped for. So he sat in his cabin till he had
fashioned a whole book full of lies to explain how
he had been made the victim of his crew and how he
had meant to deal honestly with the King’s commission.
Thus armed he sailed boldly into Boston
harbor, where he was promptly arrested to answer
for his crimes.
For a time it looked as if his treachery would
stain the honor of his patron. But at length Bellamont
was cleared beyond a doubt of all complicity,
and Kidd was sentenced to hang by the neck till
he was dead.
But all this happened afterwards and is beyond
the limits of this story. Kidd played a losing game,
in which he staked his life and reputation. What
right have we to heap calumny upon his memory?
Let him wend his own wicked way alone, while we
return to the fortunes of the Red Band.
.bn 333.png
.pn +1
CHAPTER XXV.
THE EFFECT OF KIDD’S VISIT
During the next forenoon I had no opportunity
to go to Yorke. Nor did I feel the duty quite so
necessary now that I thought Louis had been beforehand
in the matter of warning the governor.
For a long time that morning the patroon and I
were closeted together. He had begun to suspect
the dwarf himself and the suspicion irritated him
beyond measure. At last he suggested plainly that
Louis must be aware of his motive in garrisoning
the fort.
“But,” said I, sure at last that my own suspicions
were correct, “why should a knowledge of your
motives take him to Yorke?”
The patroon flushed with anger when he discovered
how carelessly he had disclosed his secret.
There seemed to be a moment’s hesitation in his
mind as to what to do, but he saw plainly that I
now understood the whole situation clearly. Patroon
Van Volkenberg was a man who always acted
with decision and at once. He saw that there was
no use to brazen it out, and so he made a clean
avowal.
“I took you for a man of sense, but I see that you
are a fool.”
I had had too long a time of training in keeping
.bn 334.png
.pn +1
cool under adverse circumstances to mind a little
fling like this.
“Your words to me yesterday on the way,” I said.
He snapped his fingers. “Mere practice. I
wanted someone to practice on, otherwise I should
have laughed in Bellamont’s face.”
This taunt was a home thrust, the more so since
I had been completely taken in at the time.
“Well,” said I, with a hint of sarcasm in my
voice, in spite of my desire not to rouse him yet.
“If Louis knows this I should say that you—”
“What of me?”
“That you are in a bad way.”
“True,” he answered, totally unmoved. “I have
been in a bad way for a long time; but I have the
Earl on the hip now.”
“He has the deed to your estate.”
“I shall get it back. I gave him that to win his
confidence. I never thought he would swallow
such an open bait. I took so many men with me
because I thought he would order my arrest. If I
had known what a gull he would prove I should
have got inside the fort with half the number. But
the best is yet to come. Be ready to-night to go
with me to Webber’s tavern. I expect great news,
glorious news; news that will shake Yorke to its
foundation. In the meantime I must look for
Louis.”
At that moment the door opened without a
warning knock and Louis Van Ramm stepped
.bn 335.png
.pn +1
across the threshold. For a moment the master and
servant remained where they were without moving.
The patroon sat in his great leather chair. In front
of him was a table strewn with papers. A decanter
of wine with a tray of glasses stood in the center,
and lying close at hand, his long, sharp pointed
sword. Within a yard of the door, glowering
across the intervening table, was the sullen figure
of the white-haired dwarf.
“Well,” said the patroon viciously after two minutes
of this strained silence.
“Well,” echoed the dwarf.
“What do you come here for?”
“Money.”
“State your errand,” he cried, starting up in
anger.
“That is easily done,” answered the dwarf, doggedly,
at the same time taking a cautious step or
two forward. “Do not get impetuous,” he continued
with a sneer. “I have written out all that I
know and have left the writing with my friends. I
have come to ask what you will give me not to have
the seals broken.”
If Louis had expected to find his master a prey to
one of his usual fits of rage, he was disappointed.
In a moment the patroon had overcome his first
outbreak and smiled, leaning back upon the arm of
his chair; then he dropped his hand cautiously on
the table near the hilt of his sword.
“Now hearken, Kilian Van Volkenberg,” Louis
.bn 336.png
.pn +1
began in an insolent tone. “I know why the Red
Band is in the fort, and I know why William Kidd
came here last night.”
The patroon had shown no emotion at the mention
of the first of these facts, but the second seemed
to startle him.
“So you were somewhere near about after all,
were you?”
“I was in the bottom of the sideboard last night,
and heard you discuss all your plans.”
“You lie,” said the patroon, yet he was calm
withal. I could see the shadow of fear in his face,
but he gave no sign of it by word or act. “Louis
Van Ramm, you lie in your throat.”
“Perhaps, but I have written out the full account
of all I heard, and my friends will break the seals
at noon unless—”
“Unless what?” for Louis paused.
“Unless you pay me a thousand pounds.”
“I could pay that, you fool, but I know you lie.”
The master’s voice was wavering and I knew he
believed what he denied with so much confidence.
“This tale does not take me in. It is impossible.
You could not have overheard, and if you did there
is nothing I would not be willing to have published.”
The dwarf looked at him in contempt. For a
moment I doubted whether he really had any proof.
It might all be a skilful lie to blackmail the patroon.
But not so! Louis raised his finger slowly, pointing
.bn 337.png
.pn +1
at his master. His mouth opened, but he waited
maliciously before he spoke, as if he knew well the
fatal result of his next word. Then he snapped out
suddenly, “Jacques.”
The effect was instantaneous. With a sharp cry
of rage the patroon caught up his sword. He
lunged forward before either of us had a moment
to think what he was doing, and passed the sharp
blade clean through the body of the dwarf. Louis
toppled forward across the table without uttering a
sound. The glasses shattered with a crash, and the
wine from the decanter trickled out and mingled
with the blood which I can hear to this day, as
it rattled with a sharp sound on the papers which
were everywhere about. The patroon stood mopping
the sweat from his brow and looking down on
the body of his henchman.
“Come with me, Vincent, come with me. If what
this fellow said is true, I am in a trap indeed. Perhaps
the papers are in his room, perhaps he did not
write them, but let us see.”
We went to Louis’s room and ransacked every
corner for some sign of the papers. We sounded
the floor for loose boards. We tore open the bedding.
We let no nook or cranny escape our
vigilance. But nothing rewarded our search.
“Well,” muttered Van Volkenberg moodily, “he
must have told the truth. Someone else has the
papers if they were ever written at all. Who had
he for friends?” Then he swore a fearful oath, for
.bn 338.png
.pn +1
he had thought of the Marmadukes. “If she comes
against me—” He doubled his fists, but did not
finish the sentence.
We went back to dispose of the body of Louis.
When this was done the patroon prepared to summon
the remaining members of the Red Band. I
did not know what he wanted of his retainers, nor
did I care. I remembered what Louis had said to
me about the loose bricks by the oven and that I
should look there in case of his death by violence.
I resolved to do a little hunting on my own account
and, sure enough, when I reached the place, I found
two small packets, which I hastily concealed about
me and retired to my room. One of the packets
was marked “The Great Secret.” The other bore
the date of that very day. I tore it open. Here is
what I read:
“I heard the whole conversation between Van
Volkenberg and Captain Kidd. The latter has
come here to recruit the crew which is to take the
Adventure out to sea to capture pirate ships. Van
Volkenberg has agreed to furnish the eighty men
needed to complete the crew. The agreement is
that as soon as they are well at sea these men are
to mutiny. Kidd is to give in without resistance.
Then they are all to turn pirates. Van Volkenberg
is to get a share of the booty and to start the rumor
that this was Bellamont’s intention from the first.
There was another plan disclosed”
The account stopped abruptly, without even the
.bn 339.png
.pn +1
formality of a period. Louis may have been interrupted
in his writing and found no chance to finish,
or he may have thought better and decided not to
tell all he knew. Of this fact, of course, no one will
ever know. I was about to break the seal of the
second packet and read the Great Secret, when I
heard steps in the corridor on the way to my door.
The next moment there was a knock.
“Patroon Van Volkenberg wishes your presence
in the hall,” said the messenger.
Five minutes later I was at the door of the assembly
room where the remainder of the Red Band
had already gathered and seemed to be waiting for
my appearance. This was the first time I had seen
them together by daylight, and as I glanced round
upon their faces, several questions that I had often
asked myself were partly answered. The lower class
I had seen everywhere so far in and about Yorke
were men whose independence of spirit and ability
to think for themselves would not have countenanced
such blind obedience to a leader as was
shown by these men of the Red Band. But as I
looked upon them now I saw the reason. Most of
them were foreigners, all of them weather-beaten
soldiers or sailors, who may have seen as many campaigns
or more than I had seen myself. As soldiers
they had had obedience drilled into their very
bones. But there was another reason yet. Three of
the men who stood nearest to me had each but one
ear. Several more had letters branded upon their
.bn 340.png
.pn +1
foreheads or upon their hands. I knew well enough
what that meant. In a time when, on the continent,
as well as in the colonies, mutilation was so common,
I needed no one to tell me how many of the
members of the Red Band had served their time in
prison. Surely this was a lawless set of men. They
spared no one, and every man’s hand was against
them. The newness of the patroon’s attempt to
assume rights that were no longer his may have
been all that accounted for his criminal deeds being
kept a secret thus far; but I thought, as I looked at
these men, to whom could they turn if they once
deserted their present master?
Van Volkenberg had drawn largely upon his followers
when he garrisoned the fort. All of those
who were left behind were now gathered in the hall
before me. I had not long to wait to learn the purpose
of the meeting. The patroon commanded
silence. In a few words he reminded his followers
of the oaths of service they had all taken to him.
Then he explained that Captain William Kidd was
about to set out on an expedition for the welfare
of the province.
“My men,” continued the patroon, “a task is expected
of you. I cannot now make known to you
all the particulars of your new duty. I shall entrust
my plans to Edward Baine and Harold Bromm.
You know and respect both of these men. You
must obey them as if I were there myself to give
orders. Each man shall receive at the outset twenty
.bn 341.png
.pn +1
pounds. The money has already been sent aboard
ship. You must follow yourselves as secretly as
possible before night. At midnight the anchors
will be lifted and by sunrise you will be far from
shore.”
He looked about him as if to note the temper of
his audience. There was no dissatisfaction. Most
of the men were already tired of the quiet times
since the elections, and welcomed this chance of
action. No question of its propriety seemed to
enter their heads. They acted like machines, ready
to come and go as their master sent them.
“Now,” continued the patroon. “In accordance
with our general custom we shall take the oath of
service together.
“Edward Baine, stand forth. Do you solemnly
swear to remain true to the brotherhood of the Red
Band, to advance its interests with your life, so
help you God?”
“I do, Amen.”
The oath was next administered to Harold
Bromm. After that a clause was inserted binding
the men to obey the orders of these two ringleaders.
One after another the members of the band bound
themselves to this new venture. At last there were
but three left, myself and two others. I wondered
whether the patroon intended to send me along
with the rest on this mutinous expedition.
“Dick Ramsey, do you solemnly swear—”
The oath was duly sworn to.
.bn 342.png
.pn +1
“Barnard Lee—”
He likewise assented to the oath.
All eyes turned upon me. The others looked
expectant as if they too had thought of the same
question that I had just put to myself. Perhaps
even the patroon did not know what he would do
till the moment came. He looked at me as if in
deliberation with himself. There was a long pause,
then I heard my name.
“Henrie St. Vincent, do you solemnly swear to
remain true to the brotherhood of the Red Band,
to advance its interest with your life, to obey Edward
Baine and Harold Bromm in all things as they
may command, so help you God?”
“I do not.”
The silence of amazement followed. I could not
forbear to smile at the look on every face. Only
the patroon appeared as if he had expected my answer.
He was angry rather than surprised.
“Why not?” he cried petulantly. “Why not, St.
Vincent?”
“I do not care to leave Yorke,” I answered.
“This duty is not within my understanding of what
I promised when I took service. If you wish it, I
will withdraw from the Red Band, but—”
“Withdraw! Such a thing was never heard of.”
There was a murmur of discontent throughout
the room. Some spoke openly and bade me remember
Ronald Guy. Disobedience had been a
part of his offense.
.bn 343.png
.pn +1
I was standing close to the patroon and spoke to
him so that no one else could hear what I said. “Do
you intend to treat me as you treated your—” I
was on the point of saying “your son,” but he cut
me short.
“No, no, if you don’t want to go you need not.
No one shall go against his will. Never mind, my
men; you will lose a good blade, but I shall gain
one. I really need him here after all. It cost me an
effort to make up my mind to let him go.”
The patroon whispered to someone next him and
after that two or three men left the hall. We were
detained but a few moments longer. Then the
men began to say good-by to their master. Only
about one in ten of them lived on the estate. Some
of these came to take his hand and even wept at
parting. “You have been a good master. I’ll never
forget when the old woman was sick,” said one.
And another, “I’ll do my best for you. I’ve not
forgot when my little boy died.” Truly this master
was good to his own, save only when his malady
was upon him.
I was much touched by what I had just witnessed.
From the assembly room I went to my
own. I was anxious to read the secret contained
in the second packet which Louis had hidden in
the oven. But I was to be interrupted once again.
I had hardly closed the door behind me when I
discovered that I was not alone in the room. A tall
figure, completely robed in a black mantle, stood
.bn 344.png
.pn +1
in one corner. When I closed the door she stepped
forward.
“Mistress Van Volkenberg,” I exclaimed, “what
has brought you here?”
It took me several minutes to recover my self-possession.
Miriam meantime dropped her cloak
and stood blushing before me. Her voice trembled
with confusion and she could hardly speak.
“Oh, what will you think of me?” she broke out
after one or two attempts to speak. “But I could
not help it. Listen to me and let me go. What
have you done? My father has given orders to
have you watched. In a few minutes you will not
be able to get away; you must go at once.”
When she bade me go away and leave her there
alone, I recalled a former occasion when I had resolved
to protect this girl if need be against her
father.
“Shall I leave you here?” I asked.
“Me? What have I to do with it? Go, go; do
not stay; you must, you must.” She laid hold of
my arm and tried to push me towards the door.
“Why do you want me to go?”
She became silent and the bright color came into
her cheeks.
“You must go. I want you to save yourself.”
“I cannot go,” I answered.
“Why?”
“Because I love you.”
.bn 345.png
.pn +1
She stepped backward as if frightened at my simple
words.
“Mistress Van Volkenberg,” I continued, “I am
a plain woer. I do not know how to tell you what
I feel. My heart tells me that I love you, but how
shall I make you know it? Bid me to do something.
Prove my love. Do you care nothing for
how I feel?”
She came a step closer. “I am a Catholic.”
“Does not that prove my love? You know what
I have had to suffer from your church.”
“Yes, you have told me a little,” she answered.
“But—”
I would have no buts. I caught both her hands
in mine and gazed into her eyes wondering what
she would say if she knew who I really was. For
a moment she held away from me. Then I felt her
sway gently forward.
“Do you love me, Miriam?”
“Yes.”
For a moment I held her in my arms. Her face
lay close upon my shoulder. I could feel her heart
beating quickly, and there was a sweet smell about
her hair like fresh flowers. Then she whispered
softly:
“Call me Miriam again.”
“My sweet Miriam.”
“Ah, Henrie—why do you start?”
She lifted her face to mine. I kissed her forehead
before I answered.
.bn 346.png
.pn +1
“I started because you did not call me by my
name. My name is Michael Le Bourse.”
She looked at me with growing wonder in her
eyes. “Michael Le Bourse? Ruth’s brother? He
is dead.”
“No, he is not dead. You did not see his body
at Marmaduke’s. You were deceived. He is alive
and well, and I am he.”
As she gazed confusedly at me the wonder faded
from her face. Then in a flash she seemed to comprehend
it all. She broke from me and stood in the
center of the room, burning with shame and anger.
“If you are Michael Le Bourse, what are you
doing here?”
Oh, the sight was pitiful, both for her and for me.
She stamped her foot madly.
“What are you doing here? Are you a spy in
my father’s house? You wretch, I see it now. You
came here to avenge your sister. You tricked me
into loving you. I hate you. I thought you were
an honest man. The shame, oh the shame to have
touched you. Is this your just religion? Where
is your justice? In lying, in deceit, in being false
to women? All, all to gain your own selfish ends.
The dogs in my father’s kennels would hold better
faith than that. Yet you judge others. You say
we Catholics are untrue. God shield us, we are not
ashamed to own our names.”
I tried to interrupt her. She only drew her skirts
about her and edged off as if I were diseased.
.bn 347.png
.pn +1
“Don’t speak to me. Your poor sister! If she
were alive it would break her heart to hear of this.
She used to talk about you. I have heard her speak
so often of your honor. This would break her
heart. Stand by and let me go.”
She moved towards the door, going by the edge
of the room, so as to keep as far away from me
as possible.
“Mistress Van Volkenberg,” I said when she was
near the threshold, “there is much justice in what
you say.”
“Of course there is much justice in what I say.”
“But you are not right in all. I cannot explain
everything now, but let me tell you my resolution.
I am willing to make amends.”
“Amends! You cannot. You are false to perdition.”
“I can confess myself and give myself up to justice.”
“Yes, your justice. Go to your sweet Earl and
say, ‘Faith, I’ve been a naughty boy, forgive me.’
And he will say, ‘Yes.’ I know him. My father
would not stand his evil practice and that is why
he left the council. So your horseback-riding governor
is your amends, is it? I see you are a coward
as well as a villain. O God, can such men live and
look like other men?”
“No, mistress, this is not what I intended to do.
I intended to go to your father.”
“You dare not.”
.bn 348.png
.pn +1
“That will be seen.”
She opened the door and was on the point of
going out when she turned back.
“I believe you dare,” she muttered.
Then she came quickly to my side.
“Do not do it. It will do no good. It will throw
him into a passion and he might—might—oh, fly,
fly before it is too late.”
She spoke beseechingly and the anger in her
voice was fading like the twilight.
“But what interest,” I asked, “can you have in
a villain and a coward?”
“None, none,” she replied, “but that such a worm
should linger in our house.”
She swept haughtily from the room without so
much as a glance behind her. Indeed I was rightly
punished. My ungenerous answer had but trampled
on her sweet good will. When she went out I felt
as if all the light in my life went with her. Bitterly
I reproached myself for my folly—nay, worse than
folly. But it was now too late to mend. I could,
however, carry out my resolution. I could prove
that I was not a coward. It was the more easy to
do because I had already considered the question
of making myself known to the patroon, be the
consequences what they might. So, in this state of
mind, fresh from the sting of her contempt and full
of despair at my own foolishness, I sought the master
of the house.
.bn 349.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVI | THE GREAT SECRET
.sp 2
I found the patroon in much the same position as
Louis had found him earlier that day. A few red
drops showed on the scattered papers; otherwise
all signs of the henchman’s death had disappeared.
The patroon was seated in his leather chair with
his sword in his hand when I entered.
“Close the door, Vincent,” he said.
I turned to do so, and almost immediately I
heard a quick step behind me. A mirror on the
wall warned me of my danger. I sprang aside just
in time to avoid a vicious thrust of the patroon’s
sword.
“Coward!” I cried. “From behind.”
“What have you to say of ‘from behind?’ I strike
cowards and dogs from behind when they won’t
show their faces—why not spies as well? Answer
me that, Michael Le Bourse.”
So he, too, had found me out. I dare say he had
overheard my conversation with his daughter from
some secret passage. He stood before me now,
glaring at me with pent up passion.
“Draw your sword, Mike. You have an Irish
name, but a fool’s wit. Don’t you see the humor of
it? The Earl and I must wait a while. But you
.bn 350.png
.pn +1
and I, our time has come. You shall never have
my daughter while I live. Draw, man, draw, or I’ll
spit you like a dog.”
Our swords were out and crossed in the twinkle
of an eye. He fought wildly, bent upon taking my
life, and careless of his own. His all depended on
it, yet he was man enough not to call for help. I
meanwhile stood upon the defensive and nothing
more.
Had we both been in earnest it would have been
short shrift for the patroon. I had the advantage,
both in years and strength, as well as in skill with
my weapon. From the first I was as cool as if
drilling on parade. My very coolness seemed to
exasperate him further. After a few passes his manner
began to change. I saw the scared look in his
face and the flush of blood that always came before
one of his mad seizures. Then he began to grow
unsteady. The swiftness of his blows redoubled.
He left his body unguarded twenty times. I could,
had I been so minded, have run him through with
my eyes shut. Still he fought on with blind desperation.
Then we heard someone coming down the hall.
There was a woman’s cry of terror. The next moment
Miriam, unmindful of her own danger, dashed
between us and caught her father in her arms.
She gave me one glance of withering contempt.
“On top of all you would murder him before my
eyes. Be gone.”
.bn 351.png
.pn +1
I went out and down the corridor, minded to go
back to Yorke. At the door two guards stopped
me and turned me back. Miriam had told me that
I was a prisoner in the house; this confirmed what
she had said and showed that my chance of escape
was gone.
“We have strict orders,” said one of the guards
who turned me back, “No one is to pass out.”
I tried both of the other doors with the same ill
success. But I did not care much, I was so miserable.
I felt that the end had come, and that it mattered
little how the blow fell. I went to my room—that
was not guarded away from me. As I closed
the door I bethought me of the second of Louis’s
packets, which was still in my pocket unopened. I
took it out and broke the seal. As my eyes fell
upon the writing, I could not repress a cry at the
startling news that was contained in the first line.
“Sir Evelin Marmaduke is starving to death in
the cave beneath the Hanging Rock.”
Sir Evelin Marmaduke, he whom all the city
mourned as dead? Could he be still alive? Louis’s
narrative was short and clear.
“Colonel Fletcher granted the Marmaduke
estate to Patroon Van Volkenberg upon the death
of Sir Evelin. One day his boat was caught in the
tide about Hell Gate. The patroon and I discovered
him, half drowned and unconscious, upon the
shore. The patroon wanted to let him die, but I
insisted otherwise. So he was imprisoned in the
.bn 352.png
.pn +1
cave beneath the rock. By accident Ruth Le
Bourse discovered our secret. We tried to keep her
silent. But she would not consent. I repent now
that we handled her so roughly, but she is better
off.”
Brief as the narrative was, how clear it made
everything. I remembered the many tales I had
heard from Annetje Dorn of victuals disappearing
from the larder at the dead of night; and of comings
and goings from the patroon’s part of the house in
the small hours. But what could I do? He was
starving to death and must be rescued at once. The
doors below were all shut tight to me. I fell to
cursing my luck and the villainy of the patroon. I
raged back and forth like a tiger in a cage. What
could be done? Suddenly the answer came. The
door swung open and Miriam stood before me.
Her haughty bearing was all gone. Her eyes were
red with weeping.
“I come to be forgiven,” were her first words.
“I did not mean to kill him.”
“I know it; forgive me. He has been talking in
his madness and I know all. God forgive me;
how I have been deceived. Will you go with me
to the Hanging Rock?”
I followed her outside my door to where stood
Annetje. The three of us proceeded through the
crooked halls. At the outer door we were stopped
by the guards.
.bn 353.png
.pn +1
“Not go out?” cried Miriam. “Out of my way!
I am mistress here.”
The men gave back—there was no gainsaying
her when her spirit was fully aroused—and we
passed out. She bore herself with a fierce calmness
that was terrible to see. I wondered whether she
could stand the strain produced by this shattering
of her idol; or whether she would go mad.
“Do you know why we are going?” she asked
in a low, painful voice.
“Spare me,” I replied. “I know it all.”
“How long have you known it?”
“But just now. I learned it from a paper that
Louis left behind.”
“You must have known many other things. I
begin to understand why you have not betrayed us
long ago. I have misjudged you. Forgive me, but
there is small time for undoing now. Let me take
your hand. Come, we must run; it is a matter of
minutes now. He may die while we are coming.”
When we reached the cave Miriam produced a
key which she had secured from her father. It fitted
the door of the cave which had been walled up and
turned into a dungeon. Within, upon short examination,
we discovered Sir Evelin. He was a
fearful sight; thin, lank, nothing but skin and bones.
He was so weak that he could neither speak nor
walk. He looked blankly into the lantern like one
who cannot see. Annetje poured a spoonful of
.bn 354.png
.pn +1
liquor which he took mechanically, but he showed
no sign of intelligence.
“Oh, this is terrible, terrible, terrible,” sobbed
Miriam.
I lifted him up—he was as light as a child—and
carried him to the landing. We loosened a boat
and got ready to take him to Yorke by river.
“Good-by,” said Miriam. “You and Annetje
must attend to this. My place is with my father.”
“Miriam,” I cried, taking her hand.
“No, no,” she said, putting me back, “not now.
Go at once and save his life.”
I began to remonstrate, but she would not hear
a word. Soon we were aboard the boat, and then
in a minute we were out upon the black river, where
we could no longer see the silent figure on the
shore. Annetje held Sir Evelin’s head in her lap
and shielded his face from the chill wind. I worked
the oars. Before long we were abreast of the first
scattered lights of the town north of the wall.
Ever since I had left Yorke, I had kept the two
keys the governor had given me. I resolved now
to go to the little postern gate in the west palisade
rather than to rouse the watch at the city gate in
the wall. Ever since the fright over an invasion
of the French, these gates had been locked, and I
feared difficulty and delay from an attempt to enter
in that manner. So, by way of the postern, we got
him speedily to Marmaduke Hall. But the mistress
was not at home.
.bn 355.png
.pn +1
“Where is she?” I asked.
“At the governor’s ball.”
Ah, yes; I, too, had been invited to that ball, and
by the governor himself. So I set out at once for
the fort, to see the Earl and to warn my lady of her
husband’s safety.
As was natural they refused me entrance at the
gate because I had no card of introduction. But I
still possessed the other key that the governor had
given me on the night before I set out from New
York upon my adventures at the manor-house. In
five minutes I was inside the fort with the wicket
gate locked behind me. As I approached the governor’s
house, I thought of what an unusual request
I was about to make, and whether the guard would
deliver it or not. The earnestness of my manner,
however, must have affected him, for he did my bidding
after a little persuasion. Soon he returned
with an answer that the Earl would see me. He
conducted me to an inner room, and a moment later
the governor appeared.
He recognized me at once. “Ah, St. Vincent, I
am glad to see you. You are a welcome guest.”
There was a cordiality in his manner that an
observer would not have suspected. I was surprised
myself, for he thought me a follower of the
patroon. In later times I understood him better.
Whatever faults he may have had, Earl Bellamont
was a gentleman to the heart.
.bn 356.png
.pn +1
I put my finger upon my lips and glanced about
the room.
“Leave the room,” said the Earl to the guard
who had accompanied me. “What is it that you
have to say that requires such secrecy?”
“My name is not St. Vincent, sir. I am Michael
Le Bourse.”
His astonishment knew no bounds, and it grew
as I told my tale. As soon as I had finished he
broke out with an expression that showed how he
always thought of others before himself.
“We must send Lady Marmaduke home at
once.”
He dispatched a messenger to fetch her from the
ball room. He told her what had happened with a
gentleness that won my heart more than anything
he had ever done before. She had but one word
to say.
“Let me go to him; take me to my husband.”
“Accompany her, Le Bourse. At midnight,
when this ceremony is over, return to me. I shall
leave orders at the gate for your admission.”
We set out immediately in a chair. Lady Marmaduke
spoke hardly a word. Now and then she
tapped the side of the chair impatiently, and often
there came a struggling sob. But she gave no
other sign of her great fear lest she come too late.
Thanks to kind Annetje’s care, Sir Evelin was
much improved. He was able to recognize his wife
when she appeared, and I was glad to note that
.bn 357.png
.pn +1
the blank expression in his eyes had gone somewhat.
I waited till it was time to return to the fort.
The mistress saw me for a moment before I went.
“Tell him that all is well. And for you, my
Michael, you have my gratitude beyond the power
of words. Now go. I shall hear your tale through
to-morrow.”
.bn 358.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVII | THE LAST OF THE PATROON
.sp 2
It was past two o’clock in the morning when I
finished my consultation with the Earl. Small
wonder that he walked up and down the room at
his wits’ end what to do. Captain Kidd by this
time had lifted anchor and had set sail with the
lawless crew that was destined for a time to stain
the name of my patron. Nor could Bellamont foresee
that he was to come out of this malicious attack
with his honor unsullied and his respect undiminished.
But a still greater danger pressed close at
hand. There was but one small company of soldiers
inside the fort who were loyal to the governor;
all the rest belonged to the patroon. They outnumbered
us three to one or perhaps more. We
were in the enemy’s hands, and what were we
to do?
Louis, I found, had not warned the Earl at all.
We learned later that he had come to the fort, but
had been refused admission. Whereupon he dispatched
a forged letter northward on his own account
to recall the troops. But of this we knew
nothing at the time. The troops were not at hand
to help us, nor did they return in time to be of any
help. We had to plan for the instant.
At last it was arranged between us that the few
.bn 359.png
.pn +1
faithful men in the fort should be roused at once.
As soon as they had taken possession of the armory,
which they could easily do, as almost everyone was
asleep, and the guard for the night had been chosen
from the loyal company—after they had got possession
of the armory they were to waken the members
of the Red Band one by one and throw them
into irons. Why make a short story long? All this
was accomplished with success. By four in the
morning every man was securely bound and the fort
saved.
“But what does this unfinished sentence mean?”
said the Earl, who held Louis’s paper in his hand.
“Van Ramm breaks off suddenly, after speaking of
something else.”
Then for the first time in many hours I remembered
that the patroon had spoken of a meeting
that night in the neighborhood of Webber’s tavern.
“Your Excellency,” I cried, “it must have been of
great importance from his manner. Let me set out
at once. It may not be too late. Perchance the
patroon was not well enough to go, and has put
off the meeting till the morning. The man, whoever
he is, may have remained all night at the
tavern.”
A party of three horsemen was at once got ready,
and Bellamont insisted on going with us himself.
It was just daylight when we reached the inn.
“Yes,” answered the host, in reply to our questions.
“There was a stranger here last night, and
.bn 360.png
.pn +1
he had a great spell of impatience, but he would
not stir from the room, and he stayed all night, and
he is up stairs now asleep. Shall I call him, your
Excellency?”
“No,” replied Bellamont. “Let us go up to his
room.”
When we knocked the stranger refused to open
the door. We made short work of that and soon
the door was beaten down. We all stood agog at
what we saw within. The man had not retired. He
was fully dressed and the bed had not been slept in.
“Body of me!” exclaimed the host. “Look at
his head. What is that he has in his hands?”
What we saw was a silver crucifix and a close
shaven head. The man was a Jesuit priest.
“What are you doing here?” asked the Earl, as
soon as his first astonishment had worn off a bit.
“Body of me,” cried the host; “you’ll be hanged.
That is our law.”
The priest turned a trifle pale at this, but he was
no coward—that I could see at the first glance.
“St. Jacques protect me,” he said in a calm voice,
crossing himself.
“Stop that twiddle-twoddle,” interrupted the
host, at the same time catching the priest roughly
by the shoulder.
“You know the laws of the province?” asked the
Earl, sternly.
“Yes, I know them,” he replied, proudly. “The
agent of Christ is worthy of death in this province
.bn 361.png
.pn +1
if he adhere to the one true faith. Yes, Sir Tyrant,
I know your laws.”
“Do you call the governor names?” yelled the
host in a rage. “Down on your knees in an instant;
you’ll hang in the air in an hour.”
The priest looked at the host grimly, and then
he smiled.
“Pardon me, your honor, I mistook you. I
thought he was the governor. If you are he, however—”
“Take that for your impudence,” cried the host.
He had unbuckled his leather belt and struck
the priest with it across the face. It was all done so
quickly that we could hardly see how it happened;
but when I looked again, the landlord was lying
on the floor with a bloody nose and the priest was
rubbing his knuckles which ached with the sting
of the blow he had given him.
“That will do,” said Bellamont with dignity.
“What is your name?”
“Jacques.”
That was the word Louis had uttered in the
patroon’s study. It had brought on the blow that
killed him.
“What are you doing here?”
“My instructions are secret, sir.”
“We’ll draw your secrets out,” whined the host,
who was getting upon his feet slowly, and holding
his handkerchief to his nose. Bellamont commanded
.bn 362.png
.pn +1
him to be still, and continued talking with
the priest.
“Father Jacques, how much you know of what
concerns me, I am not aware; but this much I know
of you; you came here last night expecting to meet
Patroon Van Volkenberg, who is now under the
displeasure of the government. You know the laws
of this province. If you will disclose your secrets I
will give you your life. Choose.”
“I refuse,” answered the priest without a moment’s
hesitation.
I could have grasped his hand, for I knew what
it was to look death in the face. But that grim
sight did not stir him visibly. He was a man, and
a brave one, for all we had against him.
“If you refuse,” said the Earl, “I must search
you and the room for papers.”
The man bowed without speaking. Not much
of a search was needed, however. We had come in
upon him so suddenly that he had had no time for
concealment. A packet of papers lay in full view
on the table.
A brief examination of them told the whole story.
The fear in the city of a French invasion proved
to be no idle fear; but the invasion was not to
come from the north. That was the mistake and
was due to the false rumors set afloat by the
patroon. There was a French fleet a short way
down the coast waiting a chance to pounce upon
the city unawares. They had been in correspondence
.bn 363.png
.pn +1
with the patroon for some time. His ships in
the harbor were to co-operate with the French and
his men were to surrender the fort. In return for
this the old powers of the patroons were to be restored,
and Van Volkenberg made governor of the
province.
It was a fanciful plan, and, I must confess, within
an ace of succeeding. But they had not reckoned
against chance. The odd trick had fallen to our
lot. A week later, all was lost to them; for now we
held the high cards in our own hands.
“It is time we were going,” said the Earl, when
we were done with the papers. The tone of his
voice and the brevity of his speech showed how
much he was affected by the narrow escape we had
had. “Bring that man with us.” Then he turned
to the prisoner. “Have no fear for your life, Father
Jacques. It is small love I have for you, or sympathy
for your attempt to spoil my government.
But I can use you better than to weight a rope.
You shall back to this French fleet of yours and
tell them that the English governor is ready for
them; but not till I have seen Van Volkenberg.
Bind him, Le Bourse; we must to the fort in haste.”
We had gone down stairs and were in the tavern
doorway when who should ride up but the man of
all men we wanted most at that moment—Van Volkenberg.
He saw us standing there with the priest
a prisoner. He took in the situation at a glance.
.bn 364.png
.pn +1
He shook his fist at me and spat in the governor’s
face.
“Zounds! Dogs!” he cried. “You think you
have me. But the fort is mine. Do you take me
there!”
He clapped spurs to his horse and was off like
an arrow.
“After him, Le Bourse,” cried the Earl. “You
have the best horse. Stop him alive or dead.”
The patroon had the start of me by five hundred
yards. Our horses were an even match for swiftness,
but the patroon rode lighter in body. For
all that, he gained like a snail. He thundered across
the Kissing Bridge. Before the echo of his steps
died away the bridge was rocking beneath me. The
city gate stood open. A guard challenged, but he
sprang back to avoid a wide sweep of the patroon’s
sword. It was straight away now along Broadway
to the fort. I could hear him shouting at the top
of his voice as he drew near:
“What ho; Van Volkenberg! Men of the Red
Band! Open the gate. Van Volkenberg, Van
Volkenberg, Van Volkenberg!”
But the rallying cry of the Red Band was not
answered. The patroon halted before the gate,
grinding his teeth in rage.
“What ho!” I cried, from behind, mocking his
voice. “Open the gate. Van Volkenberg! The
Red Band is all asleep,” I continued, addressing
.bn 365.png
.pn +1
him. “They sleep late to-day in irons. Yield, in
the name of Bellamont.”
Just as I reached the point where he had stopped,
he drew his pistol and fired. My horse received
the ball in his breast and stumbled headlong, throwing
me upon the ground. We were so close, I
touched the patroon’s horse when I went down.
For a moment I lay stunned. Then I gradually
heard the clattering of hoofs. I rose with difficulty
just in time to see Van Volkenberg dash down
Petticoat Lane and turn northward through the
city.
By this time the rest of our party rode up. They
had been so encumbered with the priest, who had
purposely tried to hold them back from joining in
the pursuit, that they were too late to be of any
use in stopping the patroon. When they arrived,
he must have been at least through the gate, or
well on his way north to the Hanging Rock.
Lady Marmaduke often used to rail against the
Earl because he was forever on the wait for a better
opportunity to turn up. My short experience of
him seemed to prove otherwise. For all that, she
was not so far wrong. I found, when I came to
know him better, that he was not prone to action
when he had time for deliberation. But when a
thing had to be done in short order, he did it with
a speed and decision that rivaled the patroon. On
the day of Jacques’ arrest, however, Bellamont was
mad with prudence. Both Lady Marmaduke and
.bn 366.png
.pn +1
I urged him with all our power to capture the
patroon at once. Give him a few hours and he
might yet muster a large enough band to endanger
the city in its present state. There were a few men
still left at the manor-house, and the ships in the
bay were mostly manned with fighting men.
Bellamont, however, would not agree with us.
He was afraid to take decisive action. “I have still
one company,” he said. “They can defend the fort
against a host. But if I send them, or even a part
of them to the Hanging Rock, I shall not be able
to guard the prisoners I have already taken. And
a few men can defend the manor-house as well as I
can defend the fort. The manor-house is almost a
castle in its position.”
“But,” interrupted Lady Marmaduke, “why not
strike before he can get his defense together. I can
fill out your number with twenty armed men of my
own.”
“You are too hasty,” replied the Earl. “Remember
the old proverb: Give the devil rope enough to
hang himself. The patroon can never gather head
to harm us now.”
“Harm us!” exclaimed Lady Marmaduke in contempt.
“Is your own safety all you have to care
for? Had you seen my poor husband as I saw him
last night, the skin nearly cut through by his sharp
bones, and too weak to say a dozen words. No, if
you have nothing but harm to fear, I have revenge
to seek. While he lives I shall not rest. I swear
.bn 367.png
.pn +1
before God, if you will not help me I shall do it
alone. Do you suppose I can forget? My husband
stolen away and me mourning him for dead.
And well nigh dead he is. Ah, I have had dreams.
I have seen this moment coming. I knew there
was to be a day of reckoning. God’s help! This
day Yorke shall see great deeds. They call me the
people’s friend. I shall try the people. The voice
of the people is the voice of God.”
Lady Marmaduke strode rapidly out of the room
and in a moment she was gone.
“Follow her, Le Bourse,” said my patron. “She
is at her wits’ end. She has had great wrong. I
fear she will do something rash.”
The news of the priest’s arrest had already got
abroad, and also the truth about the French fleet.
Although it confirmed their fears the people felt
more at ease, for they knew now what to expect,
and had full confidence in the governor. When I
reached the gate of the fort a crowd of loiterers was
gathered about the Marmaduke pump. When my
lady appeared they greeted her with cheers.
“Good friends,” she said.
“Silence there,” cried several. “Lady Marmaduke
is speaking.”
In a moment there was silence.
“Good friends, good people, I believe you love
me and my house. I have come to throw myself
upon your protection.”
There were more cheers, and cries of: “We will!”
.bn 368.png
.pn +1
“Hear, hear.” “Right or wrong we’ll follow Lady
Marmaduke.”
“But it is right,” she continued, silencing them
with her hand. “There has been a great wrong.
The patroon of the Hanging Rock has been trying
to sell the city to the French.”
“Down with the French! Down with the Van
Volkenberg! Treason, treason!”
There were some of my own countrymen in the
crowd, but they shouted with the rest. Our French
persecutors were not considered as fellow-countrymen
in those days.
“My good friends, do not be rash. Go about the
city. Summon those who love me. Tell them to
come to Marmaduke Hall in half an hour. There
I will show you proof.”
“We want no proof. To the Hanging Rock!”
“Stay, friends, stay; do as I bid you. Before
Marmaduke Hall in thirty minutes.”
She stepped into her chair and was carried home.
Half an hour later there was a great crowd before
her house. She appeared on the balcony.
“Did you love my husband?” was her first breathless
question. “Then listen to me. We thought
him dead. You, I, all of us wore black for that.
It was by his will that I dug the Marmaduke well
for the people. But he was not dead. He has come
back to us.”
I shall hear the cheer that followed this fact when
I am dead and in my grave.
.bn 369.png
.pn +1
“Wait, friends, wait till I show him to you.”
She disappeared, but soon came back, carrying
her husband in her arms. A cry of horror rose
when they saw his starved condition. “Do you remember
Sir Evelin, good friends? He used to rival
the Earl upon a horse. Where are the roses in his
cheeks?” Sir Evelin dropped his head upon his
wife’s shoulder from very weakness. “See, he cannot
even raise his head to look at you he loved.
Can you see this without a tear? Will you stand
by and permit this to go unpunished in a friend to
Yorke? How has he lost his strength? In the
prison at Hanging Rock. Now you cry out. The
patroon thought to get this house. We have no
children, and our will leaves it to the city. Van
Volkenberg wanted to rob you. He would starve
your wives and children, too. Look upon this poor
man and see what the patroon has done. He
plotted to give up the city. He rumored it about
that Frontenac was coming from the north, and all
the time he was plotting for an invasion from the
sea. He filled the fort with his Red Band under
the pretense of friendship. The Earl has beaten
him there, but that is not all. Give him two hours,
nay, one, and he will lead an army into the city.
Look, look upon my husband. Will you not act
for your wives and children?”
Some mobs are boisterous, others are still. They
are the kind most to be feared. There was no
violent outbreak of passion now, only a smothered
.bn 370.png
.pn +1
growl. Then, at the critical moment, a leader
sprang out on the northward side of the crowd.
“Men of Yorke,” he shouted two or three times,
as he ran, “to the Hanging Rock. Follow me!”
Without a cheer, without a sound save the rumble
of their feet, the people flowed away like a deep
and sullen river through its broken banks. I saw
a bitter smile come into my lady’s face as she lifted
her husband and carried him back into the house.
Then of a sudden I cried out like a madman in the
middle of the street. That hellish mob was bound
for the manor-house and Miriam was there. For
the first time I stopped to think how headless this
mob was like to be. They would not stop to
question when they were once before the house.
The least they could do would be to burn it, even
if the patroon could make good its defense. Then
I set out at the top of my speed. It was little I
could do, but if need be, I could die with her, and
some chance might come that would help me to
save her. In a moment I found myself mingling
with the silent runners bent on destruction. The
crowd swept on in that terrible stillness. It swirled
out at the crossing of streets and jammed back resistlessly
into the narrow ways. It poured through
the Land Port like a flood and across the Kissing
Bridge. Still we surged on.
Yet it was but a mob. A score of Lady Marmaduke’s
retainers, armed to the teeth, had got to
the front. The rest were without weapons. What
.bn 371.png
.pn +1
could they do against the house of the patroon?
As they spread out among the trees in the park a
volley of shots were fired at them from the windows
of the manor-house. Three of the foremost
men fell dead or wounded. Then went up their
first heartless yell of rage.
Lady Marmaduke’s men stationed themselves
behind trees and aimed with such certainty that
they soon silenced the fire from the house. If a
face appeared at a window, a dozen muskets were
immediately discharged at it. Meantime, under
this protection, the mob began to attack the house
with stones. The windows were all broken at the
first volley. They fetched a long beam to use as a
battering ram, and were getting ready to beat in
the front door. In this crisis, I cast about me for
some means of help. But I was powerless. Once
I thought that I saw Miriam for a moment at one
of the windows. She disappeared quickly. Had
someone dragged her back, or had she been hit
by one of the marksmen? Such a thought was
torment worse than death. But she might be safe.
For all that I could do nothing to save her.
But what I could not do was nobly done by another.
I had drawn back somewhat so as to go
around the edges of the crowd and come at the
house from the rear. I hoped to find some way by
which I could get in and help defend it. I had half
accomplished the necessary detour, and had reached
a point where the woods hid the yelling pack from
.bn 372.png
.pn +1
my eyes, when a horseman came riding towards me
like mad.
“Heavens!” I cried. “It is the patroon.”
My first impulse was to stop him. Then I remembered
that he of all men would prevent me
from entering the house. And from this meeting
I took some hope. If there was an unwatched
passage by which he could get out, I might enter
by the same way.
Suddenly there leaped into my head a damning
thought. He rode hard, like one mad with fear,
looking neither to the right nor to the left. “What
a coward,” thought I, “thus to leave his daughter
to her fate.” Among all his crimes, he had ever
clung to his one virtue, love of his daughter.
Never, save when his infirmity was upon him, had
he shown anything but the most loving tenderness
to her. And now, at the great moment of peril, he
had left her to ride like a coward for his own life.
He passed me so close I could have touched him.
Perhaps his conscience stung him in spite of all, for
I heard her name on his lips as he dashed by me.
“Miriam,” he was saying; “Miriam, I give you
all.”
I turned to follow with my eyes this worthless
coward who could think of his daughter and not
stay and die with her. Two minutes later he was
fleeing beyond the little patch of woods and within
full sight of the mob. But they were so intent upon
their attack that they did not see him at first.
.bn 373.png
.pn +1
I listened for their yell of discovery with the
tension of a slow striking bell. It did not come.
Then—had the man gone mad? Van Volkenberg
slackened his pace, fell into a walk, then stopped
and turned back towards the mob. What was he
going to do? Why did he not continue his cowardly
flight? If he were going to escape, did he
not know that every second was a year of his life?
I saw him raise his finger and make the sign of the
cross. Then he put his hands to his mouth like a
trumpet and shouted:
“Ho! Do you seek me? Van Volkenberg?”
What followed I cannot tell. I can hardly bear
even to think of it. He dashed spurs into his horse
and fled towards New York. I heard a yell of
joy from the savage mob. A sight of him was
like a taste of blood. They followed out across the
open ground. But, as might have been expected,
he gained on them fast and they saw that they
would lose him. With that they turned back. The
house, at least, was at their mercy. But as they
turned back, Van Volkenberg turned back also.
He rode gallantly, and I could hear his powerful
voice taunting them for cowards.
“Is it the leader of the Red Band you seek?
Come on, you scum of Yorke. Here is a man.
Come on, you dogs.”
They were after him again, pell-mell. It was
then that I lifted up my voice and cried with a will:
“God save the good patroon!”
.bn 374.png
.pn +1
I understood it all at last. Within the house was
certain death to everyone. Yet it was he only
whom they wanted. He had thus offered himself
to lure them away from the house where his daughter
was. He knew they were incensed against him.
They cared not a snap of their fingers for the rest
of his household except as they would do his bidding
and fight against them. They were bent on
his destruction and he knew it, so he had purposely
made himself a bait to draw them away from the
neighborhood. This was what his muttering meant
when he dashed by me: “Miriam, I give you all.”
I set out with the rest. He rode ahead and the
mob came after him. Suddenly I heard the crack
of a musket. Lady Marmaduke’s men were getting
to the front again. Then another and another.
Still the old man rode bravely at the front, with
the mob howling at his heels. At last he fell. Let
us hope the bullet touched his heart and that he
was dead before they reached him. I covered my
eyes in horror. They pounced upon him like curs.
Let me not relate the mutilation that followed.
That was a bloody act. Its like for cruelty I have
never seen before nor since.
And so he died, a hero. I had had great wrong
at his hands; for all that I bowed my head and
breathed a prayer for his soul. He had the great
love that the Bible speaks of. He gave his life for
another; and who am I to call him into judgment?
.bn 375.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XXVIII | CONCLUSION
.sp 2
Let me pass briefly over the next six months. It
is now midsummer and the city is at peace. Already
the Red Band is a thing of the past and well-nigh
forgotten. Jacques’ return with a message
to the invaders was effective. We heard no more
of the French fleet. The men of the Red Band,
bereft of their leader, were incapable of a stand and
were, for the most part, allowed to go free. Sir
Evelin Marmaduke slowly grew strong and resumed
his position in the affairs of the city. And
Annetje Dorn became willing to pass the Kissing
Bridge arm in arm with my little friend Pierre.
For Miriam and me, however, there was much
of sorrow. She had greatly misjudged me, and the
recollection of it stung her to the heart. But I had
still greater sins upon my soul. I had done much
wrong, albeit I had intended to do right. Through
craft and deceit I had driven the patroon to bay,
and I took upon myself the blame for his last great
crimes. My remorse was a heavy burden and I
prayed through many a weary night to be forgiven.
At last, after many resolutions and much
perusal of my Bible, this, too, passed away, and I
knew myself a better and a worthier man.
.bn 376.png
.pn +1
So, with the midsummer brightness came joyful
times at last. We were all together one afternoon
in the assembly hall at the fort. It was a room filled
with memories to me. There the Earl had tasted
salt when I visited him on my first day in New
York; there I had seen the patroon baited to his
fall, which he had withstood with quiet dignity; I
had seen it full of light and of the sound of merry
music on the night when I brought the dreadful
news of Sir Evelin’s escape and of the danger which
threatened to fall upon the city from the sea. But
now all was changed and well in keeping with the
brightness of the day without.
Sir Evelin and I were in one corner of the room
listening with considerable amusement to a debate
which was going on in the center by the great
carved table. Lady Marmaduke and the Earl were
striving with as much heat as good nature would
allow; and Miriam, the cause of their dispute, stood
beside them.
“I tell you,” cried Lady Marmaduke hotly, “I tell
you it is all nonsense. She shall be married at Marmaduke
Hall.”
Miriam looked at me and smiled as the Earl replied:
“Nay, nay, I have a greater claim. She
shall be married in the fort, with all the pomp of
martial music, and my guard drawn up in line, and
all that.”
“Bah, what is your claim?” cried Lady Marmaduke,
stamping her foot upon the floor. “I will not
.bn 377.png
.pn +1
have it. She shall be married in my house or I’ll
never stir from this spot. What claim have you
that she should be married here?”
“If it comes to that,” replied the Earl, with a
smile, “I shall make a claim straightway.”
With that he took from the table a legal looking
document and handed it to Miriam.
“Unfold, my child, and read what has been set
down therein.”
“What, what is this?” cried Miriam, as she cast
her eye down the ponderous instrument. “This is
the title to the estate of Hanging Rock. What
have I to do with that? You told me that my father
had resigned it into your hands as an act of justice.”
“So he did. Read on, my dear.”
Suddenly the bright spots came out upon her
cheeks.
“Can I believe my eyes? It is new engrossed and
in my name. Do you mean that the manor-house
and park belong to me?”
“Ay; to you and to your heirs forever.”
“Oh, Sir Richard! How can I thank you!”
“Now does the King’s fort deserve the honor of
your wedding?”
“Miriam, you will choose Marmaduke Hall.”
“Choose the fort,” said the Earl.
“Let me speak to Vincent.”
She came across the room and whispered to me
for a moment. But her mind was already made up,
and she soon returned.
.bn 378.png
.pn +1
“I thank you both,” she said. “I thank you
kindly. But since I hold this title in my hand, I
think—yes, I am sure that Vincent and I shall be
married in my own manor at the Hanging Rock.”
.sp 2
And so our trials ended. Many years have gone
by since then and the Red Band is forgotten. My
noble patron has weathered safely the storm that
Captain Kidd’s treachery brought down upon his
head; he has long since been gathered to his fathers,
honored and lamented by all in the whole province
of New York. My stern mistress and her husband
are dead, too, after a ripe old age, their estate going
at last to enrich the poor of the city.
This ends my story, and all words are said save
one. My wife and I have spent many happy years
since that turbulent fall of 1699—and she has remained
a Catholic, and I still cling to the faith of
my Huguenot parents. Yet I see the old quarrel
in a new light now, and our life together has proved
that if the people of our faiths would but cherish
the good that is in them instead of quarreling over
the bad; if they would recognize, as I did once long
ago, that the cross at least is common to us both—if
they would do this, peace would come unto the
world, as it has come into Miriam’s life and into
mine.
.ce
THE END
.bn 379.png
.pm hrule doubletop
.nf c
A FEW OF
GROSSET & DUNLAP’S
Great Books at Little Prices
NEW, CLEVER, ENTERTAINING.
.nf-
.hr 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
GRET: The Story of a Pagan. By Beatrice Mantle. Illustrated
by C. M. Relyea.
.in
.fs 90%
The wild free life of an Oregon lumber camp furnishes the setting for this
strong original story. Gret is the daughter of the camp and is utterly content
with the wild life—until love comes. A fine book, unmarred by convention.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
OLD CHESTER TALES. By Margaret Deland. Illustrated
by Howard Pyle.
.in
.fs 90%
A vivid yet delicate portrayal of characters in an old New England town.
Dr. Lavendar’s fine, kindly wisdom is brought to bear upon the lives of
all, permeating the whole volume like the pungent odor of pine, healthful
and life giving. “Old Chester Tales” will surely be among the books that
abide.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE MEMOIRS OF A BABY. By Josephine Daskam. Illustrated
by F. Y. Cory.
.in
.fs 90%
The dawning intelligence of the baby was grappled with by its great aunt,
an elderly maiden, whose book knowledge of babies was something at which
even the infant himself winked. A delicious bit of humor.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
REBECCA MARY. By Annie Hamilton Donnell. Illustrated
by Elizabeth Shippen Green.
.in
.fs 90%
The heart tragedies of this little girl with no one near to share them, and
told with a delicate art, a keen appreciation of the needs of the childish
heart and a humorous knowledge of the workings of the childish mind.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE FLY ON THE WHEEL. By Katherine Cecil Thurston.
Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher.
.in
.fs 90%
An Irish story of real power, perfect in development and showing a true
conception of the spirited Hibernian character as displayed in the tragic as
well as the tender phases of life.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE MAN FROM BRODNEY’S. By George Barr McCutcheon.
Illustrated by Harrison Fisher.
.in
.fs 90%
An island in the South Sea is the setting for this entertaining tale, and
an all-conquering hero and a beautiful princess figure in a most complicated
plot. One of Mr. McCutcheon’s best books.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
TOLD BY UNCLE REMUS. By Joel Chandler Harris. Illustrated
by A. B. Frost, J. M. Conde and Frank Verbeck.
.in
.fs 90%
Again Uncle Remus enters the fields of childhood, and leads another
little boy to that non-locatable land called “Brer Rabbit’s Laughing
Place,” and again the quaint animals spring into active life and play their
parts, for the edification of a small but appreciative audience.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE CLIMBER. By E. F. Benson. With frontispiece.
.in
.fs 90%
An unsparing analysis of an ambitious woman’s soul—a woman who
believed that in social supremacy she would find happiness, and who finds
instead the utter despair of one who has chosen the things that pass away.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
LYNCH’S DAUGHTER. By Leonard Merrick. Illustrated by
Geo. Brehm.
.in
.fs 90%
A story of to-day, telling how a rich girl acquires ideals of beautiful and
simple living, and of men and love, quite apart from the teachings of her
father, “Old Man Lynch” of Wall St. True to life, clever in treatment.
.fs 100%
.hr 100%
.ce
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
.pm hrule doublebot
.bn 380.png
.pb
.pm hrule doubletop
.nf c
GROSSET & DUNLAP’S
DRAMATIZED NOVELS
A Few that are Making Theatrical History
.nf-
.hr 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
MARY JANE’S PA. By Norman Way. Illustrated with scenes
from the play.
.in
.fs 90%
Delightful, irresponsible “Mary Jane’s Pa” awakes one morning to find
himself famous, and, genius being ill adapted to domestic joys, he wanders
from home to work out his own unique destiny. One of the most humorous
bits of recent fiction.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
CHERUB DEVINE. By Sewell Ford.
.in
.fs 90%
“Cherub,” a good hearted but not over refined young man is brought in
touch with the aristocracy. Of sprightly wit, he is sometimes a merciless
analyst, but he proves in the end that manhood counts for more than ancient
lineage by winning the love of the fairest girl in the flock.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
A WOMAN’S WAY. By Charles Somerville. Illustrated with
scenes from the play.
.in
.fs 90%
A story in which a woman’s wit and self-sacrificing love save her husband
from the toils of an adventuress, and change an apparently tragic situation
into one of delicious comedy.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE CLIMAX. By George C. Jenks.
.in
.fs 90%
With ambition luring her on, a young choir soprano leaves the little village
where she was born and the limited audience of St. Jude’s to train for the
opera in New York. She leaves love behind her and meets love more ardent
but not more sincere in her new environment. How she works, how she
studies, how she suffers, are vividly portrayed.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
A FOOL THERE WAS. By Porter Emerson Browne. Illustrated
by Edmund Magrath and W. W. Fawcett.
.in
.fs 90%
A relentless portrayal of the career of a man who comes under the influence
of a beautiful but evil woman; how she lures him on and on, how he
struggles, falls and rises, only to fall again into her net, make a story of
unflinching realism.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE SQUAW MAN. By Julie Opp Faversham and Edwin
Milton Royle. Illustrated with scenes from the play.
.in
.fs 90%
A glowing story, rapid in action, bright in dialogue with a fine courageous
hero and a beautiful English heroine.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE GIRL IN WAITING. By Archibald Eyre. Illustrated
with scenes from the play.
.in
.fs 90%
A droll little comedy of misunderstandings, told with a light touch, a venturesome
spirit and an eye for human oddities.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL. By Baroness Orczy. Illustrated
with scenes from the play.
.in
.fs 90%
A realistic story of the days of the French Revolution, abounding in
dramatic incident, with a young English soldier of fortune, daring, mysterious
as the hero.
.fs 100%
.hr 100%
.ce
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
.pm hrule doublebot
.bn 381.png
.pb
.pm hrule doubletop
.nf c
A FEW OF
GROSSET & DUNLAP’S
Great Books at Little Prices
.nf-
.hr 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE MUSIC MASTER. By Charles Klein. Illustrated
by John Rae.
.in
.fs 90%
This marvelously vivid narrative turns upon the search of a German
musician in New York for his little daughter. Mr. Klein has
well portrayed his pathetic struggle with poverty, his varied experiences
in endeavoring to meet the demands of a public not trained
to an appreciation of the classic, and his final great hour when, in
the rapidly shifting events of a big city, his little daughter, now a
young woman, is brought to his very door. A superb bit
of fiction, palpitating with the life of the great metropolis. The
play in which David Warfield scored his highest success.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
DR. LAVENDAR’S PEOPLE. By Margaret Deland.
Illustrated by Lucius Hitchcock.
.in
.fs 90%
Mrs. Deland won so many friends through Old Chester Tales
that this volume needs no introduction beyond its title. The lovable
doctor is more ripened in this later book, and the simple comedies
and tragedies of the old village are told with dramatic charm.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
OLD CHESTER TALES. By Margaret Deland. Illustrated
by Howard Pyle.
.in
.fs 90%
Stories portraying with delightful humor and pathos a quaint people
in a sleepy old town. Dr. Lavendar, a very human and lovable
“preacher,” is the connecting link between these dramatic stories
from life.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE. By E. P. Roe.
With frontispiece.
.in
.fs 90%
The hero is a farmer—a man with honest, sincere views of life.
Bereft of his wife, his home is cared for by a succession of domestics
of varying degrees of inefficiency until, from a most unpromising
source, comes a young woman who not only becomes his wife
but commands his respect and eventually wins his love. A bright
and delicate romance, revealing on both sides a love that surmounts
all difficulties and survives the censure of friends as well as the bitterness
of enemies.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE YOKE. By Elizabeth Miller.
.in
.fs 90%
Against the historical background of the days when the children
of Israel were delivered from the bondage of Egypt, the author has
sketched a romance of compelling charm. A biblical novel as great
as any since “Ben Hur.”
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
SAUL OF TARSUS. By Elizabeth Miller. Illustrated by
André Castaigne.
.in
.fs 90%
The scenes of this story are laid in Jerusalem, Alexandria, Rome
and Damascus. The Apostle Paul, the Martyr Stephen, Herod
Agrippa and the Emperors Tiberius and Caligula are among the
mighty figures that move through the pages. Wonderful descriptions,
and a love story of the purest and noblest type mark this
most remarkable religious romance.
.fs 100%
.hr 100%
.ce
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
.pm hrule doublebot
.bn 382.png
.pb
.pm hrule doubletop
.nf c
A FEW OF
GROSSET & DUNLAP’S
Great Books at Little Prices
.nf-
.hr 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
BRUVVER JIM’S BABY. By Philip Verrill Mighels.
.in
.fs 90%
An uproariously funny story of a tiny mining settlement in the
West, which is shaken to the very roots by the sudden possession
of a baby, found on the plains by one of its residents. The town is
as disreputable a spot as the gold fever was ever responsible for,
and the coming of that baby causes the upheaval of every rooted
tradition of the place. Its christening, the problems of its toys and
its illness supersede in the minds of the miners all thought of earthy
treasure.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE FURNACE OF GOLD. By Philip Verrill Mighels,
author of “Bruvver Jim’s Baby.” Illustrations by J. N.
Marchand.
.in
.fs 90%
An accurate and informing portrayal of scenes, types, and conditions
of the mining districts in modern Nevada.
The book is an out-door story, clean, exciting, exemplifying nobility
and courage of character, and bravery, and heroism in the sort
of men and women we all admire and wish to know.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE MESSAGE. By Louis Tracy. Illustrations by Joseph
C. Chase.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in
A breezy tale of how a bit of old parchment, concealed in a figure-head
from a sunken vessel, comes into the possession of a pretty
girl and an army man during regatta week in the Isle of Wight.
This is the message and it enfolds a mystery, the development of
which the reader will follow with breathless interest.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE SCARLET EMPIRE. By David M. Parry. Illustrations
by Hermann C. Wall.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in
A young socialist, weary of life, plunges into the sea and awakes
in the lost island of Atlantis, known as the Scarlet Empire, where
a social democracy is in full operation, granting every man a living
but limiting food, conversation, education and marriage.
The hero passes through an enthralling love affair and other adventures
but finally returns to his own New York world.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE THIRD DEGREE. By Charles Klein and Arthur
Hornblow. Illustrations by Clarence Rowe.
.in
.fs 90%
A novel which exposes the abuses in this country of the police
system.
The son of an aristocratic New York family marries a woman
socially beneath him, but of strong, womanly qualities that, later
on, save the man from the tragic consequences of a dissipated life.
The wife believes in his innocence and her wit and good sense
help her to win against the tremendous odds imposed by law.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE THIRTEENTH DISTRICT. By Brand Whitlock.
.in
.fs 90%
A realistic western story of love and politics and a searching study
of their influence on character. The author shows with extraordinary
vitality of treatment the tricks, the heat, the passion, the tumult
of the political arena the triumph and strength of love.
.fs 100%
.hr 100%
.ce
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
.pm hrule doublebot
.bn 383.png
.pb
.pm hrule doubletop
.nf c
A FEW OF
GROSSET & DUNLAP’S
Great Books at Little Prices
.nf-
.hr 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
CY WHITTAKER’S PLACE. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
Illustrated by Wallace Morgan.
.in
.fs 90%
A Cape Cod story describing the amusing efforts of an elderly
bachelor and his two cronies to rear and educate a little
girl. Full of honest fun—a rural drama.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE FORGE IN THE FOREST. By Charles G. D.
Roberts. Illustrated by H. Sandham.
.in
.fs 90%
A story of the conflict in Acadia after its conquest by the
British. A dramatic picture that lives and shines with the indefinable
charm of poetic romance.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
A SISTER TO EVANGELINE. By Charles G. D.
Roberts. Illustrated by E. McConnell.
.in
.fs 90%
Being the story of Yvonne de Lamourie, and how she went
into exile with the villagers of Grand Prè. Swift action,
fresh atmosphere, wholesome purity, deep passion and searching
analysis characterize this strong novel.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE OPENED SHUTTERS. By Clara Louise Burnham.
Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher.
.in
.fs 90%
A summer haunt on an island in Casco Bay is the background
for this romance. A beautiful woman, at discord with
life, is brought to realize, by her new friends, that she may
open the shutters of her soul to the blessed sunlight of joy by
casting aside vanity and self love. A delicately humorous
work with a lofty motive underlying it all.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE RIGHT PRINCESS. By Clara Louise Burnham.
.in
.fs 90%
An amusing story, opening at a fashionable Long Island resort,
where a stately Englishwoman employs a forcible New
England housekeeper to serve in her interesting home. How
types so widely apart react on each others’ lives, all to ultimate
good, makes a story both humorous and rich in sentiment.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE LEAVEN OF LOVE. By Clara Louise Burnham.
Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher.
.in
.fs 90%
At a Southern California resort a world-weary woman, young
and beautiful but disillusioned, meets a girl who has learned
the art of living—of tasting life in all its richness, opulence and
joy. The story hinges upon the change wrought in the soul
of the blasè woman by this glimpse into a cheery life.
.fs 100%
.hr 100%
.ce
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
.pm hrule doublebot
.bn 384.png
.pb
.pm hrule doubletop
.nf c
A FEW OF
GROSSET & DUNLAP’S
Great Books at Little Prices
.nf-
.hr 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. A Picture of New
England Home Life. With illustrations by C. W.
Reed, and Scenes Reproduced from the Play.
.in
.fs 90%
One of the best New England stories ever written. It is
full of homely human interest * * * there is a wealth of New
England village character, scenes and incidents * * * forcibly,
vividly and truthfully drawn. Few books have enjoyed a
greater sale and popularity. Dramatized, it made the greatest
rural play of recent times.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF QUINCY
ADAMS SAWYER. By Charles Felton Pidgin.
Illustrated by Henry Roth.
.in
.fs 90%
All who love honest sentiment, quaint and sunny humor,
and homespun philosophy will find these “Further Adventures”
a book after their own heart.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
HALF A CHANCE. By Frederic S. Isham. Illustrated
by Herman Pfeifer.
.in
.fs 90%
The thrill of excitement will keep the reader in a state of
suspense, and he will become personally concerned from the
start, as to the central character, a very real man who suffers,
dares—and achieves!
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
VIRGINIA OF THE AIR LANES. By Herbert
Quick. Illustrated by William R. Leigh.
.in
.fs 90%
The author has seized the romantic moment for the airship
novel, and created the pretty story of “a lover and his lass”
contending with an elderly relative for the monopoly of the
skies. An exciting tale of adventure in midair.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE GAME AND THE CANDLE. By Eleanor M.
Ingram. Illustrated by P. D. Johnson.
.in
.fs 90%
The hero is a young American, who, to save his family from
poverty, deliberately commits a felony. Then follow his capture
and imprisonment, and his rescue by a Russian Grand
Duke. A stirring story, rich in sentiment.
.fs 100%
.hr 100%
.ce
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
.pm hrule doublebot
.bn 385.png
.pb
.pm hrule doubletop
.nf c
A FEW OF
GROSSET & DUNLAP’S
Great Books at Little Prices
.nf-
.hr 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
WHEN A MAN MARRIES. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker.
.in
.fs 90%
A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that
a visit is due from his Aunt Selina, an elderly lady having ideas
about things quite apart from the Bohemian set in which her
nephew is a shining light. The way in which matters are temporarily
adjusted forms the motif of the story.
A farcical extravaganza, dramatized under the title of “Seven Days”.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE FASHIONABLE ADVENTURES OF JOSHUA
CRAIG. By David Graham Phillips. Illustrated.
.in
.fs 90%
A young westerner, uncouth and unconventional, appears in
political and social life in Washington. He attains power in politics,
and a young woman of the exclusive set becomes his wife, undertaking
his education in social amenities.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
“DOC.” GORDON. By Mary E. Wilkins-Freeman. Illustrated
by Frank T. Merrill.
.in
.fs 90%
Against the familiar background of American town life, the
author portrays a group of people strangely involved in a mystery.
“Doc.” Gordon, the one physician of the place, Dr. Elliot, his
assistant, a beautiful woman and her altogether charming daughter
are all involved in the plot. A novel of great interest.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
HOLY ORDERS. By Marie Corelli.
.in
.fs 90%
A dramatic story, in which is pictured a clergyman in touch with
society people, stage favorites, simple village folk, powerful financiers
and others, each presenting vital problems to this man “in
holy orders”—problems that we are now struggling with in America.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
KATRINE. By Elinor Macartney Lane. With frontispiece.
.in
.fs 90%
Katrine, the heroine of this story, is a lovely Irish girl, of lowly
birth, but gifted with a beautiful voice.
The narrative is based on the facts of an actual singer’s career,
and the viewpoint throughout is a most exalted one.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE FORTUNES OF FIFI. By Molly Elliot Seawell.
.ti +2
Illustrated by T. de Thulstrup.
.in
.fs 90%
A story of life in France at the time of the first Napoleon. Fifi,
a glad, mad little actress of eighteen, is the star performer in a third
rate Parisian theatre. A story as dainty as a Watteau painting.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
SHE THAT HESITATES. By Harris Dickson. Illustrated
by C. W. Relyea.
.in
.fs 90%
The scene of this dashing romance shifts from Dresden to St.
Petersburg in the reign of Peter the Great, and then to New Orleans.
The hero is a French Soldier of Fortune, and the princess, who
hesitates—but you must read the story to know how she that hesitates
may be lost and yet saved.
.fs 100%
.hr 100%
.ce
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
.pm hrule doublebot
.bn 386.png
.pb
.pm hrule doubletop
.nf c
A FEW OF
GROSSET & DUNLAP’S
Great Books at Little Prices
.nf-
.hr 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
HAPPY HAWKINS. By Robert Alexander Wason. Illustrated
by Howard Giles.
.in
.fs 90%
A ranch and cowboy novel. Happy Hawkins tells his own story
with such a fine capacity for knowing how to do it and with so much
humor that the reader’s interest is held in surprise, then admiration
and at last in positive affection.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
COMRADES. By Thomas Dixon, Jr. Illustrated by C. D.
Williams.
.in
.fs 90%
The locale of this story is in California, where a few socialists
establish a little community.
The author leads the little band along the path of disillusionment,
and gives some brilliant flashes of light on one side of an
important question.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
TONO-BUNGAY. By Herbert George Wells.
.in
.fs 90%
The hero of this novel is a young man who, through hard work,
earns a scholarship and goes to London.
Written with a frankness verging on Rousseau’s, Mr. Wells still
uses rare discrimination and the border line of propriety is never
crossed. An entertaining book with both a story and a moral, and
without a dull page—Mr. Wells’s most notable achievement.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
A HUSBAND BY PROXY. By Jack Steele.
.in
.fs 90%
A young criminologist, but recently arrived in New York city,
is drawn into a mystery, partly through financial need and partly
through his interest in a beautiful woman, who seems at times the
simplest child and again a perfect mistress of intrigue. A baffling
detective story.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
LIKE ANOTHER HELEN. By George Horton. Illustrated
by C. M. Relyea.
.in
.fs 90%
Mr. Horton’s powerful romance stands in a new field and brings
an almost unknown world in reality before the reader—the world
of conflict between Greek and Turk on the Island of Crete. The
“Helen” of the story is a Greek, beautiful, desolate, defiant—pure
as snow.
There is a certain new force about the story, a kind of mastercraftsmanship
and mental dominance that holds the reader.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE MASTER OF APPLEBY. By Francis Lynde.
Illustrated by T. de Thulstrup.
.in
.fs 90%
tale concerning itself in part with the great struggle in
the two Carolinas, but chiefly with the adventures therein of two
gentlemen who loved one and the same lady.
A strong, masculine and persuasive story.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
A MODERN MADONNA. By Caroline Abbot Stanley.
.in
.fs 90%
A story of American life, founded on facts as they existed some
years ago in the District of Columbia. The theme is the maternal
love and splendid courage of a woman.
.fs 100%
.hr 100%
.ce
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
.pm hrule doublebot
.bn 387.png
.pb
.pm hrule doubletop
.nf c
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN’S
STORIES OF PURE DELIGHT
.nf-
.hr 100%
.ce
Full of originality and humor, kindliness and cheer
.pm hrule double
.in 4
.ti -4
Large Octavo. Decorative
text pages, printed in two colors. Illustrations by Alice
Barber Stephens.
.in
.sp 1
.fs 90%
One of the prettiest romances that has ever come from this
author’s pen is made to bloom on Christmas Eve in the sweet
freshness of an old New England meeting house.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
Attractive cover design in
colors.
.in
.fs 90%
Scotland is the background for the merry doings of three very
clever and original American girls. Their adventures in adjusting
themselves to the Scot and his land are full of humor.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
PENELOPE’S IRISH EXPERIENCES.
Uniform in style
with “Penelope’s Progress.”
.in
.fs 90%
The trio of clever girls who rambled over Scotland cross the border
to the Emerald Isle, and again they sharpen their wits against
new conditions, and revel in the land of laughter and wit.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM.
.in
.fs 90%
One of the most beautiful studies of childhood—Rebecca’s artistic,
unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle
of austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal
dramatic record.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA.
With illustrations
by F. C. Yohn.
.in
.fs 90%
Some more quaintly amusing chronicles that carry Rebecca
through various stages to her eighteenth birthday.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
With illustrations by George
Wright.
.in
.fs 90%
The simple story of Rose, a country girl and Stephen a sturdy
young The girl’s fancy for a city man interrupts their love
and merges the story into an emotional strain where the reader follows
the events with rapt attention.
.fs 100%
.hr 100%
.ce
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
.pm hrule doublebot
.bn 388.png
.pb
.pm hrule doubletop
.nf c
TITLES SELECTED FROM
GROSSET & DUNLAP’S LIST
REALISTIC, ENGAGING PICTURES OF LIFE
.nf-
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE GARDEN OF FATE. By Roy Norton. Illustrated
by Joseph Clement Coll.
.in
.fs 90%
The colorful romance of an American girl in Morocco, and
of a beautiful garden, whose beauty and traditions of strange
subtle happenings were closed to the world by a Sultan’s seal.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE MAN HIGHER UP. By Henry Russell Miller.
Full page vignette illustrations by M. Leone Bracker.
.in
.fs 90%
The story of a tenement waif who rose by his own ingenuity
to the office of mayor of his native city. His experiences
while “climbing,” make a most interesting example of the
possibilities of human nature to rise above circumstances.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE KEY TO YESTERDAY. By Charles Neville
Buck. Illustrated by R. Schabelitz.
.in
.fs 90%
Robert Saxon, a prominent artist, has an accident, while in
Paris, which obliterates his memory, and the only clue he has
to his former life is a rusty key. What door in Paris will it
unlock? He must know that before he woos the girl he loves.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE DANGER TRAIL. By James Oliver Curwood.
Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull.
.in
.fs 90%
The danger trail is over the snow-smothered North. A
young Chicago engineer, who is building a road through the
Hudson Bay region, is involved in mystery, and is led into
ambush by a young woman.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE GAY LORD WARING. By Houghton Townley.
Illustrated by Will Grefe.
.in
.fs 90%
A story of the smart hunting set in England. A gay young
lord wins in love against his selfish and cowardly brother and
apparently against fate itself.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
BY INHERITANCE. By Octave Thanet. Illustrated
by Thomas Fogarty. Elaborate wrapper in colors.
.in
.fs 90%
A wealthy New England spinster with the most elaborate
plans for the education of the negro goes to visit her nephew
in Arkansas, where she learns the needs of the colored race
first hand and begins to lose her theories.
.fs 100%
.hr 100%
.ce
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
.pm hrule doublebot
.bn 389.png
.pb
.pm hrule doubletop
.nf c
GROSSET & DUNLAP’S
DRAMATIZED NOVELS
.nf-
.pm hrule double
.ce
Original, sincere and courageous—often amusing—the kind that are making theatrical history.
.pm hrule double
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
MADAME X. By Alexandre Bisson and J. W. McConaughy.
Illustrated with scenes from the play.
.in
.fs 90%
A beautiful Parisienne became an outcast because her husband
would not forgive an error of her youth. Her love for
her son is the great final influence in her career. A tremendous
dramatic success.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens.
.in
.fs 90%
An unconventional English woman and an inscrutable
stranger meet and love in an oasis of the Sahara. Staged
this season with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE PRINCE OF INDIA. By Lew. Wallace.
.in
.fs 90%
A glowing romance of the Byzantine Empire, presenting
with extraordinary power the siege of Constantinople, and
lighting its tragedy with the warm underglow of an Oriental
romance. As a play it is a great dramatic spectacle.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY. By Grace
Miller White. Illust. by Howard Chandler Christy.
.in
.fs 90%
A girl from the dregs of society, loves a young Cornell University
student, and it works startling changes in her life and
the lives of those about her. The dramatic version is one of
the sensations of the season.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
YOUNG WALLINGFORD. By George Randolph
Chester. Illust. by F. R. Gruger and Henry Raleigh.
.in
.fs 90%
A series of clever swindles conducted by a cheerful young
man, each of which is just on the safe side of a State’s prison
offence. As “Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford,” it is probably
the most amusing expose of money manipulation ever seen
on the stage.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY. By P. G. Wodehouse.
Illustrations by Will Grefe.
.fs 90%
Social and club life in London and New York, an amateur
burglary adventure and a love story. Dramatized under the
title of “A Gentleman of Leisure,” it furnishes hours of
laughter to the play-goers.
.fs 100%
.hr 100%
.ce
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
.pm hrule doublebot
.bn 390.png
.pb
.pm hrule doubletop
.nf c
THE NOVELS OF
IRVING BACHELLER
.nf-
.pm hrule double
.ce
Full of the real atmosphere of American home life.
.pm hrule double
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
With a double-page
frontispiece.
.in
.fs 90%
The son of a wash-woman begins re-making himself
socially and imparts his system to his numerous friends. A
story of rural New York with an appreciation of American
types only possible from the pen of a humor loving American.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
DARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES
. With illustrations
by Arthur I. Keller.
.in
.fs 90%
A tale of the North Country. In Darrel, the clock tinker,
wit, philosopher and man of mystery, is portrayed a force held
in fetters and covered with obscurity, yet strong to make its
way, and widely felt.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
: A Tale of Daring Deeds in the Second War
with the British. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
.in
.fs 90%
“D’ri” was a mighty hunter, quaint, rugged, wise, truthful.
He fights magnificently on the Lawrence, and is a striking
figure in this enthusiastic romance of early America.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
: A Tale of the North Country.
.in
.fs 90%
A story of the hardy wood-choppers of Vermont, who
founded their homes in the Adirondack wilderness. “Eben,”
the hero, is a bachelor with an imagination that is a very
wilderness of oddities.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
: Emperor of the Woods.
.in
.fs 90%
A simple account of one summer life, as it was lived in a
part of the Adirondacks. Silas Strong is a woodland philosopher,
and his camp is the scene of an impressive little love
story.
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.in 4
.ti -4
: A Tale of the Coming of Christ.
.in
.fs 90%
A thrilling and beautiful story of two young Roman
Patricians whose great and perilous love in the reign of
Augustus leads them through the momentous, exciting events
that marked the year just preceding the birth of Christ.
.fs 100%
.hr 100%
.ce
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
.pm hrule doublebot
.pb
.dv class='tnotes'
.ce
Transcriber’s Note
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
Corrections in the unpaginated advertising section are noted with a prefix
‘a’.
.ta l:8 l:46 l:12 w=90%
| scarce fifteen years of age[,/.] | Replaced.
| who have been here to[-]night. | Inserted.
| its preparation for mil[i]tary defense | Inserted.
| set out together along the q[iu/ui]et | Transposed.
| small ivory min[i]ature | Inserted.
| and you can wear it safely[”]. | Added.
| but Van Volkenberg’s d[raw/war]f | Transposed.
| With this end in view[./,] | Replaced.
| before he leaves the house.[”] | Added.
| now a beautif[n/u]l young woman | Inverted.
| [“]A novel tale concerning itself | Removed.
| a sturdy young farmer[,/.] | Replaced.
.ta-
.dv-