THE SILVER BUTTONS
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, 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 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.”
“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, 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.”
“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,
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 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 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.
“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.