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 42in 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 43stake, 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 44her 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 45flaming 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.
46“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 47when 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.
48“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 49the 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 50forward 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 51water 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 52sweepers 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 53to 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.”