VAN VOLKENBERG AND THE EARL
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 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
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 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.”
“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 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 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 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 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 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 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, 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 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 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.